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(I wrote this reflection last summer, long before Jenny began her battle with cancer. Please know that now I can't wait until Jenny is back, healthy, and playing tennis far “too often.”)

My wife loves tennis. She started back in the game last year, and it has been incredible for our whole family. She is more energized, in better shape, and can more easily keep her cool. This new way of taking care of herself is a perfect example of the ScreamFree principle, “Put on Your Own Oxygen Mask First.”

There are times, however, when I think she plays too often. There are several great leagues around Atlanta, and the better she gets the more offers she gets from these leagues. And in the summer, when she's home all day with the kids, those offers to leave the house and compete aggressively in an athletic exercise with other adults…well, those offers are mighty hard to turn down. Even when I tell her that I'd like her to stay home instead. Last week, that is exactly what happened. And it provided an amazing chance for me, our marriage, and my relationship with my kids to grow. Painful growth, but growth all the same.

I had not enjoyed a particularly great day to begin with. And when I came home, it started to get even worse. I began feeling a little sick. Now Jenny had already scheduled her tennis practice that night, and I was prepared to spend the night with just me and the kids. But as I began to feel worse, I really did not want her to go. She had already played a makeup match from a rainout over the weekend, and she was scheduled to play a match on the upcoming weekend as well. Plus, rain was threatening and her partner had called her to question whether they should play at all. This all added up to me making a bold, clear, “I” statement: “I really do not want you to go tonight. It is obviously your choice, and I may resent you if you go, but I will not let that resentment affect our relationship. I'm not going anywhere, but again, I wish you would stay.”

Mind you, our relationship has grown astronomically over the last 15 years or so. And each of us, on our own, has developed a strong sense of autonomy, especially in dealing with each other. We have learned that the key to a strong (and ScreamFree) marriage is not trust, nor compatibility. The key to a great marriage is mutual self-respect-two people focusing on themselves enough to approach one another as mature adults choosing to be together.

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Because of this strong sense of self, my wife's response was: “Thanks for telling me how you feel. And knowing that you will be OK with us even if I go makes it even harder to say this, but, I really need to go tonight and I'm choosing to go.” Just then, her ride pulled up into the driveway, she kissed me and the kids good night, and she left.

Now as I said earlier, our marriage has experienced astronomical growth. Yes, that's true. This whole scenario could not have happened with such growth. But that doesn't mean that it was easy to handle. Growth is always a difficult choice. The easy path is to get emotionally reactive, take it all personally, and start a huge resentment-filled grudge “match.”

And that's exactly what I started to do. After she left, I was furious. I could not help but respect her on the one hand, valuing her strong “I” position and her ability to choose to take care of herself first. After all, this is the ScreamFree vision, what I preach. On the other hand, I did not feel well, I did not want her to go three times in one week, and I didn't particularly want to face bedtime with my 7- and 5-year-olds.

So, in an effort to calm my own anxiety, I decided to get out of the house. Those of you who have heard the Waffle House story probably could have wisely counseled me against this solution, but I thought it might help calm my resentment and make nighttime a little more pleasant. I was wrong.

Both my kids loved the first Spider-Man. Absolutely loved it. We weren't sure about allowing them to see it, but when it came out on video, we gave it a try. We all enjoyed it. So, it made sense that they would love Spider-Man 2, right? Sure, it was also rated PG-13, and others had warned of its increased scary violence, but now my kids are older, I reasoned. To be totally honest, I didn't really give it a second thought.

With promises of popcorn and sodas, Daddy was the hero. From the time I announced we were going, up until the part where my daughter lost her mind with terror (about midway through the movie), we were having a great time. Then it all came crashing down. As Dr. Octopus revealed his frightening tentacles, my daughter became unglued. No child had experienced that level of sheer horror since my own father took me to see “Jaws” in the theater when I was three (that's right, Dad-I was three.). Obviously the years of my own therapy to get over that episode had not stopped the cycle-here I was subjecting my daughter to the same trauma.

Well, I tried at first to hide her eyes and ears until the scary scene ended, but it seemed to go on forever and she was losing it by the second. I took her out of the sold-out theater to try and calm her down and left my son sitting there totally entranced. He was absolutely enjoying every minute of it. She, on the other hand, was inconsolable. I tried to calm her down in the darkened hallway behind the seats. I finally took her outside the doors and into the light. There she slowly chewed some popcorn and began to calm herself.

When I tried to suggest going back in, however, she became just as hysterical as before. At this point I began to sense a dilemma. If I take her back in, my seven-year-old daughter will freak out and I will be subjecting her to images that she is not ready for. If I go in to pry my five-year-old son away from Spidey, he will likely freak out and I would be breaking a promise.. So what the heck do you do now, Mr. ScreamFree Parent?

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I could not stand the thought of leaving either one of them alone, neither her outside nor him inside. So I decided to go inside and get him out. I started by whispering to him what was going on with his sister, and informing him that we would have to leave but I would fulfill my promise to see the movie on the following day - just the two of us.

He immediately started to protest. And this protest was no whisper. He was wailing with the force of a hurricane as I picked him up and took him into the back hallway, literally kicking and screaming. This was a sold-out theater, mind you, and everyone knew about our scenario, especially when he broke loose from my grasp and ran back into the theater. By this time my daughter had come back in and was crying just as loudly, begging me to take her home. I had to break away from her to go back in and get my son. Soon both of them were crying and screaming, both at me and each other, as I dragged them out of the theater. Lovely, I know. But it gets better…

As we were leaving the theater, there were actually people asking for a refund on their tickets. No, nothing was wrong with the movie, I overheard them say, but they were rudely distracted by this “out of control family.” I kid you not, this really happened. So, what did I do next?

I really couldn't blame either of my kids; one was terrified and one was terribly disappointed. But boy could I blame my wife at that moment. And that's just what I began to do. If she hadn't gone to play tennis, we'd never have even come to this movie! She would have provided the voice of reason, saying that it's too scary, reminding me that while violence on the small screen is one thing, it is entirely another when it is two stories tall. She would have been there for me at home, helping put the kids down while sympathizing with my upset tummy. But NO! She had to go and play her little game. (Can you hear my whiny tone?)

My wife didn't return that night until after the kids were asleep, and after I had calmed down. I was so torn, with part of me wanting to curse her out for her selfishness and blame her for all the hell I just went through. Another part of me knew that I could not, with any shred of integrity, blame her for my decision to go to the movies. What she chooses to do is her responsibility; how I respond to her choice is my own.

What I did do was tell her all about the evening, and I told her how torn I was about my feelings toward her. Without ever hinting at picking up any guilt over my decisions, Jenny showed genuine sympathy to my plight and realized how hard (and embarrassing!) it must have been. We ended the evening with an honest discussion about her need to get away occasionally, and my desire for her to keep it balanced with her other commitments. She confessed she had acted selfishly as of late, and she didn't like doing that. I also recognized my own need to get away and take better care of myself. She wholeheartedly agreed.

I occasionally still struggle with resenting Jenny a little for that night, even though I cannot justify holding on to a feeling that can only serve to hurt me (and us). Oh well, it just means I need to go play golf more often. And the next day I took my son to see Spidey again. (I intentionally went to another theater, however, fearing we might get recognized and blacklisted at the other one).

As I say in the book, growing up is hard to do, especially for grownups.