My rage is bigger than your rage. I grew up in a household where this was the rule. No matter how pissed off you get, your anger will never be as big as dad's. Out in the mean streets of the world, if you demonstrate that you have the bigger rage and are perceived as more capable of violence, then you have authority and people stay out of your way. 

Back in the mean hallways and corners of the home, this rule also applies. If they know you're capable of anger, the kids will do as they are told. 

I remember using this logic with my own kids—usually unspoken, a few times spoken. "You think you can get growl pretty loud, huh? I'll show you what growling is." Or "You don't want to get in a shouting match with me, kiddo. I got bigger lungs." It took me five years of parenthood to even realize it that all this actually produces is children who are frightened of their fathers. 

And what about the mean streets of the world? What does this mentality produce out there? Hardly the fruits of peace and love. 

"Peace and love," a deep part of me mutters. "Who gives a fuck about peace and love? It's eat or be eaten, sonny. Beat or be beaten."