You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Helicopter Parents » Page 5 | Search
This is a question Helicopter Parents

Back when young ScaryDuck worked in the Dole office rather than simply queuing in it, he had to deal with a claimant brought in by his mum. She did all the talking. He was 40 years old.

Have you had to deal with over-protective parents? Get your Dad to tell us all about it.

(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 15:13)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Tony Hart had nothing on this.
My mum told my dad to explain to me where babies come from. He was so embarassed he drew a cartoon strip. He can't draw. I am still mentally scarred.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 21:05, 5 replies)
More B3ta therapy
My Mother was a protective parent and to her I was fragile child who suffered with asthma, food allergies and migraine. You see, I suffered with terrible asthma and migraine for a lot of my childhood and then one day it just got better, I came off the asthma meds and hardly had a migraine. The miraculous cure was very simple. My Mother, who forbade me leaving our house because I was so ill, gave up smoking. She would smoke two packets of Embassy Number one a day and the house was like breathing in a bonfire.

To this day I react badly to smoking and can't stand to be in a smoky room because of the migraine I will suffer.

I grew up in Germany, Dad was in the army and I was an army brat. Back in the very early 80's a little girl was taken away and no doubt brutally buggered by a German Paedophile and she was never seen again. My Mother forbade me to play outside with my school friends because of the danger of paedo's. I finally managed to escape from my mother's grasp age twenty three when I fucked off to uni.

The whole Uni thing was a nightmare at first. As the day of my leaving drew near, my Mother started to say things to discourage me from going. At first it was simple things such as "are you sure you want to go that far away?". Too fucking right I did, my Mother insisted on running my life, taking what money I had and using me as a personal servant.

Two days before I went to Uni, my Mother told me that if I loved her then I would not go to Uni. She told me that if I went, she would be forced to kill herself and it would be my fault that my sister and brother would be forced to live with out a Mother. I wish I could tell you I was fine and strong, but in truth I cried on my sister and did not know what to do.

My Dad finally stood up to my Mother for me, the first and only time he ever did so and he drove me to uni himself. My Mother became an agonised mental case who screamed and cried for the last two days of my being at home.

Being at Uni was a revelation, I suddenly grew up and became the adult I was supposed to be and discovered the dangerous sports that I still love to this day.

I became a rock climber, my favourite climbing being solo climbing where I would climb my chosen route on my own with out a safety rope. I also became a mountain biker and as soon as I could, I made a break for the hills and rode like a fucking loony, putting myself in Hospital on two occasions that I remember and possibly one that I don't!

My Mother wrote to me every day, because the phone at Uni was always in use by Students from abroad phoning friends and family. This was before mobiles became popular. My mothers letter were always depressing and would inform me of the terrible things I was doing to my brother and sister while I was away from them. My mother would tell me that unless I returned home that day, she was going to kill herself and it was all my fault.

In the end the stress got too much for me and given that I was already coping with a darker and more personal problem of my own, the shit from my Mother pushed me over the edge and I tried to cut my wrists. My sister stepped in and told my Mother to back the fuck off.

Years later I was sat chatting with my sister and talk turned to our mental mother. My sister asked me why I had always been our Mothers favourite? I was really shocked, but as my sister saw it in her young eyes, our mother spent the whole time crying and telling people how much she missed her oldest child while the other two existed on badly cooked food and and no parental support.

My Mother's mental illness still causes problems when she tries to drive a wedge between my sister and I. Luckily, Sis and me are very close, she is more like a best friend than a sister and she has had almost as much therapy as me to recover from what our Mother did to us. It may sound like very little in this short story, but when every day your mother tells you (very graphically!) that should you step outside the front door you will be raped, murdered and god alone knows what else, it really does fuck you up.

Thanks Mum for the three years of therapy that you gave to us both, good job I liked my psychiatrist really.

Ahhh, I feel better now. The rage is fading and I just wish I could put into words just how much damage an over protective parent can do. My biggest fear is that I will turn into my Mother, my partner is under instruction that should I ever display any of my Mothers traits, I am to be shot immediately!
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 20:50, 3 replies)
Where to start...
My son used to go to an expensive private prep school (the reasons for which are long and dull). T'was the place one might see an abundance of yummy mummy, chelsea tractor driving, gold digging divorce harpies loitering around the gates comparing their Laboutin shoes and hispanic gardening staff whilst they delivered children called (honestly) Willow, Tabitha and Miami for fencing and lessons in how to deal with proles. I have seen so many many terrible things in the helicopter parenting category not least the annual hallowe'en CHILDREN's pumpkin carving contest.

On the evidence of the thirty to forty pumpkins entered in the competition (contestants 4-11 years old) I would say that the school are in possession of some of the most gifted artistic infants the world has ever seen. I believe that at least two of the pumpkins had been handed over to professionally employed sculptors to, and I quote: "tidy up the children's efforts for them"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! For f***'s sake.

He is now reintegrated with society.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 20:32, Reply)
Over-protection gone mad
A lad I know was once made by his parents to take a personal fire alarm with him when he spent the night round a friends house.

He was 16.

Poor guy.

Also, he wasn't allowed to join us at the cinema once because he was setting off a bit late driving and his mum didn't want him to drive fast to get there in time. He was 19 then..

Oh and when he was still in primary school his mum used to make him get changed as soon as he got back home, so she could wash his uniform... just in case he came into any contact with dog shit on the way back.

Nice guy though.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 19:58, Reply)
My mother the control freak
My mother tries to manage everybody's life that she comes into contact with. My fathers, my sister's, mine, her friends', my friends', the window cleaner, the shop assistant in Sainsburys.... you get the idea.

When I was 17 I had no idea what I wanted to study at university. Truth be told, I just wanted to put off getting a job for 3 years. I was thinking of Geography, because I found it easy, and it was the least boring of the things I did at school. I decided straight away that Oxford/Cambridge weren't for me. I still went to the open days to satisfy my mother and my school, but snuck off and went shopping instead. Apparently, Geography is a worthless subject, Geography graduates never get jobs and I'd end up penniless living in a gutter (in the words of my mother).

In the end all my teachers were on my side but my mother insisted on talking to all of them and trying to get them to persuade me not to do Geography and to do something prestigious like Economics or Classics (I studied both for A level but struggled with them and knew I'd never be able to do them at degree level). My teachers just accepted that my mother was a bit unhinged, I think they were used to parents like that - I went to private school. We never really settled the disagreement but ultimately, I filled in the form for myself, went to the open days myself, and studied for the exams myself. I got 3 As and went to the (more modern but still good) university I wanted and studied Geography. I graduated a couple of months ago and currently have a job in an area that I am interested in, that I got for myself despite my mother not thinking it is worthwhile (doesn't pay enough). I'm unfortunately still living with my parents, but am hoping to move out soon, not to live in the gutter.

My mother's helicopter parenting has been something I have rebelled against for many years, with the result that it has made me much more independent and determined to succeed once I've fought to be able to do the things I want. When her nagging and criticising of my life gets too much, I politely remind her that I could be shooting up heroin in a squat somewhere and robbing old ladies to pay for my next fix.

I found out last year that sixth formers can now tick a box on the UCAS form which allows their parents to handle the entire application process for them. Unbelievable... what next? Parents going to lectures for their children and sitting the exams? A degree is something you have to be very committed to and I don't believe that anybody should be forced into studying something they're not happy with.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 18:45, Reply)
When I was little
I wasn't like my older brothers or sister. I was deaf, had a lot of jaw and head surgery, and balance of nothing.

Because of this, my mum wouldn't let me rollerskate or cycle past a certain point in the street, go to outdoor clubs or do anything that didn't involve me being in a carpeted room and reading. I was fully fluent at reading at 3 years old ffs. My brothers and sister could do a lot more stuff at my age.

However, at about 13, a St John Ambulance trip was organised for the cadets. I INSISTED on going. She rang up the super and gave him the lowdown on what I could and couldn't do.

He threw that out of the window, and my mum's perception of me changed when I went home with a medal in canoeing, one in abseiling and a certificate saying that I could cook.

From then on, I had all the independence that I wanted.


Oh, but she still tells me what it's like being deaf! She's done a deaf awareness course and thinks she knows everything.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 15:26, 2 replies)
Gummy Mummy
Remember that time when you could have sex with school girls and not be thought a pedo, you know, before you crossed the line from teen to twenties, mmmmmmmmmmmmmm……………….

Sorry,

Anyway, back at that time when I had a delightful, soft skinned, perky breasted year 12 student, and being the mighty stud I was with over 15000 fucks to my name, and 3 of them weren’t even in the solo class, I found that her ability for knob gobbling was just not up to that standard I had come imagine. Being the sensitive 19 year old male, drunk on his own testosterone, I fucking told her so, and left her in no doubt that she either shape up or it was out on your arse. Of course not really knowing what I was talking about I couldn’t provide any instruction on what I liked or give her tips on what needed to improve (in fact despite endless informal research of blow jobs via porn films in the proceeding years, I hadn’t even figured that the girls spit on the love wand as more moisture the better, but, my naivety is story for another day).

A few days later we met up for a night of sophisticated activity (she came to my place to watch telly and drink cheap wine) which culminated in heading to the bed room for a bit horizontal folk dancing, started with the most mind bending session of dirtying her knees. Of course I wanted to know how in the space of 3 days she had developed such skills that would get a golf ball through 9 yards of hosepipe, and she told me she had asked someone who pointed her in the right direction. I was too pleased with the process to ask more questions.

The following night we had dinner her at her place. Her Dad was working but, her old girl was home. I didn’t quite know how to respond when her mum asked me directly if I had any further issue with her daughter’s “dick sucking methods”.

As soon as I had my girl her on her own, I asked what the fuck she had said to her mum.

Apparently after my ultimatum she had a sit down with her mum and dad.
She had asked if they knew about sucking cocks, which apparently they did.


She had asked “what Dad liked” ,


and her mum had showed her.


With a carrot.

If the old girl hadn’t been a 120kg, ugly as fuck, Scottish harpy I might have had a crack at the master considering the action of the student.

Still explains why her old man smiled vacantly a lot.

Length, 8 inch girth and 13 inches long, fucking huge carrot.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 15:22, 14 replies)
i was raised by my nan
well she mollycoddled me from the day i arrived. growing up I was allowed to have almost anything I wanted, she did everything for me, she cooked, cleaned and raised me to be quite spoiled. Yet I was never allowed out, not to friends houses, not allowed friends back, not allowed out to play as a kid, not allowed boyfriends etc. when i left for uni at 18, she paid off my overdraft several times when i was in trouble, she sent me money so i didnt have to get a job. This has left me in a strange situation. She died a year ago last jan, id moved in again after dropping out of uni and traveling. I was having to sort everything out, which failed miserably. its now 20 months on, I have debts piling up, bailifs at my door, I cant cook, i dont know how to look after the garden, so i have 2 jungles outside my house. Im moving away in a week to start uni again, and this is the turning point for me. I have to learn how to look after myself, as i wasnt given the opportunity as a child. please do not mollycoddle your kids. believe me, it doesnt turn out well, you end up with an adult who doesnt have a clue of what to do.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 14:39, 1 reply)
One of them
was a helicopter. The other one was a boombox. But I just transform into a car like everyone else.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 10:44, 1 reply)
I wish...
my parents were helicopter parents. When I started to learn how to walk my dad suggested putting up stair gates. My mum's reply was "Oh no! Let her fall down once and she'll never do it again".
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 10:34, 5 replies)
I suppose I should post..
A little bit about me first..

I'm 26, the oldest of 3 boys, and am still living at home...

I always thought that my mum was deeply overprotective of the 3 of us, but now I sit back and look at it, I can see that she was the exact opposite..

I never really did well at school, was always one of the top 2-3 in the class in everything except English (which can probably be seen in the rambling way in which I'm writing this), and as far as I can remember none of us ever wanted for anything.

It may be some initial paranoia on my part that I was overlooked for my little brother, who ever since he had open heart surgery at the age of 2 some 20 years ago, and again 10 years ago, has been slightly less developed than myself or my middle brother, and this can be obviously seen at times in his maturity.

Despite the setback of my little brother, my mum always took it upon herself to make sure that we were always well turned out for school, even if there was little money to allow her and my dad to do so, and taught us the whys and wherefores of mannerisms and general behaviour.

I suppose that I always thought that I was being mollycoddled by my parents, who didn't really want me to go out, unless I could tell them where I'd be and everything. In hindsight however, they'd got enough on their plate making sure my 2 younger brothers were alright, and making sure that my youngest brother was over whatever small illness was affecting him at the time.

I look at my middle brother now, theres only 2 years between myself and him, but, he's married, got a lovely wife, and 2 cracking kids, and I can see a lot of both of my parents parenting skills in him. He seems to have learnt a lot from them, but he says to me that a lot of it is just common sense, the rest he just looked at how mum and dad did everything.

A lot of people say that you're either shielded from everything as a youngster, or you're not, but, from my point of view, your parents affect your life a lot more than you actually realise. They may be hands off, but by doing that, they may let you learn by your mistakes. They may be hands on, when they feel that you don't have the experience of the situation, or hands on because they don't you to make the same mistakes they have.

I look at the way both my parents are now with the grandkids, and I don't think anything they're doing when they look after them has changed from when they were bringing the 3 of us up, and now I look at it, nearly 20 years later, its a lot easier to see than it was through the eyes of a youngster.

Thanks mum, thanks dad, I've learnt a lot from you, I hope I can bring up any children I have as well as you brought the 3 of us up.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 8:58, Reply)
Fottball parents
Sent my kid down to the under 5's Fottball training at the local club, really well run good coaches lots of kids.
At one stage I counted more parents than kids on the pitch coaxing their children to kick the ball, or felt thay had the need to stay in the middle of the small 5-aside pitch and talk to the other dippy parents sipping their over prised Latte. My son and severeal more like him whos dads realised that the coach should be allowed to do just that had already sat down away from the pitch to watch. The coach had to tell them to get off the pitch.

My son loved it, however the other kids who ran to daddy every two mins didn't. I am sure if they were not so close the kid would have joined in.

By all means get involved, just offer to help not to just pressume they need your help and make it harder for everyone else.
Oh and if you as a dad prefer Rugby even though you are too weak to play the sport, dont cheer when your son picks the ball up and runs with it. As thats hand ball and not allowed you tit.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 8:01, 2 replies)
my parents
were always hovering.

Mind you, they are advanced beings of pure energy.
(, Sun 13 Sep 2009, 6:56, 1 reply)
This is a topic near and dear to my heart.
Please allow me to rant for a few minutes here.

Being a parent is a difficult thing, if you're doing it right. It means that you have to watch out for their best interests and sometimes do things that make nobody happy, but pay off in the long run. It also means that sometimes you have to stand back and let your kids fall on their faces.

I have three kids, two boys and a girl. All three are bright, physically attractive and have very strong personalities. This also means that they were one hell of a handful as they grew up, as they were smart enough to get themselves into a lot of unfortunate circumstances- or rather, the boys did. (My daughter saw her older brothers get in the shit, and thereafter knew what to avoid. Smart girl.)

My stance on things is that as a parent it's my job to teach them how to function in the world. I protect them from some things, but other things I show them while they're with me so they learn how to deal with them in the future- for instance, I've taken them with me to hear live music in bars (low key family friendly venues, but still bars), I've taken them into some of the seedier parts of the city in the late evening and shown them what to beware of and how to stay safe, and I've let them see me handle situations where someone has been hostile toward me (which involved me using the Dad Voice and facing them down on some occasions, and on others calmly talking the person down). I've protected them- but never sheltered them. I now have three teenagers who are quite capable of taking care of themselves.

My sister, on the other hand, has micro-managed her kids all through life. She wouldn't let them watch Looney Toons when they were little because they were too violent, she would insist on checking them for sunscreen before they went out, she kept them enrolled in activities in school so she knew where they were and what they were doing... she was the epitome of the over-protective parent keeping her kids as sheltered as she could from the Big Scary World. And now? Her son went off to a very expensive college and partied himself down to failing grades once he got out from under her thumb, took out student loans that he'll be paying back forever, and is generally having a great whooping time away from home. Her daughter... well, let's just say that I will not be surprised at all if she gets pregnant very soon, okay? She's off at her first year of college right now. I fear for her.

I tried over the years to express this to my sister, but as I'm her baby brother (7-1/2 years between us) she automatically knows better and is far wiser than I am. And now her kids are starting to pay the price.

I fully understand the desire to protect your kids, I really do. But for fuck's sake, what happens when you're not there? Who will protect them then? Who will guide them if they don't know how to guide themselves?

Gah.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 23:42, 17 replies)
i've been an avid QOTW participant for almost 5 years now
indeed some of you may well have been exposed to my inane drivel, in fact there are very few questions i dont respond to with enthusiasm

but what i have noted is this; if by saturday evening we are still only 5 - 7 pages of answers...

it's a really poor question
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 23:34, 10 replies)
sometimes it works!
Honestly sometimes it really really works. Take for example my big brother, he's a man of substance, a man of integrity and a man who really knows human nature, so when the solicitor handling his house purchase dragged thier feet, he unleashed the big guns.

Mother Rockers.

Mother Rockers is the reason I and my big brother are so very special. She's an accepting kind and sweet woman with a temper that when it's directed in the right direction can melt glass.

So when Mother Rockers meets the lollygagging solicitor all hell breaks loose, with my very shrewd brother taking a back seat.

Here's the genius of it... no grown man wants to be scared of his clients mother. No grown man wants to be shouted at by a clients mother. No grown man can keep a full bladder in check whilst a middle-aged woman tells him that they are not angry but they are dissapointed.

Big brother moved in the following week.

Here's the advice for the night, fire your mum at anyone who's being a twunt, they'll turn into a worried 7 year old, because no one wants to let mummy down.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 20:14, 4 replies)
my parents
used to catch fish for me by abseiling into pet shops, sneaking up behind the clerk, cutting his throat, then taking a whole fish tank.

They were navy seals.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 20:01, Reply)
My wonderful Father, God rest his soul...
used to reach for my hand crossing the road even into my late teens.
Oh and once threatened to shoot the oik who deflowered me (he had access to guns in the armoury, too) when he found out I was no longer virgo intacta.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 18:44, Reply)
We're all 5 years old in thier mind
I have a fear of needles and blood and the two unfortunately conspired together against me yesterday during a blood test. After the 4th attempt at trying to get blood failed my brain had enough, I blacked out and fell on the poor nurse. When I told my mother the story she asked if I wanted her to go with me next time, I looked at the floor like a 5 year old and mumbled 'Er, yes please'.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 17:07, Reply)
My mum's first child
died shortly after birth. I was the next one along after that.

Sometimes - as much as we hate it - there's a reason for their hovering. We can't blame them too much, because they can't help it.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 14:54, Reply)
My Mom
Wasn't too bad, but I remember one incident when I was about ten. My dad is retired navy and always keeps a gun near the front door. One day in early July I was playing with said gun, taking the bullets out, putting them back in. My mom comes inside and finds me. "What are you doing?!"
"Don't worry mom I'm not pointing it at myself"

BANG!

My mom fell down. I jumped up and ran outside as fast as I could, my heart was pounding. I couldn't believe it. I ran to the end of the drive and just looked up towards the sky.
4th of july fireworks! I was missing them!
However, it took me a while to understand why my parents beat the holy hell out of me.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 12:54, 9 replies)
I used to be in the US Marines, believe it or not
We were on a training mission in the San Francisco bay, when suddenly a huge Great White Shark leapt out of the water at me. Fortunately, my mum was piloting a helicopter, and lowered a rope ladder down. I managed to leap onto it just in time.

I just wish someone had taken a picture of it, but even then I'm sure people would think it was faked.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 12:23, 3 replies)
Oh dear
This is going to be the first of many posts for me...

I'm the oldest of 9 children, by way of family separation/reattachment through my father's second marriage. To be called the Brady bunch is a fallacy.. none of us got on.

However, the overprotectiveness of my stepmother has stunted my social and behavourial growth in such a way that b3ta is probably the first to ever hear this rant... :(


Please for the love of my sanity: can anyone else please tell me that they were treated as a child of a younger age when being held in an environment with younger children? I swear I was Child 1.0, a beta model that wasn't allowed to undergo any unknown tests or trials, such as afterschool activities, social activities with friends, excursions alone to town, until one of my younger siblings was first granted permission after an age of nagging.

Not that I didn't try:

* I tried for years to be allowed to participate in school debating in year 8, 9 and 10. Events were held afterschool, when there was no sun out. DENIED. 3 years on, sibling was going to regional championships after being able to compete locally.

* Year 12 extension excursion to the reefs for biology studies / a week off school. I "wasn't interested in biology because I wasn't taking it", even though I was invited to attend even though I had "no knowledge". DENIED. All other siblings that were invited attended. Had the "Best. Time. Ever."

Hell, this one still gets me worked up..

* High School Graduation. I was not allowed to attend because it was held in town, on a weeknight. I WAS 17 YEARS OLD AND I WASN'T ALLOWED OUT AT NIGHT. (Except for work. But even then, I was to leave at the latest opportunity (usually ending up being late) then travel home without delay (which meant any lag time from arrival was never caught up) This was the same for Student Awards Nights too. I was never awarded my graduation nor subject prizes. My subject prizes were just passed to me weeks after the event, usually bent from being thrown about in the admin building.. or posted 3 months after I left highschool in a soggy envelope.

*sigh*

And that's just a few of the issues of BULLSHIT I've put up with.


I'm ok now.

I've moved thousands of miles away to a 'scary town' (which is awesome) for a job that a 'monkey could do' (IT consulting) with a 'man that is too old and will take advantage of me' (he's awesome and all :3 ).

RANTING Suspended. More to follow. Continue? (Y/N): _
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 11:59, 10 replies)
Bert, the most unforgettable character I have ever met.
I'm the only surviving child, my sister and brother died in infancy. I must be about the only Australian who can't swim. A friend of my mother drowned in a flood when I was just a little tacker so any mention of deep water gave her the shivers. I was never given the chance to learn. Apart from that, there was no pool and the local river near our little bush town was too thick to drink and too thin to plough. So there's another excuse.

But for all that her hovering didn't approach the levels I see here. So this story is about Bert. I won't give you his surname, you'll only laugh. Well, all right, it was "Hoare".

I first met Bert when I my parents moved to a new city and sent me to the local boarding school as a day boy. He buttonholed me on the first day.

Imagine a large head, nearly albino-blonde hair cut with a basin and clippers, plastered down with Brylcreem, a pale complexion that had hardly ever seen the Sun decorated with a couple of strategically placed moles. Add thick, thick spectacles, both eyes palest, washed out blue and one of them turned slightly so you were never quite sure which way he was looking.

You could have tolerated it if he kept his distance. But he stood a hand's breadth from you as he rattled on about something or other and if he thought your attention was wavering he'd touch your shoulder. Occassional flecks of spit leapt across from full lips. Put all this on top of a chicken neck, narrow shoulders, wide hips clad in the ugliest and most old fashioned shorts his mother could have found, skinny white legs and you can see the attraction.

After a few minutes I managed to escape and later I was told about him. He was a full 18 months older than most of the rest of the class, which made him close to 19. He'd been kept back a year in primary school, being slightly younger then, and this year was repeating his final year at secondary school as he had not matriculated last attempt. He was still bottom of the class.

His parents ran a furniture shop "The Home of Chrome", that was next door to the biggest cinema in town. They belonged to some odd sect and never let Bert out of their sight except to go to school. Bert had never been to the pictures. He was the only one in the class driven to school and picked up afterward, though his home was little more than a mile from the school.

The end of the final year came, I matriculated pretty well, nothing brilliant but more than adequate. Somebody told me that Bert had failed again and was now studying with a crammer. I flunked first year at university, got a bank job then a rather well paid laboratory job, all board and lodging heavily subsidised. I saved heaps of money since I didn't drink much and stopped gambling after a bad bet on a horse. Bastard totalisators.

Five years later I enrolled for a chemistry degree at a polytechnic as a mature age student. Start of fourth semester I walked around a corner and there was Bert coming the other way. He was wearing the school blazer, a maroon-red affair with the school crest on the pocket. Shit. I quickly selected reverse. But it did no good. Bert had transferred from another polytechnic to mine and was in my lecture group. Aw, strewth, not him again.

In six years he had just managed to matriculate, had been to three different tertiary instutions, been kicked out of all three for gross failure and had just managed to complete a first year and a half of a chemistry degree, picking up bare passes here and there. When the women saw him they quickly disappeared, so most of the blokes tried to as well.

He failed a trial examination and showed me his examination paper, asking what I thought was wrong with it. It was written with a beautiful copperplate hand. His answer was better than mine for that question. But he only answered two of eight questions. Got good marks on them though. I advised him to write rather more quickly and if short of time, put his answers in note form, not to try to write an essay. That would show that he knew the stuff, which he probably did. It must have made some impression because he made it into third year.

A few of us lived along the same suburban rail line. So did Bert. If I stayed working after lectures in the library or lab, he would magically appear as I stepped out and walk to the station with me, or one of the other few. We all noticed he just appeared from nowhere. One warm Friday afternoon a few of us were passing the student's pub with Bert in tow. Someone suggested a couple of coldies. "Did you want one, Bert" Er, yes, he did. We had maybe three or four and called it a day.

Funny thing was that he never made a point of tagging along after that. Sure, sometimes you'd meet him on the way but there was no desperation about it. Maybe he decided he'd been accepted.

I graduated, got a lab job out of town with a company with several labs around the country including one in the town where the old boading school was. Three years later I was back there on a special temporary job. Consultant, I was. Ha!

Then Ronnie, one of the assistants asked me if I knew Bert. Well, yes, I did. They had given him a job in the lab once, he had lasted one day. One day! She had lived next door to him as a child and was just a year or two younger. He was not allowed to speak to her, for she was Roman Catholic. She never saw any other children in his yard, and he was barely allowed out of the house. Every few minutes after getting out of the house his mother would be calling him. He was driven to school all his school days and picked up and driven home. In those days that was all but unheard of.

That was all long ago. I occasionally wonder what became of the poor bastard. A social disaster and unemployable to boot.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 11:15, 6 replies)
modern protective parenting?
my mum regularly checks my facebook page ever since she got an account.

so far she's called me up on a few pictures specifically the ones where i'm passed out in our washing basket, taken while she was on holiday.

my status comments are interesting especially if they contain bad language.
"dont be using words like that young lady you're a little girl"

i'm 19.... at this rate she'll be calling me a teenager when i'm 40.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 10:32, 5 replies)
Food Police
Short and sweet. My mum used to leave 'post it' note instructions telling me what i was eating that day and how to prepare it. To avoid mess this was normally Pot Noodle and Microchips. My friends used to joke about how we lived in the shed and only came out when we had guest, to keep the house tidy.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 8:29, Reply)
my parents abandoned me when I was quite young.
As a result I tend to retreat into my shell whenever things get a bit dangerous.

Mind you, I am a turtle.
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 8:12, Reply)
this woman is still breastfeeding her 8yr old.. i ask you.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxv6R9fUO74
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 3:32, 14 replies)
Quite the opposite
When I was a nipper, I refused to get ready for school repeatedly. So mother dearest marched me into the headteacher's office for a right ruddy rollocking. At the age of six. Lots of tears. Cheers!
(, Sat 12 Sep 2009, 2:05, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1