Strict Parents
My Mum was under the impression that the word 'fart' was a swear word in the same ultra-rude catergory as 'shit', 'fuck' and 'cunt'. So when my brother brought a Puffin book club magazine home from school, and she read a Q&A page with the query 'Is it true that beans make you fart?' she contacted the school. I still recall my parents at the table discussing it, with my Dad saying 'Well, I've read through the rest of the magazine and there's nothing else as rude in there...'
(Fuiru Sting, where is thy death?, Sun 11 Mar 2007, 1:01, Reply)

In 1984...
... Dad bought a fancy new Amstrad CPC464.

"Yay! Can we get some games for it, Dad?"

"Not till you've learnt to program it."

I was 9 years old, but desperate for games as I was, I did.

Made a pretty good career out of that too. Cheers Dad!
( teedyay, Sun 11 Mar 2007, 0:50, Reply)

My mate Toby
wasn't allowed to wear long trousers. Ever.

We all felt sorry for him, wearing shorts in winter, but he a put a brave face on it and claimed he didn't mind.

His dad was also the Akela of our Cub Scout group. He (Akela, not Toby) later got 20 years for paedophilia.

Funny old world...
( teedyay, Sun 11 Mar 2007, 0:33, Reply)

strict psycho mother
i have a mother who won't let me go out after 6pm. she doesn't allow me to grow my hair. she doesn't cook for me. she takes the food i cook away from me. she argues with me about petty things and then locks me out of my bedroom. she hits me with her rubber slippers. she used to hit me with the hangers but stopped because they broke after the beatings. she takes my salary from my bank savings. she pulled a knife out at me. she tried to stranggle me once. she sometimes threatens to kick me out of the house.

(this was all before i turned 18. 19 at the moment.. once i'm done with uni, i'm getting the hell out of that house. ><)
(kodomo_ja_nai fuck it, Sun 11 Mar 2007, 0:25, Reply)

When our group of mates were organising a holiday together (aged 19) ...
... and we were sorting out what food supplies to buy, Rachael's mum told us not to get those new squeezy bottles of ketchup, cos you have to break the foil seal at the top, and a bit might fall in and then you'd choke on it.
( teedyay, Sun 11 Mar 2007, 0:19, Reply)

Banned from watching...
...no, not Grange Hill, like some of my friends were. Not The Young Ones either (cheesy Cliff film OR right-on 80s comedy - both OK). But definitely banned from watching Rentaghost, because it was, apparently, 'An insult to the intelligence.' The mere sight of Timothy Claypole would send Mum into a rage.

This was the simplest ban in history - neither my brother nor I wanted to watch it anyway. But Mum was making her point.
( thealternativefact, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 23:18, Reply)

Rough Childhood
I had a crap childhood. I was raised in Las Vegas where both my parents were blackjack dealers. They used to hit me until I was 17.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 22:39, Reply)

I would like to say
that my folks beat me regulary with an iron bar, wouldn't let me leave the house and that I was even home tutored. I only made my escape out of an opened window at the age of 16 and made free into the world.

But in reality I had the most lenient and ace parents on the planet! my brothers and I could do pretty much what we wanted when we wanted to!!!! Brilliant
strangely though, i'm rather strict with my son hmmmmmmmm

length and girth? i'm still waiting on that
(kellogg going slowly insane, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 21:58, Reply)

Anti strictness.
I am appalled by all the things that have happened to you people.

I always got to do what I liked.
I could watch any channel, do anything and wear whatever i wanted. (my mother even organized a petition to let all the kids at my school wear what they wanted.)
My parents were ok with drugs and sex and even said that it was ok to do either as long as i "didn't do anything stupid".
I was also asked if I would like to sneak into Glastonbury with my uncle once.

Now after reading all of the other answers I'm not sure if my parents cared about me at all.
( DR Mexico Hunt, Hunt, Hunt, He's The Huntsman!!, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 21:21, Reply)

The good ol days weren't always good...
I had no problems with my real parents except for them trying to make me eat brussels sprouts, asparagus and cauliflower in my pre-school days(I hate that crap to this day...the first two taste like barf and the last smells like baby shit).

Enter the stepmother at the tender age of 10 and over the next two years all hell breaks loose. First, it was my hair. I wasn't allowed to have it long because she thought I didn't brush it well enough. Puberty was a death sentence because all of a sudden I was the Scarlet Woman not allowed to wear makeup, tight clothes or go out with boys she didn't approve of...which usually meant anybody who wasn't the nice, boring guy next door, Beaver Cleaver types. Bed curfew till my mid teens was 8 pm on weekdays, 9 pm on weekends. She'd kick me under the table for even slightly clanging my teeth against my fork or spoon when I was eating. She'd forbid me to wear modern trendy hairstyles and try to do up my hair the way it was popular in the 60s, in her generation. This was in the 80s. No feathered hair or long sweeping waves for me. It was either macaroni rolls or a bouffant. Mind you, this wasn't an every day humiliation, but way too often for me to establish a reputation of coolness. Every time she'd finish came the warning, "don't touch that hair or I'll blister your butt!" Typical redneck woman trying to fit into our middle income, well educated family. Why my dad picked her I don't know. Funny how we actually get along now. In grade school, I'd be forced to spend days or a week with her slovenly redneck relatives with their fatass brats in small podunk towns , and then get my radio privilges taken away because I was uncommunicative and withdrawn while I was there. Well, I never asked to go there I was forced, so what did they expect? It was like going to visit the Beverly Hillbillies, which I was sure was some of their relatives. Ignorant, dirty arses, all of them. Same thing for Girl Scout camp between the ages of 10 and 12. I wasn't an outdoor girl till my late teens and I'd have to spend two weeks of torture being thrown in glacier cold lakes, forced days long hikes into the boonies with girls that hung my underwear on trees, and apathetic counselors who were only nice to their "favorites". Of course I love all that camping stuff now, but as a kid it was hell. Thank God we didn't have cell phones back then or my stepmom would have been constantly calling me whenever I left the house, and grill me when I got home if I didn't answer. Every time any of the three kids(usually me) did something she didn't like, we got swatted by a big board that always sat on the fridge. This thing was shiny with the sweat from our behinds, it was used so much. I once got spanked repeatedly(bent over grabbing my ankles for some reason, like that's supposed to hurt more...I think my stepmom was just a sadistic pervert) when she went into my room and saw a scrapbook I'd made with pictures of outfits I wanted to wear. This was a punishable crime to her, because the dresses and outfits were all sexy, stuff I wasn't allowed to wear under any circumstances except when snuck tube tops and tight jeans into school to change in secret. Oh yeah, and they didn't like my music because it wasn't country or easy listening, which was all they listened to. My life was threatened on almost a daily basis. I had no privacy and had to get creative to get it. I never smoked, drank or did drugs or got pregnant yet she still thought I was the devil's daughter because of my "wordly" music, spending too much time alone in my room and sneaking away from the house. My dad was mostly easygoing and only disiplined me when it was called for, in other words, when it made sense. When I actually did something WRONG. Even then, he never hit me like stepmom did. He really pissed me off sometimes, because he only stood up to her sporadically. I moved out when I was 16 and went to live with one of my brothers. Wish I'd done it sooner...
(moonfire38, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 19:06, Reply)

Errrrm
Sorry. Not really answering the question but I need to share. My mother just used the phrase 'That's the last time I buy black pudding from the Co-op. It tastes like semen!".

I suddenly need to drink bleach. Is that strict enough for you?
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sat 10 Mar 2007, 18:45, Reply)

Judy Blume
Despite buying me "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret" so she didn't have to explain periods to me, my mother banned me from reading ALL other Judy Blume books. Especially "Forever", the one where they have sex. By the time I thought I could get away with reading it I was away at uni and thought it would be a bit sad for a 19-year-old woman to be reading Judy Blume. I've still never read it.

Mum also banned me and my brother from watching ITV children's shows. Except "Knightmare". She liked it, so we got to watch it.
(Mrs Lawofnations, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 18:32, Reply)

Viz & Porn
When I was going through the latter stages of the worst of the troublesome teens, I naturally enough had my porn stash found. In disgust, my mother tried to turn me to more informative methods of learning about the birds & bees. It was an hilarious book, entitled Boy, Girl, Man, Woman, and it was lame as hell. Never really learned much from it, though my mate Dave once walked all the way back from Sighthill to read it, as he though he might have got his girlfried pregnant. Once however, my parents discovered another stash. Less well hidden, as it was just a crazy comic, even though it did have lots of swearing. Don't think I had issue one, but definitely 2 onwards, and it was only at issue 12 or 13. So, came home from school, and there, in a pile on my bed, torn into shreds was almost a full set of Viz comics. At the time they claimed it was filthy and degenerative, mostly valid points to be honest. Now when I mention it, and how much it would have been worth, they don't recall it. Bastards. Mind you, I wasn't allowed to watch Minder as it was common.
( normix, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 17:46, Reply)

The ITV thing!
My kids had mates who were not allowed to watch ITV. At my place, of course, they could watch whatever they wanted, as long as everyone agreed. I have a lovely unposed photo of the 4 of them, aged 5-7, lying on the lounge floor glued to the telly, watching some vulgar American cartoon.

Another family didn't have a TV at all, and their kids used to watch ours with great enjoyment.

I'm sure both sets of parents would have liked to impose their rules on me but I was far too scary.

I gave them cheap fish fingers and tinned spaghetti too. I was the Antichrist.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 17:25, Reply)

"Dead in a ditch!"
Mum's always convinced that I'm dead/horribly injured somewhere if I'm so much as 10 minutes late. Hence many evenings of missing the train or going to the library after school and coming home to find she's out in the car looking for me.

She still does this when I'm at home now, even though I'm 26, don't live there anymore and I can quite happily tell her stories about about being stuck in Trafalgar Square at 2am, as long as it's *already happened*.

Unfortunately all this fretting has given her pretty serious sleep issues, and she's always wide awake before dawn now. So when she realised her car was blocking the drive at 4.15am she thought nothing about slipping out in her dressing gown to move it.

Sadly the week beforehand I'd made a slightly-too-subtle joke to our neighbour that she might be 'losing it a bit'. Cue her neighbour putting his arm round her and saying 'let's get you back home dear'. She nearly killed me for that!

On the bright side, they're always bringing her food...
(presenttense, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 16:43, Reply)

I used to know a girl
whose stepmother once took away her house key for eating a yoghurt from the fridge. What was so forbidden about this yoghurt I can't remember, but the woman took great offence to her stepdaughter eating it. There was another story, I think involving the stepmother taking things from the girls bathroom, despite having a seperate one of her own, but I can't really remember that.

Haven't really had much trouble with my folks being strict, mainly as my dad is the most laid back parent I know and with my mum and grandparents (who I lived with after my parents split up) I simply learned not to let them discover things that they would disagree with.

Most of my grandparents strictness could be put down to the fact that they still seem to think things are the same as they were when my mum and aunts were growing up. To this day, they still haven't quite got their heads round the idea of a spontaneous night out, and always need to know exactly what my mates and I are going to be up to, despite the fact that half the time we haven't even decided ourselves.

Still, having read some of these stories, I can hardly complain. At least my family let me have my own televison and go round other people's houses. Still, I am a bit annoyed at how easy my young cousins have it from my grandmother compared to me. When I was their age if I didn't eat all my dinner I'd be threatened by a smack with a wooden spoon and being sent to finish it in the garden. And I certainly wouldn't have been allowed ice cream if even a bit of food was left on my plate. "There's starving children in Africa that would love to have this food!" I remember once at the ageof about 7 I replied "Well why don't you box it up and send it to them then? I won't mind." The wooden spoon made an appearance that night, I can tell you.
(Uncle Comrade, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 15:56, Reply)

Not really as a kid, but...
I'm nicely pissed off with life at the moment, so please excuse excess venom. (If you get any on you, use a damp cloth *straight away*!)

Anyhow - Mrs. God and I tied the knot a few weeks ago. Due to both sets of parents being split up and not speaking, my brother being away, hers being... well, not around, and so on, we decided to slope off and do it on the quiet. And so we duly sloped off to a handy Registry Office, and did the deed.

Now all nicely married and stuff, we began phoning round family and friends. Hers all went well, with extreme disbelief the worst reaction she had. I phone my Mom. Oh dear. I'm not going to describe her reaction, but please feel free to arrange the words "staring", "stark", and "batshit" into a well-known phrase or saying.

As best I could make out, I shouldn't have done that. Apparently I'll be carjacked and stabbed to death in that radioactive wasteland up North (Birmingham) whilst touring the country collecting kids off assorted slags (err, where did *that* come from?).

She didn't congratulate us then, and hasn't since.

She did text a couple of weeks later, saying that she's "put aside her feelings of rejection". Note, that's not "got over", or "dismissed", that's "put aside" as in "in case they're useful later on.

So, despite being in my mid 30s*, previously married, and generally quite responsible, I'm not allowed to get married. Right you are then. Let me know when your favourite son produces an heir.

(* That's "mid 30s" as in "late 30s" :( )
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 15:38, Reply)

Banned from scatter cushions...
Being much younger than my brothers (they all left home when I was 5) meant that I had to play on my own. One day when I was about 7, I was pretending to be a cat, creeping around the house, stalking imaginary prey. I finally pounced, killed and ate my imaginary rat (i.e. jumped on and wrestled with a cushion then stuffed it under my jumper). I then went to sit in front of the electric fire for a sleep (still in cat-mode). My mother came in to the lounge, saw me lying on the floor and went ballistic. Shaking all over; her red face inches from mine, 'You're pretending to have a baby aren't you. You're giving birth aren't you. Give me that cushion; give me that cushion; don't you dare play this again. You are not having cushions again'(slap). Despite protesting that I was pretending to be a cat. I was not allowed near a cushion for a long, long time.
( pottybeaver is neither a potty nor a beaver, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 14:40, Reply)

Banned from lunch
When I was about 13, I was friends with a girl who was quite smart and taking several advanced classes, including a math class at the nearby high school. One day she was sitting at my lunch table, and I realised that she hadn't hadp any lunch for the past week, so I asked if she'd forgotten it.

"Oh, no," she said. "I got a B+ in English last quarter, so my parents are taking away lunch."

We lost touch when we went to different high schools, so I never found out what her parents would have done to her if she ever failed a class. However, it definitely makes me grateful that I have nice, normal parents, rather than psychotic overachieving ones who starve their kids if they don't get good grades.
(generic hybrid, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 14:40, Reply)

Unfortunatly
my mum suffers from MPD, meaning while she was very strict, she was in no way consistant. My dad was wonderful, and his only rule was "be honest". He was ok with us going out and doing what we like, as long as we talked to him about it. My mum on the other hand, once had a screaming fit at me for having an asthma attack, and insisted on sending me to school with cheese sandwiches, dispite the fact i'm life threataningly alergic to dairy, and would check with a dinner lady she knew that i had eaten them... if not, she'd force feed them to me, then scream at me for being lazy when i stopped breathing... fortunatly, by this age (5) I knew how to treat it myself. My mums so very very nuts

Sorry for the length
(becca_kitten Is odd at best, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 12:45, Reply)

Knives, Big Fack Off Pointy Ones . . .
Being brought up on the outskirts of the M25, by the age of six/seven, I had nurtured an unhealthy fascination with knives and swords. This was aided by my grandad and dads' collections, watching Robin Hood, Dogtanian and the muskerhounds and the cub scouts. My mum however did not like me having access to such sharp, pointy items. I was banned from touching the collections of shiny knives my grandad had collected from around the world. I remember being bought a Rambo themed action adventure playset whilst out on a shopping trip. You can find these things on the carousel in post offices or seaside novelty shops up and down the country. It was harmless, it contained a plastic colt .45, a blow moulded plastic walkie talkie, a blow moulded plastic grenade, a compass, a whistle and a life size, plastic, replica Rambo knife. Even though the Colt .45 was obviously a way of alerting a childs mind to warfare and killing it was the plastic knife that worried my mum. Before I had even taken the plastic instruments of death out of the packaging my mum asked for the knife.

"No, you can't keep it, you might stab someone, give it here!" She said.

"It's made out of bendy plastic, it hasn't got any sharp edges, why can't I keep it?" I grumbled.

"You'll poke someones' eye out!" was the retort.

The knife was confiscated, but like an elephant, I never forgot that day. Fast forward, five years later, aged twelve, and I was salivating over the Argos catalogue. Yes, the pages showing ladies demonstrating showers and workout equipment held my fancy, but it was the Victornox Swiss Army Knife that held my attention. I saved up for weeks, went and got the knife and brought it home. I played with it for a short while up in my room and noticed how wonderfully sharp, a fresh Victornox blade really is. I decided that I didn't want to keep it a secret and went downstairs to proudly state to my mum that, I now owned my own extremely sharp, pointy knife and there was nothing she could do about it.

"You'd best give it to me 42, you'll stab someone, or take out someones' eye." came her reply.

"Ha, not this time, I'm 12 now, I'm carefull, I'm mature enough to own a knife, I'm keeping it!"

About an hour later I was in the garden, whitleing a piece of wood, when I slipped and lopped the tip off my thumb, clean off. There was blood everywhere, I hid the wound, but it wouldn't stop bleeding. I owned up, I handed the knife over, my thumb healed. To this day, I still blame my mum. Oh sure, she was right, but if she had not confiscated that plastic knife in the first instance, making them seem dangerous, out of bounds and therefore more desireable, I wouldn't of hidden my knife fascination away, so at least I could have been supervised and safe! Ungrateful little sod, that's what my mum calls me!



length - well I lopped the tip off, so about 4 millimetres less than the original.
( 42 Loves Teh Funphenschnaffles, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 12:37, Reply)

Crazy misconceptions of drug use
When I was about 13 my mum found a lighter in my trousers while doing the laundry. She confronted me about it, and I decided to be honest and tell her that I smoked. She refused to believe me and developed an instant paranoia that I was abusing solvents. When I tried to explain to her that you cant get high off a lighter, you need a whole can of gas, this just convinced her that of course I wouldnt know this if I wasnt tooting gas every day....

For the next two years I wasnt allowed any money unless I told my parents what it was for and provided receipts afterwards. I had to quit my paper round cause theyd convinced the shop owner to give my pay to them.

This went on until one day my ultra paranoid mum followed me on my way to school and caught me lighting a fag.

"I didnt know you smoked" she exclaimed. "Im very disappointed in you". Id been trying to tell them this for years....

The irony is that I started tooting gas shortly after that experience and she had no idea.

*Safety warning: dont toot gas. Its bad.
(prescottspies eating pies to save the nation, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 11:46, Reply)

I know this is in the wrong section, but I got interupted last week...
Dangerous Dogs Act ...appallingly

When I was courting the now good lady wife, I decided it would be a good idea to demonstrate my cooking skills. So in time honoured fashion I rustled up a classic spag bol and entertained the mildly impressed girlfriend in my mother's kitchen. After the last of the Chianti had been drunk we disappeared upstairs for afters so to speak, leaving my mum's Staffordshire bull terrier with the dirty dishes.

The next day, my mum returned home from her morning shift to a scene of horror awaiting her in the kitchen. The dog was cowering in the corner and the walls, the kitchen units, even the artexed ceiling had been sprayed with stinking dog shit. It appeared that the hungry animal had managed to knock the pan of left-over meat sauce off the stove and scoffed the lot. Unfortunately he suffered a bad reaction to my rich Italian cuisine and while I was otherwise engaged upstairs he was unable to contain himself. The poor dog must have done a somersault at some stage during the rapid evacuation of his bowels?

It still gets mentioned on family occasions and my wife still blushes, bless.
(minky, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 11:44, Reply)

Mates Uncle...
...got banned from driving, then got caught driving while banned thus having to make an appearence in court....then drove to court!!!
(misses the point of the question but just thought it was funny!)
(dudley Laughing at other peoples misfortune since, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 11:30, Reply)

My Nan's next door neighboor
who still lives with his mom (aged 38), had mice in there house, he was scared to the point that he decided to spend the night, IN BED with his mom! he banned him-slef from sleeping in his own bed.....his mom then died.
(dudley Laughing at other peoples misfortune since, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 11:29, Reply)

de nile is a river in egypt
its funny how a few years later they always deny all knowledge of it or "dont remember" things. the number of times i've heard the old "i never said that" even when backed up by my brothers and on one occasion a friend and a note my mum signed. she still denied it.
(suboftheday, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 11:04, Reply)

They feck you up, your mum and dad
When I was younger, my parents wouldn't let me wear any low-cut tops, miniskirts, heels, makeup or even decent lingerie.

Then again, looking around, the community where I grew up was quite strict. None of the other parents would let their nine year old boys dress in women's clothes either.
(mochyn, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 10:08, Reply)

Didn't do my homework for a while,
so as a punishment, my dad banned me from reading any books. Wasn't even allowed to go into the school library. This went on for a few months, until he forgot about it and I was behind in all my classes. Due to not being able to read my textbooks, and therefore not able to do my homework.
(EasilyRecognisable I’m back baby, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 9:44, Reply)

OK, I'm going to do the obligatory rant...
...before someone beats me to it.

I was trying to think of some stuff that I could post, but my parents are genuinely messed-up people and most of what I could come up with would merely be disturbing and not in the spirit of the board at all (though I promise to think of some actually funny stuff and post it later).

That being said, some of these little twunts whining about not being allowed to do stuff 'under their roof' even though they are 'twenty something' 'work full-time' 'have graduated uni', whatever...THERE IS A REASON FOR ALL OF THIS.

I wouldn't want to be woken up by my precious little sprogs rooting like jackhammers in MY house. To the little bastard who SWORE at his MUM on CHRISTMAS DAY because she wouldn't let him play his precious friggin video game, your behaviour is unbecoming to a guest, and a loving son anyway, whatever the content of those games. I'd be pissed off if I slaved over a hot friggin stove and spent weeks choosing pressies for you so that you could piss away a family event in front of a flickering computer screen. Stating your age only hammers home how ungrateful and immature you are.

To the 26 year old girl whose parents won't let her keep stuff in the fridge, given that you haven't come up with any other hilarious anecdotes about their CRAZY behaviour, they're probably trying to GET YOU THE HELL OUT OF THEIR HOME at your RIPE OLD AGE so that they can actually enjoy some peace, quiet and privacy for the first time since they were wiping your crappy little arse five times a day and waking at 3am to feed you. That was 26 years ago by your own admission. Take the hint!

I'm 21 years old by the way. I moved out 3 days after my 16th birthday and put myself through my final year of highschool and all of uni. Even then, my mum was DRIVING PAST MY HOUSE to get to Christmas when I was 18 and I asked for a lift as public transport halfway across the city on a public holiday (with all of my lovely baked goods) would have been a big hassle....she demanded petrol money in cash as soon as I got in the car.

*wanders off muttering about spoiled brats and awaits the flaming sure to ensue*
(Angie the Redneck Wonder, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 7:02, Reply)

Try this.
Due to a strange set of unforseeable circumstances, Mr. Herbivorous and myself needed to stay at my mum's house for a month or so while we found a new place. I am 29, he is several years older. We are engaged, and plan to marry within a year. We have also been together for over four years.

Mum made us sleep in SEPARATE BEDROOMS the entire time.

Bless her. I love her, but really. We'd lived together for two years before this. But no. Separate bedrooms until the Magic Rings have been exchanged.

That's pretty damn strict.
(herbivorous, Sat 10 Mar 2007, 5:39, Reply)