Favouritism



Not my family but a FOF.


His mother was an absolute bitch of a champion shit-stirrer who spent decades waging psychological warfare against her husband and three sons.

The eldest (FOF) fucked off as soon as he could and his job as an IT troubleshooter meant he was away from home a lot with little contact with the rest of his family. His brothers though stayed at home while his dad split the scene and moved in with his 'fancy woman'.

His mother was diagnosed with cancer and, as is the case, became more at peace with her family and the world at large (sound of needle being dragged across record) not a bit of it. She spent her last few months on earth going into overdrive in a bid to set everybody against one another.

When she finally died, the FOF came home for the funeral. At the wake, he went to the toilet and returned to find his two brothers in the middle of the room punching the shit out of each other. They were each shouting "She loved me more!" and "I'm the one who's getting most of her money!" On being separated, it turned out that their mother had told both of them the exact same "You're my favourite and you'll get most of the money" but told them not to tell the other.

After all that, she'd made a last minute amendment to her will leaving everything to the hospice where she received her final care. The rest of the family got nothing out of it.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 16:07, Reply)

DEAD SHIT HEAVEN
A roasted pea:

When I was a young lass, then as now I enjoyed indolence, procrastination and lying around on my bed a lot (little has changed in 20 years). Our house was in the process of being built, complete enough to live in but without essential trimmings such as paint. One day in exasperation at my utter uselessness my dad grabbed a tin of poo brown paint and wrote in huge letters on my bedroom door:

DEAD SHIT HEAVEN
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 16:03, Reply)

definite favouritism.
It wasn't until my brother left home that I noticed how much my parents adore him. Whenever he came down to stay they would never let him do any work, leaving it all to me - his younger sister, and comment on how he was "such a lovely boy".

Don't get me wrong, me and my brother are really close and I respect him, but this favouritism came as a shock because the previous year my parents chucked my brother out of the house and seemed quite happy he was gone.

nowadays, when my brother isn't here, when i'm asked to do something and my dad offers to help, my mum says loudly "no sean! let Jessy do it! she can do it fine!". To my disgust. Also, appreciation of my coursework is at an all time low and my parents ignore me as much as possible.

This may not seem too bad, but I have a strange feeling that this treatment is going to screw me up for a long time.
(ladyflash Formally known as "oshi_", Sat 18 Aug 2007, 14:48, Reply)

That's no fairytale, that's my life!


An ex girlfriend of mine, C, when we were still in our teens, got the full-on 'Cinderella Treatment'.


On her 17th birthday, her parents sat her down and kindly explained that she was adopted. She wasn't even properly adopted, as her birth mother belonged to one of the local grandee families, that her adoptive mother worked for as a skivvy. Having a child out of wedlock in Ireland in the 1960's was about as taboo as you could get. So, the whole thing was hushed up, the baby handed over, a payment or two made and that was it. The family's influence ensured that no awkward questions were asked. Because of the 'under the counter' method of adoption, C had no way to legally find out who her birth mother was. Her foster mother refused to tell, her hen-pecked husband was too afraid to give out the info and died a couple of years later without doing so. All she ever got was "Oh, your real mother is a very grand lady, well-known to the community at large and married to a successful businessman."

Prior to this revelation, C had been treated like a skivvy, at the beck and call of her two older 'sisters' and her mother. The parents gave all their savings to the eldest so that she could start her own hairdressing business and remortgaged their house so that the next sister could buy her own house. All this time C was told "Well, there's no point in looking out for your future as that will be one of looking after your parents for the rest of our lives." Despite being very bright, she was encouraged to skip school at every opportunity and not to take exams/qualifications too seriously as "There was no point was there?"

C had enough of this and left home before her 18th birthday. Her mother, in an attempt to get the police to take more interest, claimed that C had robbed the eldest sister's weekly takings as well as a pile of cash from the parents. I was dragged into it as well and accused of having plotted the 'robbery' as "C is too stupid to think up this sort of thing by herself" and ended up having to give a statement under caution at the police station. It came as a complete shock to me as she'd always praised me as being a good influence on C and her husband and I would chat away merrily for hours at a stretch.

Eventually, C was tracked down to London and the 'robbery' was shown to be a load of cobblers. Unfortunately, the stress of the whole thing gave her foster dad a severe heart attack. He was very ill for a couple of months before a second seizure killed him. About a fortnight after the funeral, C got a postcard from her mother "Your father is dead of a heart attack and is already buried. Everybody blames you. P.S. Don't contact us ever again." I was in London myself by that time and read the postcard for myself.

C and I lost touch around the early 1990's so I don't know if she ever got back in touch with her family.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 14:13, Reply)

Bad Parent
My Father did not like me as a Teenager.

Looking back at my teenage years i can see why!!

I was a Horrible teenager, (Which probably explains the fact that i have never had children although i do have a stepson).

I was Dirty,Untidy,Rude,Rode a Motorbike and thought I was it, Oh and a teenage drink Problem !!!!(Thanks to the Scouts But that is another story )

One night I was going out on my motorbike and as per usual he had a message for me............"Take your f.....g Bike up the Motorway and kill yourself !!!!!!!!!".

At that Point I snapped, Dragged him out of his chair, Pinned him up against the wall and told him his fortune !!!!!!!

My Mother, as far as I can remember, did not do or say anything !!!!!!!!

Back to my Father, When my sister was born I was sent to live with His Mum , My Nan, While my mother went through a Homebirth!!!!!

She gave me a severe bout of Food poisoning from using rancid Butter !!!

I was more upset when i lost My Cat to a Vets negligence than when my Father died !!!!!
(pir881, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 14:03, Reply)

What a tool
My dad once tried to score some weed off me. Nothing wrong with that, except that in doing so he used the phrase "jazz cigarette" with a straight face. What a tool.
(zauron, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 13:45, Reply)

Defending yourself
I'll try to keep this short 'cos you've read a lot already and I can't be bothered with details when this may not even get read.

So I started school age 5, made some friends and all was going well. Fast forward a couple of years and my parents decided I should go to a catholic school. All the friendships I had forged were gone and I was alone in a new school surrounded by people I didn't know. I was an easy target and the bullies knew it. The bullying started and I was instantly avoided so making new friends nearly impossible.

Forcing me to move schools was not the worst part though, it was the fact my dad was quite under the thumb and so I was more under my mothers control, which meant I never learnt how to defend myself. "Just ignore the bullies and they'll go away" they said, they still haven't learnt the lesson. I was harrassed and was always the butt of jokes almost non-stop for around ten years until I quit full-time education. I still find it hard to know if a person is just making a joke.

Now in my 30's, never having passed an exam, or had a job or relationship that lasted due to being too nice, I'm still trying to correct the problems. They still reminisce over being the cute five year old before they fucked me up.

A WARNING to all parents: if you fail to teach your kids from an early age how to fight back against bullies, then you may consign them to a lifetime of therapy.
(ianonline, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 13:41, Reply)

My Dad
I'm sure my Mom would say that my Dad was a terrible parent, but he was brill! He just had to wait until she was out, and then...

He didn't want me injuring myself with... wait for it... explosives, so he taught me and my brother how to make explosives safely! By the time secondary school rolled around, I was teaching the other kids how to do this, and earned some props for that.

He wanted to make model airplanes once, so we did, and we flew them around the back garden. Then it rained. So we made smaller planes, to fly indoors, but there wasn't room. So we emptied the front room and flew them in there. My Mom thought we'd been burgled!

He regularly gave my brother and I unsuitable power tools. I think it was twice we ended up at Casualty, with my bro (never me) dripping blood.

When my Mom told him he should take us two and do something exciting out-doors, he taught us to drive!

He's calmed down a little now, but not much. He's now an archery coach, so he's teaching my son to use weapons. He's a star!

(Unfortunately, he also taught me to answer QOTW questions all wrong, which is why the above doesn't fit! Sorry, all)
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 13:28, Reply)

Where's mum?!

When I was younger, if I ever asked my dad where my mum was, he would ALWAYS reply "she's run off with a black man"

I now live with a black man.


The power of suggestion!!!
(clusterfuck detesting 'length' jokes since, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 13:05, Reply)

short-sighted
My main memories of my parents are all related to short-sightedness. I don't mean my eyesight, I mean their inability to look ahead and see the likely consequences of their actions.

For starters, it seemed as if they didn't know what to do with their kids. "OK, we wanted kids, and we have them... now what?" Their confusion translated in to "unavailability" in every sense of the word. My sister and I basically brought ourselves up, unless it was anything that cost them money, or some hare-brained interference.

They moved us to South Africa at a young age, without thinking about any long-term prospects, such as health or higher education. My mother smoked a lot, which caught up with her just before I turned 13. My dad remarried, 18 months later, to a woman wih 4 kids of her own... and shipped the lot of them out to South Africa.

So now we have a family of 8, so poor we had underwear on store credit, in a country with no welfare system, and no subsidised higher education. We all finished school and went to work.

The Larkinesque effect on me is real: they've turned me in to an inflexible planning Nazi. I see short-sightedness everywhere I look: at work, in life, when I watch the news. Iraq War? Check: you broke it, you bought it. Subprime mortgage? Whaddya mean, you didn't expect interest rates to rise?

Now, 20+ years later, I'm about to stop work, go to university and study Engineering, after too many years in reactive IT support. Took me far too long to realise why I was so pissed-off at all these customers who called us to fix their cockups, almost all of which can be traced back to a lack of ... you guessed it ... foresight. The designers of the product didn't think about how it would be used in the real world. The customers who bought it didn't consider the effect on the rest of their systems. The support managers didn't plan to have people on the phones, who knew the product, to answer the calls that came in. Argh! Think it through, will you?

Length? Think of the children...
( bnt what, me worry?, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 12:52, Reply)

not actually my parents but...
i remember when i was little i was on one of those shitty little trains that are in family parks and i saw a kid grab a tenner from the floor. the parents who had been completely ignoring there kids turned round grabbed it and said they would buy some fags with it. the kid creid, they laughed.
(theonetheycallalex YAY!, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 12:39, Reply)

Rabbit abuse
When I was 5 or 6 I was on a family day out to a local castle. Apparently without provocation and with what I perceived to be a murderous look in his eyes, my dad lunged off the path and callously beat a rabbit to death with a big stick. I was mortified.

Looking back, a third party would have noticed that the rabbit had been mortally injured by a fox (or something) and that this was actually a very humane act. I still think he's a closet psycho.
(zauron, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 12:23, Reply)

Jeus Christ
After reading the stories on here I'm going to do two things. I'm going to give my Mum and Dad a hug. Then I'm going to start saving for a vasectomy.
(Big D, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 10:42, Reply)

My parents weren't as such bad at all, they were just always very open
It was great, I had the licence to go get pissed, so long as they didn't have to help me.

"If you have sex, make sure she doesn't get pregnant" was an oft-used phrase as I headed out into the night.

However, the best parts were when we all hung out at home together, cos then we would all sit down, my dad would roll some fat spliffs from our private garden, we'd sit around drinking, getting utterly baked, and doing a few lines of the old charlie, whilst probably watching some channel 4 comedy, or listening to drum'n'bass.

Plus, when we went out with their friends, (who are all now my only friends, 20-somethings wear on me) we would all heckle pub bands, get trashed, then go back to someones house and smoke even more spliffs!

All in all, I'd say I had it shitloads better than loads of those sad shut-in mummys boy kids.

Length? She took it all.
(fantomex, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 10:32, Reply)

my old boss helena
and her husband were having a crafty shag one morning thinking that their kids were asleep. as he was getting to the vinegar strokes, a sticky little hand grasped her foot and her 2 year old son, who had wandered in unnoticed at some point, cried out gleefully, "faster daddy, faster!"

god, talk about ruining the moment.

mind you, when he was a couple of months old, she was leaning over my desk at work to show me something and a very swollen, very full, very milky breastpad fell out of her bra and out of her blouse and landed wetly on my keyboard with a sickening splosh. drops of my boss' white breastmilk splashed all over my keys.

we looked at it for a moment, and then she pissed herself laughing and flatly refused to move it. bitch!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 10:02, Reply)

Or, I could tell you about the time they kicked me out at 16 and banned me from seeing my little sister ever again.

Or that they then got rid of everything I owned that I couldn't carry with me straight away.

Possibly the worst was the 'owning up times'

My step dad, a German blooded pathetic man, got his jollies from being horrible to us kids.

He's sit me and my bro down on the sofa and say, right, who was it then?

We didn't know what he meant (half the time I'm sure he made it all up anyway) we'd have to sit there until one of us owned up to something we didn't know about or possibly hadn't even been done.

I used to own up all the time just so we could get up 'cause otherwise we'd sit there until someone did, many times for hours at a time.

Like I say, I'd own up a lot just so I could have a wee but then he caught on, obviously as he knew nothing had been done wrong I was faking owning up so he's question us further about it to 'test' us.

Sorry Dad, it was me, I left my shoes in the hall?

Sorry Dad I didn't put my washing away?

Sorry Dad I didn't hang the towel straight?

Worst time had to me when I was 12 and my bro was 15, our little sister (stepdads child, she never had to do own up time) was 2.

He came into the front room actually rubbing his hands with glee, I knew what that meant, one of us had actually done something wrong.

Who was it then?

Who was what?

Who was it that SCRIBBLED ON THE WALL IN THE HALL?

Where?

Then he showed us.

It was scribbled crayon at around about toddler height.

I suggested it may have been sister and got a whack for it.

Sad, sad little man, you know the type, thin on top, wears glasses, has affairs and looks at GRANNY PORN, yes 'dad' that time you wanted me to fix the printer, I had a nosey. You disgust me.

Fucking hell I need therpy.
( diffy maybs, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 9:01, Reply)

Poor Math Skills
I was crap at math as a kid. My parents spent loads of money getting tutors and all that, but it didn't help. I was still crap at math, totally and utterly.

Then they had a brainwave and sent me to a Catholic school. My math improved beyond belief!

As soon as I saw that fellow nailed to the plus sign, I knew they weren't fucking about.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 8:33, Reply)

Okay it's a repost but I thought it'd look okay in here...
My parents were horrid, truly horrid. One example is when I had left school at 16 and before I started college in September I worked in a factory for an agency to get a bit of money, fair play to me as my parents would never give me any money.

Anyway, I started work at 2pm and finished at 10, getting home at about 10:30 - 10:45, being dropped off by the agency bus.

When I got in, I was hungry, grubby, needed the loo (being female I can't poo in a public toilet) and wanted to wind down before going to bed. My mother would never cook me a meal with the rest of the family and leave it for me to reheat, so I would come in and cook myself something, eat it in the front room (parents would be in bed by about 10) with the telly on really low watching Jerry Springer whilst running a bath, finish eating, tidy up what I'd used, put it away, turn off everything that needed turing off and go to the loo, get in the bath, go to bed. Sounds fairly tame doesn't it?

Well, like I say my parents are cunts and mum had a word with me one day about how she and dad could smell the food I was cooking at night so I had to stop cooking any dinner when I got in. I did so, tried toast, sandwiches, but got told they could hear me moving about in the kitchen, so in the end, I'd come home to find the kitchen door closed and I wasn't allowed to open it.

Then she said they could hear the telly (one night I didn't even put it on and read a book for a while in the front room instead but the next day she moaned the telly had kept them awake and I was no longer allowed to put it on) so I'd come home and find they had hidden the remote (couldnt turn telly on without it), so theres me, no food, no telly.

THEN, she takes me aside one day and explains as thier bedroom is next to the bathroom they could hear me run the bath and flush the loo, so could I not do either anymore, I explained that if I had a shit I couldnt exactly not flush it, so she just told me that I wasn't allowed to poo anymore when I got in, I promise this is all true. And not to have a bath either as they heard it being run and then emptied.

So basically when I got in, my only option was to go to bed (where I couldn't put the light on as I shared with my little sister and she'd wake up) and that was it.

My parents banned me from eating, watching tv, pooing and bathing.

A few months later she kicked me out, and 3 years ago I cut off all contact with them.
( diffy maybs, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 8:33, Reply)

Names, etc.
What about naming your kid 4real? No kidding. 4real. Idiots.

My parents haven't been that bad, thank God.
(GLC, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 7:38, Reply)

Fire!!!
I was sat home one night supping a can of beer and playing Fable on Xbox, when my mother, pissed and stoned, wanders into the house and states 'It's very dark I'll light some candles' so off she pops to the kitchen, and brings forth every bloody candle she had and laid them on a 2ft square coffee table and proceeded to light them all. Then in her inebriated state she plods off back into the night (only god knows where she went) leaving the front door wide open. Me being a bit of gamer was pretty much unaware of what was happening, that is until I catch a faint whiff of something burning.....

I look to my right and yes the whole bloody table and half the wall are on fire.

'ARRRRGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!' Screams I before jumping into action and grabbing every available towel, soaking them in water and battering the flames, successfully putting the fire out.

A few hours later mother stumbles back in, where i start to shout obscenities, with sentences in between, at her and the woman had the cheek to start screaming back about how i ruined her TOWELS!!!!!!!!
(Menlui laughing maniacally, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 7:20, Reply)

hidden present
Father, being as inebriated as a boiled owl, was unable to drive my mother and I back from the pub. Mother, therefore, lovingly placed her 9 month old baby in the back with his drunken father. The drive, uneventful and suspiciously quiet, was over very soon. Back at the house mother removed her baby from the back seat and proceeded into the house. The texture of the baby-grow all-in-one suit with front zip was somewhat different, she thought. On inspection, she found that it had been used as a sick bag - a deposit had been made and concealed by zipping in up again. Father slept in the car that night.
(Evilsquirrelboy, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 6:47, Reply)

childhood vodka dilema
It was just before christmas about a year ago and while on the lower deck of a bus going into Croydon town centre, I was unfortunate to be sat just in front of a total scrote of a mother and her three unwashed offspring. The eldest of these was about 10 years old and she was actually asking him what kind of alchohol he thought the baby would want with his christmas dinner. Vodka was his reply, and he thought it should be with orange juice.
(drshipman iz in yr shower killing yr nan, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 4:34, Reply)

questionable parenting
My mother is insane. I figured it out about grade 3 when she told me she was taking me to the doctor to have my head cut open to see what was inside. I remember it was a Wednesday at 3 and when it didn't happen I knew she was full of shit for the first time. After that I didn't believe anything she said. When I was 5 They adopted my brother who was left handed. Now you know that is wrong - so she made him right handed. When he brought home work from school that wasn't neat she made him rewrite it. I think he failed graded 2 because of her. At 16 I had to stop her from chasing him with a steak knife. I don't even remember why. The creapy thing is that all through my childhod her eyes were really dark - almost black. now they are light brown. She wants to babysit my children, with the disclaimer of " I relize that I made a few mistakes raising you , but I see things differently now. Sorry not a chance in hell.
Now my oops. I have 3 kids 10 , 8 and 3. By the third kid I am far more relaxed. My youngest is scared of weird things. He is very picky about who he will talk to , but aparently sees ghosts and is ok with it. The other day he was on the balcony by himself and didn't want to come in. I told him that he should come in before the cactus got him. He ran inside and slamed the dooor. He now will not go near any cactus. oops. He is ok with bees and spiders and says hello and goodbye, but warns everybody of the evil cactus. Oops
(tobeingevil, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 4:12, Reply)

obligatory fight with father story
My life isn’t purely violence related – it just seems that each QOTW seems to remind me of a violence related story…..

Firstly I’ll let you know I am a father myself: 13 yrs (step) and 5 yrs (mine – all mine)

Ok – weekend before my O-levels – I am that old. Rather than prepare the household for what was at that time the most important time in my life my father – great Dad that he was/is decided to invite some friends up to stay.

Now I was a surly teenager and talking wasn’t a great attribute of mine at that time anyway – however – my father took exception to the fact that I hadn’t said much at Sunday lunch – this being the Sunday lunch down the pub he made me stop revising for – i.e. the day before my exams. When we got home he was in the kitchen (for the first time ever) and as I was walking to the toilet – a distance of about 20 metres – our eyes locked.

I saw him move towards me at quite a rate and so I hid behind the toilet wall and when he poked his skinny fucking face out I punched him full force in the jaw. Knocked the cunt right down – happy as Larry.

Then it kicked off – massive scarp upstairs – in which my father broke two of my ribs and bruised inner organs (although just kidney’s and that so no big deal) friends left (guy was a copper as well which was quite apt).

Anyway – did the exams and passed ok.

Got my own back almost exactly to the day two years later – He started on my sister and I challenged him proper for the first time since 2 years before – I butted his nose and broke it and then knocked him spark out with one punch to the chin – fucking pussy.


Length? – I hit my 7 iron 125 yards today – in a straight line!
(devasa, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 2:43, Reply)

Bad Parenting, or just cool?
My Mum's just been busted for drink driving (16 month ban), and my Dad slept with my best friend.......

I love them both to bits though even if I have ended up on shitloads of medication.
(Kohoutek, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 2:30, Reply)

Parents made me Evil
Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.

Dr. Evil.
(Sammyj, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 2:25, Reply)

i was a terrible parent........
One evening I was so tired I convinced my kids (then ages 4 and 5) that sometimes, even thought it is bedtime, the sun likes to stay up late sooooo.......it may look like it is daytime outside, but it is actually the middle of the night.
........they were in bed and on their way to sleep within the hour!


I am a bad bad parent....
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Sat 18 Aug 2007, 2:05, Reply)

What a cruel thing to do...
A few years ago, I was going to go out somewhere, but my parents, being HORRIBLY CRUEL, first wanted me to do....
The washing up!!!
I thought it was so unresonable I refused to do it and ended up staying home =[
I also threatened to call childline... not quite sure what i would have said though.
Maybe I was being unreasonable, but we now have a dishwasher =]
(Meatfish BAH, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 0:39, Reply)

Not a Knucklehead
My dad once called me a "Knucklehead" in front of my family and grandmother. I've spent the ensuing 45 years attempting to prove otherwise, with limited success.
I'll probably have it engraved on my gravestone.
(tintinmilou, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 0:26, Reply)

my dad
he's totally fucked up, but it's not really his fault. he was raised by a man who would daily beat him with a studded belt, and a woman who hated the entire world, with the exception of herself
due to this wonderful upbringing, dad was a bit generous with his discipline, up to and including knocking one of my teeth out for getting mud on my shoe and breaking my sister's arm(although that one was partly accidental).
we were terrified when he got home from work, dreading to see him in a bad mood.
we weren't allowed to be ill, and woe betide us if we had a cough! he would accuse us of coughing on purpose, just to get attention. we learned at an early age to cough into our pillows, as a shoe across the head really hurts.
in the early 80's, he got a job thatching cottages near the black forest in germany. he was away for 9 months, which was the happiest time of our young lives. mum is a soft touch, although more than a little insane.
things got really bad when my dad's hearing started to go. if you said something quietly, he would immediately leap up, yelling "WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME, YOU LITTLE BASTARD?" if we said we hadn't called him anything, we got hit twice as hard for lying!

when i was about 22, he thought i'd told him to fuck off, which i hadn't. he screamed from the living room "i'll come in there in a minute and punch you!" well, at that age, i'd decided he was never going to scare me again, so i replied "come on, then, you deaf twat!"
he came roaring into the kitchen and chinned me! this took me by surprise, but not as much as my reaction took him by surprise.
i beat the living shit out of him.
he's never raised a hand to me since and we get along better than ever before. he still fights with my brother and sisters, but it's less physical these days, due to him getting older.
i saw him raise his hand to my nephew recently. i grabbed it, twisted it up his back, and told him in no uncertain terms that if i ever saw him hitting a child again, i'd kill him. i probably wouldn't, but he doesn't know that. i can be a scary bitch when i want to be.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 0:24, Reply)