Bit of a depressing one...
My dad regularly hit my mum in his drunken state,Once booted me in the stomach (aged 4ish?) for refusing to put a sword through his kitchen door.

They split up when i was about 5,From the age of 5 to about 11-12 life was peachy,Then my mum got a boyfriend...moved in to the house after a month,Even after my aunt told my mum not to get with him because he is scum and she knew all about him (she worked for the department of work and pensions) 2 months into there relationship the arguments started,3 months into the relationship the violence started.The police were called weekly.

A year and a half into the relationship he becomes an alcoholic,when he has drink he gets very violent,when he does'nt have drink he gets violent.On one occasion he held a knife to her throat,with full intention of killing her,luckily (and i use that term lightly) she got her hand in the way and managed to escape with a badly cut hand.

For some unknown reason my mum forgave him for this and he was out of prison in 2 weeks.Did the violence stop? Nooo...the arguments continued.

May 08th 2000,The stupid twunt took an overdose of heroin and duly popped his clogs.Hurrah! we were free of the evil twat.

My mum died in 2005,She was a great parent,Just had a very bad choice in men.

Popped my b3ta cherry...

Obligatory length joke
(NipNipHooray, Mon 20 Aug 2007, 4:52, Reply)

When I was about 2
My brother and I fought constantly as soon as we were stuck in the back seat of car. Dad would usually threaten to kick us out and make us walk home if we didn't stop.

On one occassion we'd obviously really pissed him off and he pulled over, came round the back, opened the door and pulled two screaming children from the back. He set us down on the road, jumped back in the care and attempted to drive off. The only problem was the car wouldn't start and we had to wait an hour foe the AA to show up.

Ha ha, twat.
(Creamy Discharge Freeze Motherstickers, this is a fuck up, Mon 20 Aug 2007, 2:30, Reply)

Divorced
My parents got divorced when I was 14. Before that they argued all the time - at night - so you could hear all the ranting. It was terrible. I walked in on them one night and just asked them to stop, becuase I couldn't sleep. When I got into the bedroom to tell them said rant, the bedclothes were off the bed and Dad was going to sleep on the floor and Mum in the bed. She's always been a dramatist and this was the stage.

I read some of the transcsripts of the divorce papers which I can't reveal on here, just to say that I'm glad Dad left.

Funny really because they all get on now, even with their respective partners and 70th bithday parties.

It was Christmas one year when they all stayed in my house I couldn't handle them sleeping in adjacent rooms with said partners. Mum's partner is 46. Dad's is 50 something. I don't do Christmas any more. I really DONT.

Anyway if you listen to Lalo Schifrin like I am at the moment it's all a blur :-)
( Tiggy the diver, Mon 20 Aug 2007, 1:47, Reply)

It's not all bad
My mum had me a month before her 17th birthday. My real dad fucked off. My mum then married her 'childhood sweetheart' - read the only bloke who'd take her on.

I spent my formative years listening to my 'dad' coming home pissed from the pub and beating the living shit out of / raping my mum. I spent 2 weeks in hospital when I was 14 years old cos I dared to get in between twat and mother when they were fighting and twat threw me down the stairs.


He now lives in a dingy council flat. My mum however lives in a lovely 3 bed council house with my half sister (daughter of the twat, but thankfully nothing like him).

I now have a PhD, I pay more tax in a month than twat earns. I'm loved unconditionally by my mum and half sister and I love them back. He is treated with little more than contempt by both of them. I have lived with Mr Pechogonas for 6 years now and we love each other more now than the day we met. Twat's latest conquest was the mutton dressed as lamb divorcee working in the chippy below his grotty flat.

All I can say is 'what goes around, comes around'. Cunt.
( no longer a user, Mon 20 Aug 2007, 1:28, Reply)

And this is why my dad wasn't allowed to babysit ever again
I was about 8 or 9 months old and loved to tool around in my walker. For those of you under 45, a walker is a seat suspended in a little frame on castors. The baby's feet can touch the ground and propel him around and the frame holds him upright. You can't buy them now since too many babies have shot down staircases, fallen through windows, etc.

Anyway, my mom asked my dad to keep an eye on me while she walked up to the store and bought something for dinner. She does so and on the way back hears a baby screaming 2 blocks away. As she gets closer, she realizes it's me and runs the rest of the way. A neat trick considering she is wearing those 3 inch heel 1961 cockroach killers. Mom bursts through the door to find:
My 19 year old dad fast asleep on the couch and me tipped over with my head, hands and upper torso in the (blessedly unlit)fireplace. I am screaming my lungs out not 5 feet from his head, so loudly my mom can hear it from 2 whole blocks away. I think that was the first time Mom ever yelled at Dad.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Mon 20 Aug 2007, 0:09, Reply)

This is why people shouldn't have children at a young age
My mother is a great gal, but when she was 19 and cranking out 5 kids in 9 years, some of her methods left something to be desired. When I was maybe 5, I talked my younger brothers into sticking their fingers into a light socket that wasn't wired properly. It tingled and hurt, but wasn't quite enough voltage to knock us across the room. How did she punish me? Made me stick my finger in the damn thing! Later I found out it was a fluke we weren't killed-we were standing in such a way that the circuit wasn't grounded through us. (or something like that, I can't remember)

Another time, to help me learn yummy-smelling substances aren't always good for you, she poured out a tablespoon of vanilla extract. She let me smell it and said, "Doesn't that smell good? Would you like to taste it?" and then gave it to me. Gah!

My father was much worse. He had this weird obsession that we were always lying to him. (We weren't, really) No matter what you said, he'd poke you in the chest, just left of center, punctuating each painful blow with "I know you're lying, you think I'm stupid, don't you, admit it, you think I'm stupid!" ad naseum. So we were put in the odd situation of needing not to tell the truth, but to figure out what he thought was the truth and God help you if you got it wrong. Then you'd get poked until you were tearful and mumble, "Yes, I think you're stupid" and WHACK! he'd smack you upside the head. You could not win with that guy.

I have had my moments as well. My daughter fell off her bike and came in clutching her arm, didn't want dinner and went to bed at 6pm. Did I twig something was wrong? no. It wasn't until 11 that night when she needed to pee that hubby noticed the U-bend shaped arm and screamed. Earlier that year, she had developed pneumonia while I kept her home for 2 days, letting her get sicker and sicker. I was a pulmonary nurse at the time. The shame, the shame.

My son has NLD and so had to be watched and or locked in his room every second while awake. (Until he could learn to restrain himself. He's much better now.) I was trying to pack for a camping trip but all my time was going into running after him and pulling him back into the house, rescuing the cat from him, pulling him out of cupboards, etc. I tied him to a chair ala seat belt.
That didn't help. He could rock his upper body and judder the chair across the room. So, I put a belt under his arms and around the back of the chair. He looks like he's in a little electric chair, but he can't go anywhere. Wrong. He rocks so hard he tips the chair over.
Now he's lying on his side, tied in a chair and yelling for help. Do I rush to comfort him? No, I leave him there like a Jack Bauer kidnap victim for 30 minutes and finish loading the car.

All I could think of is, "Jeez, please don't let any of the neighbors peek in the windows."
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 23:54, Reply)

gotta love 'em
out for a meal with a few friends t'other day, sat in the beer garden of some country pub or other, filled with families and their sprogs.
One particular family seemed to be having a reunion of some kind, and while the men and boys threw an american football around (of course), the women and girls sat and watched and played with their precious toys. All seemed normal until one of the boys dropped the ball, at which point his dad walks up and starts slapping his legs, shouting "That's not how you catch it! You catch it like this!" and proceeded to hurl the ball full speed into the boys face.

To my complete horror, and shamefully to some ambient amusement, the rest of the family seemed to think this was a good idea, and started jeering at the boy whenever he subsequently dropped the ball.

Terrible Familying in general methinks.

Length, etc etc
( Dazz - In Your Base, Killing Your Dudes since, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 23:16, Reply)

My Dad almost killed me....twice...
The first incident happened literally after I was born. I was taken home from the hospital and my Mum put me down on her bed while she attended to something on the other side of the room. When she turned around she saw my Dad sitting on the bed. The bed I was placed on. Thats right, my dad fucking sat on me! To make it worse, I was born premature which meant my skin was orange. An orange baby on dark bedsheets and the fucker didn't even notice I was there. Obviously my Mum wasn't exactly happy about it and she says her words were along the lines of, "You fucking wanker! You're fucking sitting on the fucking baby!!", He didn't beleive her and just sat there wide-mouthed. I can forgive her hysterical swearing seeing as I could've been suffocated. Luckily the mattress was very soft and I had been pushed down into it, protecting me from my fathers arse.
The next act of stupidity came when crossing the road, he tried to stop the traffic by edging my pushchair (with me in it) into the road. Twat.
And then there's the time he left me in the middle of the street (again, in my pushchair) to go have a fight with someone.
My parents seperated shortly afterwards. It's not hard to see why.

More recently he made up for an entire childhood worth of welfare payments by giving me the comics he spent the money on. As much as I love 2000 AD and Rogue Trooper, I would have prefered the fucking money!

He also has a history of making promises he can't keep. About 3 years ago he dissapeared completely. A year later he FINALLY got in contact with his Mum (my Gran, who is lovely by the way) to tell her he's in Thailand. He didn't even contact me for my birthdays during that time.
The last time he contacted me was around my 17th birthday (May) promising me a load of Darkthrone shirts and money to pay for a spanking new guitar and amp. Well it's now August and still no sign of shirts and I'm still playing a Strat...

Sometimes I get angry at myself for believing his shit but then I remember, he's the asshole who almost killed me. I'm not the one with the frickin' problem :D
(Badgers wear Corpsepaint it's true, I've seen them..., Sun 19 Aug 2007, 20:27, Reply)

Not even comparable with some of the other stuff on here
My Mom is an absolute legend. She has issues, leading to some odd parenting decisions, but on the whole I had a fantastic childhood.

She was the oldest of 9 in rural Ireland, born in the 40s. She was immediately sent to be brought up by her grandparents, and never saw the rest of her family. Excepting her Mom, who would ride the few miles on her bike every Boxing Day to visit her. My Mom never really minded, as she had a happy childhood with her grandparents, aunts and uncles. Then, when she was 15, her Dad turned up at the house and told her that he'd found her a job in England. So off she went, and that was where things went wrong. She got pregnant at 19 by an absolute beast and had 6 children in 10 years, before doing a midnight bunk with the lot of them, against the popular opinion of the day that she should put up with the beatings that would put her in hospital.

Fast forward another 10 years and she's with a lovely man and had me :) I was able to enjoy a normal childhood, but it did leave her a little controlling, possessive and with a spine of steel.

My mother's highlights?

Giving my sister a black eye for saying she was a bad mother.

Screaming at me, demanding an explanation as to why I came back with wet socks but dry trainers. I had no explanation that she would have been able to understand - It'd been snowing and those with a rudimentary grasp of capillary action should be able to see why.

Made me beg for her love on my 13th birthday because she found out that my sister, who I hadn't seen for 3 years, had visited me at school and I hadn't told her. My mom and sister don't speak and I was banned from seeing her, so I was scared to tell my Mom that she had been there and I hadn't told her to go away.

Was insanely jealous of any relationship I had with another girl/woman - friends, sister-in-law, etc. She would demand to know why I could talk to them and not to her. I only have one female friend now, the rest are all male.

Told me at around 13 to have sons and not daughters as "they love you more", leaving me with a vague sense that I was doing something wrong to her.

Made me go on holiday every year at the time I had exam results due, no celebrating with friends for me!

Banning me from telling anyone in the family that I had moved out at the age of 20 in my last year of uni, due to the shame of it. You didn't leave Mom's house before the age of 30 unless you were thrown out.

Banned me from having a deaf boyfriend at 16, in case we got married and had deaf kids - he didn't have the hereditary kind.

Refused to let me go on the pill as a teenager to help with my crippling period pains - apparently it made "bad blood" go back into your system.

There's more craziness, but frankly it was a good childhood and there's nothing I can't get over as an adult. I still respect her more that anyone else, particularly for the manner in which she made good her escape from her violent husband and how she kept it together after that.
(Cryptoprocta has abandoned the username of Voodoo Mary, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 19:22, Reply)

angrymanxman
if he was bright enough to know that, he'd have been too bright to confuse cream and glue in the first place!

when my friend emma was a young girl, her dad was driving her somewhere. he was extremely irritated to be held up by a crusty hippy who was standing in the middle of the road, hands raised, to stop the traffic. so that a crippled pigeon could limp slowly across the tarmac.

emma's dad was unimpressed, and beeped his horn, but the stupid thing didn't move. this refers to both the hippy and the pigeon. eventually the pigeon reached the pavement... hopped onto it.... hopped back off and began to limp back across the road. at which point emma's dad had had enough and floored it, leaving the hippy gaping and brandishing a fist. as the pigeon was crushed beneath the wheels, he said in his thick cockney accent:

"well. put it out of its bloody misery!"
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 18:29, Reply)

My mother got me addicted...
My parents teach at uni in the US, so I spent the first 8 years of my life on planes crossing the atlantic.

I was a noisy bugger as a small child, so from the age of 4 months, my mother added copious amounts of gin to my orange juice, making sleep for hours.

I now drink gin at every available opportunity.

Length? A generous double.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 17:10, Reply)

Springing into action...
Call it natural child like inquisitiveness. Call it dumb stupidity. Whatever it is causes it, I and my 2 brothers all did the same thing when we were about 2 years old.

We all managed to get firmly wedged between the washing machine and the kitchen cupboard. Crying our eyes out, hyperventilating stuck.

What was my father's reaction when my little brother got stuck? Why, the same reaction he had when I got stuck. Which was the same reaction when my older brother got stuck.

Papa lawofnations: Wait, don't pull him out yet...
Mama lawofnations: What? Why?
Papa lawofnations: Get my camera. This is really funny...

Hence why in the photo albums of our childhood, there is a photo of each of us, red in the face, eyes screwed up, miserable and terrified, crushed between kitchen appliances. Because my dad thought it was hilarious...

Mind you, quarter of a century on I can see his point...
(lawofnations, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 17:09, Reply)

when you have your own kids......

A word to all those who are scared to have kids in case they pass on all that shit - its scary but you'll be fine. You'll spend all your time wracked with worry and panic that you have somehow fucked up your kids but you wont have because you are ever vigilant. You'll be so detirmined you won't repeat the cycle. So you won't. You'll be fine. You'll have days when you are convinced that you've been excatly like your mum/dad but just slap yourself round the face and remind yourself that you won't let that happen. Cos you won't.
(insomniac girl all my best things are in hock, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 17:03, Reply)

My parents..
...punished me when I did things that I'm not supposed to in order that I might grow up with a sense of right and wrong and therefore be a good citizen.

Oh Noes! Call the NSPCC immediately!!

Oh, and re Rswipes brothers toes;
Supergule dissolves in about half an hour in hot soapy water. Why didn't he just put him in a hot bath so your mum could still have gone out?
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 16:58, Reply)

...
Bloody emo, this is ...

One of my favourite quotes from dad:
"We have to love you because you're our child, but we don't like you."
"Your mum cried every month for two years when she got her period, because she wasn't pregnant. Then we ended up with you. Ah, well."

Favourite nicknames from him:
"Torpedo Tits" (thanks, made 'em myself) and "Big Bum Bertha" (the latter when I was anorexic!)

Favourite activities:
- Forcing his six-year-old daughter to down laxatives because she was "fat";
- Regularly beating and psychologically abusing one son because he was ... er... actually, I'm not sure why. Poor bro had to leave home (mum and I helped him, took care packages etc).
- Then, after 24 years, brother has a kid, and suddenly he's the favourite child. The other two of us are the "brave military hero who needs to concentrate on his career", and the "lez in denial who just needs to get married and stop this teaching nonsense";
- Doing the oft-mentioned chain-smoking in the car with the windows up.
- And smoking in bed whilst my mother was preggers;
- Throwing more tantrums than Daffy AND Donald Duck combined, several times a day, usually at 4:00 AM whilst getting ready for a shift, over trivial crap like, "WHO STOLE MY FRIKKING CAR KEYS/WALLET/SMOKES?" (he always left them in the car) then insisting WE moved them;
- Finding ridiculous excuses for punishments. For example, yes, he really DID "chastise" us for breathing too loud. Seriously. The fact that we usually had bronchitis or some such due to his constant smoking didn't occur to him;
- Verbally abusing my mum at any opportunity. He thinks he's too much of a gentleman to hit her, but it could be that she's a small, wiry, ginger Scot who could fuck him up.
- Sending me every email forward that my mates sent me 5 years ago, yet not once emailing a proper note to see how I am. Just tells my mum to convince me to go home.
- Deciding to leave my mum and us because we were all "frikkin bastards" and he "needed to leave" otherwise he'd kill us. Leaves mum with 3 kids under the age of 5, one a few months old, takes the only car, mum hasn't a job or savings ... then comes back hours later and acts like nothing happened. Except to mention it was mum's fault.
- Beating his kids until we were old enough to hit back, upon which we realised what a pussy he was.

Favourite methods of punishment:
1/. "The Big Stirrer" - an ugly, 1970's ornamental wooden spoon, about one metre long. Having an ex-Army alco "tap" you with that is not the best fun ...
2/. The Belt - use the buckle for added, school-absence-causing injuries!
3/. Anything involving the utter destruction of self respect and dignity, delivered verbally within 2 seconds of you entering his presence.

Favourite distance from my father:
How far is North-East China from South-East Australia?
(does that count as a length comment?)
(Celerydemon, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 16:19, Reply)

Awful
My parents were pretty good really, apart from my dad being a little overenthusiastic with the discipline from time to time, but the upside is I do respect authority and vow not to waste time with having children until I'm at least 30. Good times.

I did, however, go to primary school with a rather nasty girl called Anna (name changed to protect the unfortunate). She made my life something of a misery, totally bossy, unpleasant and a tell-tale to boot. Since no-one liked her and not many people liked me ('gifted' apparently, more like 'cursed') we always used to get paired together. We had many a fight until i decided I was too old to hit girls (round about 6 y/o) and our scraps became verbal, but just as nasty.

I left primary school, went to a better school and forgot mostly about her. Then I decided to do some digging, after seeing her parents in Sainsburys. There was a strict 'no parents in the school policy' which her very very unpleasant father and grossly overweight mother used to break daily, showing their ugly faces inside the school grounds. The teachers constantly chose her for every assembly, even the visiting speakers got in on the act, it was as though they were sorry for her.

I always hated this apparent favouritism, until a friend's mother, who worked in care and with schools etc spilled the beans after a drunken heart to heart.

Turns out that Anna's father had been raping her senseless pretty much every day of her childhood. from what i hear, it had continued into adolescence until she left home and moving into a squat or something. The school had suspected it for ages, but they were quants too and turned a blind eye until she went to secondary school and they realised that once people started giving a shit then maybe the abuse could be traced back to when she was at primary school. The mother did the usual turning a blind eye trick at home, just as bad as the abusers if you ask me.

Much as I hated Anna throughout primary school, I do kind of feel for her now. terrible parents. No wonder she was so obnoxious.
(pacman_40 Pocket Kleenex: for the wanker on the go, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 15:43, Reply)

My Pappy
was (still is) a legend to me for his casual, and sometimes extreme racism.

People he has offended:

Black people
The Polish
Asians
Japanese
More Polish people
Polish truck drivers for cutting him off (that was a bit of a loud one...)
The Polish people at KFC
The black lowlife down the street (deserved it by all means)
The Dutch
Students
Chavs
Me

They started it though.

*nods*

Edit: and some more Polish people.
(Snailfighter Mk VIII MASTER of the bits underneath the ledges on fences, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 15:21, Reply)

when
my brother was a toddler, he caught athletes foot from the swimming baths. one night, my mother was going out leaving my father in charge. she asked him to put the cream on my brother's foot before putting him to bed. the cream was on the windowsill in the kitchen along with a few other household things.

as she was heading upstairs to grab her coat, she heard him mumbling, "why does it say 'educational supplies' on the tube?"

when she came back down, my brother's toes were all superglued together. her evening out was spent in casualty looking up divorce lawyers and hitmen in the yellow pages...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 15:18, Reply)

Drugged
Oh, just read the Calpol answer. My mum used to do the same! Although, with something a little stronger, which I can't remember what it was called. Apparently her and all her friends used to give it to the kids before journeys, or if they just wanted them to go to sleep (at any time of the day) .. and the doctors prescribed it! I do wonder how I managed to turn out as an almost functional human being hehe
( Bathory, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 14:25, Reply)

Blimey
There are a LOT of frankly very worrying and very sad stories on here. Are that many people really brought up in such horrible circumstance?

My sisters and I had rather a good childhood, we didn't have much cash but I had loving parents who did their damn best, well apart from my mother, who whilst an otherwise admirable woman is the worst cook in the northern hemisphere. Not technically incompetent per se, more like a persistent victim of culinary circumstance.

For example, one year, my parents forgot to defrost the Christmas lunch turkey, so we had "Lunch" at 11pm that night. Nothing particularly special about that I hear you cry, and in isolation it wasn’t, but from that year onwards (until I took over the cooking) she used to “warm up” the turkey by defrosting it or over de-fridging it several days before hand by keeping it in the airing cupboard. Hmmm cue very “high” smelling but surprisingly tasty turkey but also rather “high” and surprisingly nasty smelling towels and sheets for a while.

The list goes on, chickens cooked with the giblets (still in plastic bag) inside by the dozen, trifles made with Benedictine rather than sherry (a very odd taste indeed), sponges made with lard rather than butter (a very very odd taste), rice cakes made using uncooked rice (very hard), cheesecakes made with dairylea (don’t ask), rice puddings cooked until they turn into rice concrete etc ad-nauseum (sometimes literally).

Needless to say I’m attempting to teach my own children to cook better than that although the Benedictine thing seems to be genetic because I’ve made gravy with it when pissed and it’s just as nasty as you might imagine.
( edz314 smelled the glove on, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 12:24, Reply)

What's in a name?
In my younger days, we used to live near a family who had 4 girls. Jade, Amber, Ruby and Crystal. Yay for Eastend Chavs and 'themed' names for their kids.

Having said that, I wanted to name my two after characters from Thomas the Tank Engine, but the Fat Controller {aka Mrs.Coopsweb} wasn't too impressed. "Come here Diesel and Stepney Coops!"

Also, hats off to the parents of the guy the wife went to Uni with = "Tim Macbeth Jelly" Well Done, that one makes me loose it everytime she mentions her graduation ceremony.

And finally - to the parents of the two boys on the train from Victoria yesterday - was it really necessary to have you kids names shaved into their crewcuts? Honestly!
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 11:54, Reply)

story and question...
Not too bad after some of the stuff so far but had a nervous breakdown aged 11 after a whole childhood of hearing my parents yelling at each other as I went to sleep and then seeing my dad hit my mum over the head.

Question: Can we please have a cheerful QOTW next time as this one combined with the "worst things ever seen" a few weeks back is really dragging me down.

Forget length, The width fractured her pelvis.
(71 hour Ahmed wasn't working at, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 11:22, Reply)

crispy critter
not me, an ex-neighbour

called chris(i hate the prick, i don't care if he reads this). he was adopted and, after knowing him for a while, i found out why.

his biological parents were absolute fucknuts who, despite not wanting any more kids, failed to use any precautions and, as a result, ended up with chris.
when he was about 18 months old, his folks decided that they didn't want him, but they did want money. so they decided to kill 2 birds with one stone.
literally.
they put him in his cot one evening, closed his bedroom door, knocked the handle off, thus trapping him in the room, then made sure the other kids could get out okay. then, his father "accidentally" poured petrol on the floor and set it alight.
nice people, huh?
well, their plan had one flaw: their neighbours were nosy feckers who noticed the flames almost immediately, and alerted the fire brigade.
the fire was extinguished, chris was rescued(although he now looked like freddy krueger junior) and his parents, apparently, blamed one of the other children for the fire.
they actually got away with it.
chris spent almost 2 years in hospital having painful skin grafts and other recovery-type stuff, before being adopted by the fireman who rescued him.
and how does he repay this wonderful, kind man and his new family?
he steals from them at every opportunity and, if he gets caught, blames it on his childhood trauma.
god, i hate him.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 11:22, Reply)

In twenty years...
I could be appearing in a topic somewhat like this. Why?

I think "Chlamydia" sounds like a lovely name for a girl.
(Merrep, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 9:52, Reply)

Wobbly Teeth
As a small child, the systematic process of ones baby teeth becoming wobbly then dropping out was weird and often financially rewarding (rich Grandmother 'Tooth-fairy')..... So when one canine tooth was being particularly stubborn and hanging in there on a thick strand of root, good old dad suggests I do it 'like we used to' and tie a piece of string from the tooth to the door knob and then slam the door. Of course this sounded ok, Dad would never allow his only son to suffer right? So there i was, struggling to tie a knot around a tooth when Dad helped and secured the door end also.... Then he steps back and tells me to slam that door. This I do...... The spiteful Cnut had tied the string around the loose tooth and a perfectly healthy one that came popping loose with a spray of blood and great scream of pain. It also caused me to stumble forward and knock myself senseless on the door handle.

My enduring memory is not the pain, but the sight of my dad, rolling around on the floor and saying that even he didnt fall for that one when he was a boy.... God I cant wait until I got a son.
(jademonkey We gonna need a bigger boat..., Sun 19 Aug 2007, 9:44, Reply)

Soap
When i was about 9/10, the toothpaste had run out, i naturally shouted to my mum to bring a fresh tube. Instead my dad appeared and we ended up brushing our teeth together. With Imperial Leather hand soap.

Not too sure if that's funny or bad.

Hmmmm
(incontinentia bucket, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 8:31, Reply)

Never apologise, never explain...
I must have been about eight or nine, when one morning, while I was in my bedroom getting ready for school, the whole house shuddered slightly.

Cue the pounding of feet on the stairs, then my stepfather bursts into my room, lamps me round the head and yells: "I'm sick of telling you about jumping off that bloody bed!"

He exited stage left, leaving me too astonished to start crying. I'd just been getting dressed! No jumping whatsoever had been taking place.

T'was the evening of the same day and we're watching the local news. A man who was involved in an acrimonious divorce had sneaked into his soon-to-be ex-wife's house, which was located about 200m from where we lived. He'd turned all the rings on the gas cooker on full blast but had not ignited them. The cheeky scamp had then lit the gas fire in the front room and left the intervening doors open before sneaking offf. The ensuing blast had levelled the house at around 08:15.

The old man did not look up from his paper, but he was definitely listening, the hair-trigger cnut.
(apologies_for_length, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 8:17, Reply)

d.b.o.y.f
This is exactly what some cunning bitch did to me! At least i was able to make an escape sort of . On the plus side little miss welgar (5) is a lovley child just a shame about her mother .... dont get me started
(welgar, Sun 19 Aug 2007, 7:49, Reply)