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This is a question Terrible Parenting

My parents used to lock my brother, sister and I in the car while they went to the pub for a "quick one" after work. This quick one might last several hours, during which they would send bottles of Indian Tonic Water to us by way of refreshment.

On one particularly cold evening, bored stupid, we lit a small bonfire on the back seat of the car using the cigarette lighter and the contents of the glove box. We owe our lives to passing winos. (BTW: Please no more Maddie or Jesus gags, they've been done.)

(, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 9:47)
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The. Worst. Christmas. Ever.
My parents divorced before I could even remember for one reason or another, and as all children can attest to, I remember very little from before I was about 6. This isn't irrelevant, because my earliest memories are NOT of living with my mom, as I had done from birth to 5, but rather of living with my sister and father... and his new wife and their daughter. There is a REASON I haven't talked to the man in years...

All I wanted for Christmas was a Battlestar Galactica toy. Getting my father to get me ANYTHING throughout his life has been like pulling teeth. To this day I feel as though he wouldn't give me a red cent. I honestly don't know why.. but I digress.. Poppa!!!! This Christmas, however, my father was feeling generous and I kind of knew what I was getting from Santa... the coveted Battlestar toy! I couldn't WAIT for Christmas day... SO EXCITED!!!!

I must first explain that I was a small, sickly child. When I was in 6th grade I could barely reach the drinking fountains. The ones that as an adult I can now use as a step. So at 7, you can imagine my size and general health level. We ate something weird for Christmas Eve dinner; as we always did because my stepmother was from Hawaii where they eat like pigs intestines and taro root paste... yuck. I ate it though, then went to bed; very excited about the morning to come.

Around 5am, however, my stomach decided that it was not to be. I woke up with a pretty full tummy and the feeling of needing to fart, at least. I did... but it wasn't gas. No no, far from it. A torrent of poo came out of my bum at a rate and speed that I, as a 7 year old, was unable to deal with it. So I did what any child would do... I went to my "parents". I remember crying a bit and walking down the hall with poo running down my leg, which I'm SURE made a mess. But I was 7. I didn't know about these things.

Now to get to the terrible parenting part. I knock on my parent's door, but there's no reply. I call out "daddy?"... no response. After a while it didn't hurt anymore, so I went back to bed. Around 7, my step mother wakes up and I hear "Oh my God, what the HELL is this?" probably referring to my shit trail from one room to the other. Commotion, questions.. I must have blocked this part out, because the NEXT thing I remember is my father holding me forcibly under the faucet, practically drowning me with my step mother behind him yelling at me. "What a mess! Evverything is ruined!". There were bruises, and I literally remember nothing but the rush of very hot water over my eyes.

The punishment, as I was to find out, wasn't over. Far from it. After we were all cleaned up, and I helped to clean the floor and my bed, it was present opening time. I went straight for what was the right size to be the coveted Battlestar Galactica toy ship with REAL LAUNCHING VIPER PATROL SHIPS.

I open it...

YE, it's what I wanted!!! YES! YES! YES! It's okay that you were mean to me this morning, daddy! I got what I wanted! Yay!

This lasted approximately an hour, for the entire time I was opening things and having Christmas morning, my stepmother was griping about the mess.. and me. She was telling my father that I should be punished somehow, for I don't even know what.

That's when this bad thing happened that made a not so good Christmas morning into a HORRIBLE one. He called me over, I had my toy in my hand. He yelled at me for a bit, the asked for the toy.

Then he broke it in half, told me to throw it away, and have a Merry Christmas.

Fuck you too, dad.
(, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:49, Reply)

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