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.
( Scoopzilla http://www.slapwatch.com now get to fuck, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:49, Reply)