Becky
Firstly, some of these posts are horrific. I know it doesn’t make a snot-bubble’s worth of comfort to you all but by Jingo, for what it’s worth, you have my deepest sympathies. I am humbled by how some of you have kept your shit together under some of the worst possible circumstances. I salute you.

Hopefully sometime soon we can get this parenting lark sussed enough to ensure that our kids get the correct balance of discipline and nurturing, learn right from wrong, and have respect for those around us, without turning into either uncontrollable, angry spoilt shagsacks rampaging through our society, or timid little ball-bags.

Jesus….I thought I had it bad…..I now know that I fucking well didn’t.

Even if your parents did it to you…you don’t have to do it to your kids. Let’s evolve, people.

Right then, before I launch into a chorus of ‘We are the world’…please forgive me if I attempt a more light-hearted one.

I grew up in the seventies…my mum and dad were what I suppose you could call ‘half-hippy’. I had thick, curly mousey brown hair. My mum loved it. I hated it. She wouldn’t let me cut it and it grew at a rate of knots. By sweet sugar-coated testicles I looked like a twat.

At the age of about 6 I was invited to a classmate’s birthday party. As my mum & I approached the house on the happy day, the party host’s mum opened the door with a big smile and attendance check-list in her hand. She took one look at me, curls ‘n’ all, and said:

“Oooh, thanks for coming. You must be BECKY!”

It might be worth pointing out a couple of things here:

I am a boy
My name is definitely not Becky
I’m not even ‘pretty’ or anything – I used to look like the scruffy fucker out of ‘The Perishers’ who always carried a blanket.
I am easily embarrassed, and now it appears, even easier to be emotionally scarred

I went redder and redder, whimpering…..’erm…no….I’m Pooflake’

My mum, ever supportive, pissed her pants laughing and still now seems to bring the story up at least once a fortnight. In my family, any incidents involving me that do not heave a thrusting 100% masculinity factor gets a shout of: “Oi Becky” etc etc.

Deep Joy.

How could they do it to me? Still, I could have had a stupid name….

My mum also gave me the 'We never wanted you, you know...You were an accident' comment at 60 mph in a Hillman Imp on a slip-road in Ryton-On-Dunsmore. I was an angst-ridden 15 year old at the time.

They use the word 'accident'. I use the word 'fluke'.

Length? (suffice to say it's been as short as a pygmies’ cock ever since my mid-teens)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 20 Aug 2007, 11:49, Reply)