Who has the craziest Parents?

[vinesqueen 2]

Of course I had to wear weird clothes. My parents would never buy us any clothes either. When I was 15 through 17 I had one pair of pants. When I gained weight I split the seat and had to hand stick them with Patches from other worn out pants.

We went to a private school, so I at least had a uniform so I was the same as the other kids. Well, dressed like them anyway, since there was no way I was like the other kids.... When we moved to a new town, no more private school, and I went to public school in the 8th grade. Mind you, I was tiny, so I was weird and tiny. Not a good combination. The neighbor lady took pitty on me, but she didn't have a clue either. She made me an outfit that was basically a gi (karati outfit) with a really, really wild pattern.

I never got beaten up, but some coward kid decided to hate me to the point that he/she knocked me out with an apple. Apple to the back of the head has the same effect as a rock to the back of the head.

When I was 17, I wore a size 12, but my mother made me wear her cast off purple polyester pant suit that was a size 16. It wasn't pretty.

[vinesqueen 2]

Lisa, I think we scared everyone. I rarely talk about this stuff. *sigh* but at least it hardly hurts any more.

Oprah had David Peltzer on as a guest, and I made my Spudboy watch that show with me. Before he's always sort of figured that I was making up my childhood. After that show, my baby's attitude changed.

Since he only had 5 "real" spankings his entire life, he couldn't imagine some hitting a kid like that. By "real" spankings I mean, he was warned that if behaviour X happened again, he would get a spanking. The spanking was over pants, and at a time when we were both calm. I only used my open hand, and never more than 5 swats. I let him choose how many times, and I never spanked him with anything but my hand. Of course, by the time it was over, I dont' know who was crying harder, him or me. I dont' know who was more tramatised, him or me.

Anyway, I haven't read David Peltzer's book. I don't think I could.

[La_madam 20]

My mother was a Bi-polar Diabetic, so when her sugar went wacky her bi-polar epsidodes were horrible, my brother and I would run & hide. Never heard the words "I Love You" growing up..no hugs, no affection.( I tell my boys I love them everyday and hug them everyday) My therapist thinks my childhood is where my OCD stems from. Nothing I ever did was good enough for my mother, I just never seemed to measure up to her standards..my mom died 7 yrs ago and honestly, I miss her despite how she treated us growing up. She would be very proud of me now with my weight loss, that was the one area she showed concern and love for me as a child, she was 98 lbs at best( many think she was anarexic) while my dad, brother and I were all obese. She tried everything to get me to lose weight, fat camps, Jenny Craig, Diet Center, Weight Watchers.nothing ever worked or if it did it was short lived and gained the weight back within months,..today she would be proud. My father was never a man of many words or emotion, he loved his gambling and still does to this day, but is also a very successful business owner & investor, just another disfunctional childhood here

[paula 4]

Leatha started a thread many months ago that inquired about how many of us grew up with an alcoholic parent....

how sad.

[babsyintx 0]

Gosh,

I wrote this long email this morning and for some reason it didnt post.

I believe I have the craziest parents! LOL Lisa's mother and my father would make a good team. My mother was anorexic and Obsessive compulsive and my father was an alcoholic who was a sorry person indeed. Some examples of household events:

My father once through a frozen turkey at my mother and it flew through the ground floor kitchen window apartment and almost killed a neighbors dog that was being walked by his owner outside the window.

My father made us put socks in our mouths and taped them shut while he watched TV. Said we talked too much during his shows.

Good ole dad went on a drinking spree, came home in the middle of the night and insisted that some other man had shaved in the bathroom and left hair on the sink. Forgot it was him and terrorized us for hours. He then went on to shave my brothers hair off.

Stuck my face in dog poo cause it was my fault that the dog pooped in the house after walking him.

Kept a rifle under the sofa in the living room and claimed he understood why fathers exterminated their families suggesting that we were all brats and did not deserve to live

We were coerced into switching price tags in the store by my father to get things for a cheaper price

We returned items for full price!

We owned a recycled car every month. My father would fix and then sell them. He sold our pet chihuahuas Peppy and Lulu cause they wouldnt breed. Actually he traded them for a tv. We cried for weeks.

My mother smoked 3 packs a day and weighed 82 pounds. You could bounce quarters off our beds and eat off our floors. All she did was clean and cook. She was not permitted to leave the house at all without my father. This went on for 15 years. I was around for 13 of those.

I cant remember one good moment.

Some of it is funny in retrospect.

Babs in TX

[KarenB 0]

Just regular alcholic father & cold/distant mother. My father beat the crud out of my brother when he was 5 or 6 years old because my father had a collection of silver dimes (we had to put any we found in there; this was the '60's so there were a lot) Anyway, my brother thought it would be a good idea to take all the dimes & treat all his friends to candy. He kept the dimes in a huge fake booze bottle w/a slit cut in it to be a bank. How apropos. My brother almost got his ear torn off for that.

I went fishing w/my father; I was about 11 - 12. Well, he dropped the rod off the boat & blamed it on me. I dont THINK I did it. Anyway, my punishment was when we got back to the marina, he locked me in the car for at least 2 hours (it felt like eternity) while he drank beer w/his buddies. It was very, very hot outside. The saddest part of all is that I didn't even realize that I could just open the door. In those days there were no child locks; you could always get out of the back of a car. It never crossed my mind; his favorite motto was "When I say Jump, you say How High?"

I hated my mother--but she was just being co-dependent. She's a real cold fish, but didn't abuse us.

I know there are a lot worse stories than mine, but I've always wondered what a "normal" family was like.

FYI, it's been shown that daughters of alcholic fathers are more likely to become obese/have an eating disorder. Guess so.

[vinesqueen 2]

Okay, Babs and Karen are in the club!

When my dad was drunk he would insist that I look him in the eye to talk to him, then he'd get mad because I was looking him in the eye.

[DeLarla 22]

My precious Travis (Hungarian hunting dog) got sick with leukemia, but the vet said he could live happy and healthy for quite a while with treatment. I came home to find a "healer" waving her hands over Travis, then I got beaten because the magic stones were missing out of his Water bowl. The healer provided "healing crystals" which I later found in the yard. The Momster laughed when she realized she tossed the crystals into the yard when she emptied his Water. She had to put Travis to sleep because she never followed through with the vet because she believes in magic.

She put up extra locks to keep out vampires after reading that vampires were killing livestock (she believes anything in the Enquirer.)

Babs, I think your dad wins for the meanest. I met my asshole I mean dad when I was 17. He abandoned us (me, bro & sis) when I was 2 months old. When I met him, he had a whole new family. He told me, "I already screwed up one set of kids so I have to try extra hard to give my new kids everything they want." He actually thinks that makes me feel good, as if he's done something right. Pig.

[BigT 0]

Well guys I have something akin to share. When I was growing up, my father had a violent temper. He had a very stressful job and did not know how to deal with it when off work. He never drank or did drugs, but his temper could flare with the wind. I remember once when I was maybe 13, with my two brothers, 12 and 11,- we found a pack of matches and were in the concrete basement lighting off a few as we were amazed by them. The smell linger for a few hours and my dad came home and smelled it. Boy did that set him off. We had a small bathroom in the basement that we ran into to hide. We locked the door and had to hold the knob lock button in so he could not unlock it. We waited there for hours with no sounds outside the door-it was now past sundown before we decided to try to make an escape. As soon as the door opened, there was my father swinging it open with an aluminum tennis racket in his hand for his weapon. We ran back into the bathroon before we realized that was a mistake. As we got beaten, we decided to make a run for it and each one of use got a beating as we tried to get by him. I went first and got a huge whack across the back that bent the tennis racket from an oval to a 1/4 sliver of a moon shape. I made a dash up stairs and out of the house and down the road. Following behind me in short intervals were my brothers, with all of us nursing out wounds. It was very,very late before we decided it was safe to go into our bedrooms.

Another time while we yet younger still, we were playing in his garden (our lot was 3/4 of an acre and his garden was 1/2 acre with the rest of it being house) and apparently did some damage to some plant or something and he went off. We took off running and he started beating us with metal garden stakes (5 ft high and about 15 pounds) before he started throwing them like javelins at us. Several almost hit there mark,but we were quick runners and made our escape.

There are alot of other "little" episodes that went on as well--so many that we became prolific escapers. We could pop the screen out of the window and jump out the window in record time - if need be to save our skins. We also found a great hiding place--hiding out on the roof- we lived in a one story ranch. But one time we were found out and he came up after us--so we ---yes you guessed it-- JUMPED! Not only that but after we jumped we then had to sprint away or we were not safe. My mom sort of let things go on like that till it appeared that we were in danger for our lives then she would step in and try to help. However his rage was something to behold and even with her help we got beaten,spit upon and called lots of degrading names. I can still recall her saying to stop before one of us kids died. One time in particular, when she was uttering that phrase, I was on the floor after being hit down there, with his foot raised up over my head, and all I could see was hit foot print getting larger and larger-then at the last second it came down in my belly.

As time went on I finally became bigger than him and could defend myself and would actually grab his fist and hold it towards him, showing that I respected him but would not take his abuse any longer.

Fast forward a few years more, my father changed jobs, the stress was better and he worked on controlling his anger some more-but by this time I had moved out and was not really intimately aware of the changes. My brothers would tell me things were better and my sister, who came along few years before I left home, never really got to see any of the carnage firsthand.

Today- he is a much different man and for that I am thankful. However it leaves me with what, at times seems mountains of resentment, to be placed on an image of a person that no longer exists. At times it feels like it negates what I went thru, but then conversely I would go thru it again --or worse if I could of helped my brothers more. It makes me watch what I do more carefully now and has made me more aware of what I do and how I do it- so as not to start down that dark path that genetics leads me to, like some predisposition towards a raging monster that is just waiting for the right circumstances to show themselves before a full blown attack surfaces. As I have aged, that monster within has grown hoarse and has lost much of its punch, but can still evoke a dark moment of reflection as I assess what I am feeling and why I am feeling that way.

Here is to legends of the good old days and of monsters and there demise - in real life or thru rebirths of types.

T

[vinesqueen 2]

I am brutally honest with my son about my childhood, and our family genetics--world class alcholism and drug addition. Plus, he's 1/8 Native American, so he's got extra special pre-dispositions.

What makes people think it is okay to behave that way???

I needed glasses from before I was in Kindergarden, and I was 4... I didn't get them until I was liviing in a group home. My mother decided that I was lying about needing glasses because *she* lied about needing glasses when she was a kid. I made the most amazing discovery--trees had leaves! They were not green clouds on sticks like I thought. So, after I returned to my family after about a year, my dad forgot his new reading glasses, and demanded that I hand over my glasses. (I'm terribly nearsighted) He put them on, couldn't see of course, declaired that they weren't "real" glasses and was going to throw them away.

[DeLarla 22]

Once again, I had it bad, but there's always someone who had it worse. My momster beat me with a hose on a rare occasion, but most of my abuse was mental. Unfortunately, where she left off, teachers, neighbors and school kids took over. If you come from an abused home, you become a target to society. As an adult, the most ignorant thing I've ever heard from parents is, "children can be so cruel." BS, that's learned behavior. When teachers and parents allow bullying to continue, they may as well jump in on the torture treatment.

[DeLarla 22]

Now that I'm old(er) I can laugh at this stuff, but my life as a child was somewhere between Carrie and Cybil as far as mental abuse and living like a freak. The momster's mental health got worse with each passing year, till I came home one day to find all the windows painted army green. She was afraid "they" were looking inside, so she got her house paint and roller out and permanently closed our house off to any light. She scratched a peep hole in one window, which was covered with tape and a little paper flap. That was the only light inside.

Today, I hate dark rooms. Let the sunshine in. Or should I say, LET THE F-ING SUN SHINE IN! Don't take sunshine for granted!

[vinesqueen 2]

by all rights, I figure I should at the very least be an ax murderer.

to this day my older sister cannot see how I could have called the police on our parents. In the '70s it wasn't like today, where the slightest alligation of abuse is investigated.

My mom blames me for how my younger brother turned out. She figures it's all my fault he's abusive, spent years on coke, criminal record, incredibly manipulative and basically a viper. He's 40 years old, and is living off her. Younger brother has most of the "tells" for a serial killer, if that doesn't creep me out...

Of course, our older brother is about the same, but he's not mean in the same way. Of course, when I was little, older brother would pick me up by my head and smother me until I would pass out. Then drop me to the floor.

[j_war06 0]

Hey, I thot my family was nuts, but I am truly lucky. But from a psychological point of view, do any of you think that the abuse or just wierdness in the family may have contributed to your weight gain and obesity in the long run? I know that while I was little my mom was a little nuts because her mom (my Mama Di) treated her like she wasnt worth the dirt she walked on, so Mom pushed me to be the perfect little girl, especially since my Mama Di took away my sister from my mom after she was born and told everyone that she had had a baby when she was about 35 (which isn't old btw) but everyone saw Mom pregnant, and never saw Mama Di pregnant, but she honestly believes that everyone thinks that my biological sis is her daughter (weird huh?) My family is WACKY! That's all, when I was little Mom used to make me do pagents, to this day I dunno where that money came from because my Mom worked for Mama Di in her conveniant store making $50 a week, and Dad made about $6,000 a year. I am a natural blond haired, hazel-eyed girl, with dimples, and it was more than anyone could stand (I was soooooooo cute) but I started gaining weight when I was about 3 or 4 like CRAZY!! And have never lost it, I was born big, but I mean I blew up and Mom did everything she could to stop it which led me to being a Binge Eater from the ages of abour 4 until I was about 12, then I became a short-term anorexic (when school ended I started eating a lot in the summer). Now I am just huge and in a lot of pain, but I am so lucky to have the parents that I have, and you all have shown me that, thanks, you all are an inspiration

Oh, wanna here something funny!!!!

My other grandmother (Mamo) got arrested about 5 weeks ago for public intoxication, she had went to the doctor and faked serious depression to get Xanax and Trazadone and took some on the way home, and did not make it 2 miles before she hit someone in an intersection but drove off to Casa Ole (mexican food place) and hit someone else then freaked out, turned around and almost hit another person trying to back out of the police baracade!!! All they gave her was a PI tho, but we made her sit in jail until she sobered up!!! My family is just plain ZANEY!!

[Zoe 6]

Oh, man. . . my parents can't even come close. They screwed up a lot of things, but they seem like the Cleavers compared to DeLarla's Momster and the families of Vinesqueen, Babs, and Big T.

This thread is a testament to human resilience. Y'all have taken some of the worst things that parents have to offer and not only survived but prevailed! I'm in awe of you -- and feeling very lucky indeed to have been the child of garden-variety neurotics who at least (most of the time) had a sense of humor.