I’m the oldest of four children. We’re quite spread apart in age; the youngest is nine years younger than me. [Brother #1], who is eleven years old, has gotten a single-serve bag of chips and a drink as a special treat for his baseball team, and [Brother #2], who is nine, is jealous, since we almost never have junk food in the house.

[Brother #2] has tried and failed to steal the chips, so [Brother #1] has decided to eat them right now so he can’t try again.

Me: “Hey, [Brother #1]? May I have one?”

Brother #1: “Sure.”

Brother #2: *Incomprehensible sputtering* “Wha— Why can’t I have some?!”

Brother #1: “Because she didn’t try to steal it!”

Me: “And I asked nicely.”

Brother #2: “She’s eighteen! I’m nine!“

Flawless kid logic. He did not get any chips, and our dad told him to drop it.

When I was about five, I got chickenpox. No big deal for me; I barely noticed and just had a fun week home from school playing Power Rangers.

My mum, however, realised that at age thirty-three, she had never had chickenpox, and she was pretty sure I had now given it to her.

She was right. So, she called her manager at work — a big supermarket chain — and told her that, although she felt fine, she was pretty sure she had the pox.

Manager: *Tersely* “If you feel fine, come in for work, then!”

So… in my mum went. She spent hours sitting at the checkout, scanning items, and handling money, until a supervisor from the bakery department happened to wander by and physically recoiled as he saw that my mum now had visible spots manifesting on her arms and neck.

Supervisor: “Y-You have chickenpox?!”

Mum: “Yep.”

Supervisor: “Why the h*** are you here?”

Mum: “I told [Manager], but she told me to come in anyway.”

[Supervisor] went straight to [Manager] and demanded she let my mother go home. Obviously pissed at being tattled on and having her stupid actions be made apparent to her coworkers, [Manager] tried to take it out on my mum in some small way by demanding she get a doctor’s note.

My mum went straight from work to the doctor who told her, confused, that she could have just stayed home for a week, maybe even only a few days. She didn’t need to see a doctor for chickenpox.

When my mum told him her manager had demanded a doctor’s note, he said, “Fine,” and signed her off work for TWO weeks. Right before Christmas.

This story is part of our Best Of July 2021 roundup!

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My mom had a tendency to play favorites; I was scrutinized and criticized for just about anything and everything about myself, much more than everyone else, while my little sister was the sweet little angel. (And she was! Even I couldn’t say “no” to those puppy-dog eyes.)

One thing my mom got on my a** for constantly was me being a fan of a particular music artist. She never paid ANY attention to him until I started listening to him. Then, mysteriously, he suddenly became a Satanist that murdered live puppies on stage. Any time one of his music videos appeared on MTV — back when they played music! — her face would twist into a nasty scowl like she was sipping vinegar, and she would loudly scoff, grunt, and shake her head the entire time while making disapproving comments under her breath. 

One day, my sister was in her room playing around, and she had borrowed one of my CDs. My mom went into her room and began talking to her. As one of the songs ended, my mom looked at the stereo.

Mom: “I liked that! That was a really nice song, who sang that?”

Sister: “[Evil Music Artist].”

Mom: “WHAT?!”

I am a white-passing femme-presenting person. It’s winter and it’s snowing, so I’m wearing a matching knit set of gloves, beanie, and scarf. Since my hair is kind of short, I like to make sure my neck is 100% protected from the cold wind by wrapping the scarf and tucking it against the lower edge of the hat firmly, leading to it vaguely looking like one long piece of knitwear.

Some old guy is standing in the middle of campus whining about democrats, Obamacare — which isn’t even available in this state at the time — and tuition, face as red as a toddler throwing a tantrum. He’s yelling at some very disinterested-looking young people who are unfortunately waiting for the bus and are thus a captive audience.

Man: “I don’t want to pay for your college! That’s your problem! It’s not fair to make me pay for your liberal arts degree! You need to pay me!”

I glance back at the sign for the dental school’s building, not twenty feet from him, which is very much not considered a liberal arts program

Me: “Sir, you’re disrupting anyone taking their pre-dental classes in that room. Please quiet down. No one cares what you think.”

Man: *Yelling* “AND WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU [ARABIC SLUR]?”

Me: “I’m a Native American. And I’m also paler than you. Maybe you should go back to your own country.”

He loses steam; he is clearly not used to being challenged by people half his size.

Man: “Uh, well! Well! The f*** do you call that dumb thing on your head?!”

I unwrap the scarf a little bit, speaking slowly to mock his intelligence.

Me: “This part is called a ‘scarf.’ The other part is a ‘hat.’”

The people waiting for the bus started laughing, causing this gigantic toddler to kick the pole for the bus sign in rage, then cuss in pain and limp away. Whenever I saw him harassing my fellow students after that, he’d put his tail between his legs and hurriedly leave like I was Satan himself.

I am a single father with an eight-year-old son. My wife was killed in a car accident when my son was three. My son’s second-grade teacher is the kind of teacher we all pray that our children can avoid; she takes great joy in yelling at children for such heinous crimes as “writing with your left hand” (which my son deals with every day, because this is the twenty-first century and I refuse to force my son to be uncomfortable when he’s writing) or “girls playing with boy’s toys” and vice versa, or “having a nickname that is different than the name on my class roster” (such as going by Katie when the class roster says Katherine).

Not only does she regularly yell at children for these oh-so-dangerous acts, but she also calls their parents afterward to ask what they will do to “fix” their child, and she often belittles their parenting skills. Several parents, including myself, have petitioned the school board to have her removed, but the school board keeps giving her “one last chance” to improve. The school principal has also voiced his belief that [Teacher] should not be in class, but he cannot fire teachers without the school board’s approval, so he’s in the same boat we are.

The final straw is when the teacher calls me with this.

Me: “Hello, [Teacher], how can I help you?”

Teacher: “Hello, Mr. [My Name]. Is Mrs. [My Name] available?”

Me: “No, she’s still in the grave, as I’ve told you many, many times now. If this is about [Son], what is it?”

Teacher: “Oh, well… [Son] was fighting with another student today.”

Me: “[Son]? Today?”

Teacher: “Yes. I have informed [Principal] of the fight, and [Son] will be given recess detention for one week as punishment.”

Me: “[Teacher], I can guarantee you that [Son] was not fighting anyone at school today. He—”

Teacher: “He certainly was! Now, please speak with him tonight about his behavior, because this is clearly unacceptable. You know, you really should find a wife. [Son] clearly needs a mother figure.”

Me: “Goodbye, [Teacher].”

I hang up before she can say another word, and the next morning, I head to the school to speak with the principal. The principal calls [Teacher] down to his office, as well.

Principal: “[Teacher], I understand you called [My Name] last night about [Son]’s fight?”

Teacher: “Yes, I did. You have my report on the fight.”

Principal: “Well, then we have a few problems. First, are you aware that [Son] was not in school yesterday? According to [School Secretary]’s notes, [My Name] called in yesterday morning because [Son] was sick and would be staying home.”

Teacher: “That’s impossible! I very clearly remember yelling at [Son] for fighting.”

Principal: “[My Name], can you verify that [Son] was at home yesterday?”

Me: “I can go get the T-shirt he puked on while we were cuddling, if that works.”

Principal: *Chuckling* “Understood. Please accept my apology for [Teacher]’s behavior. I’ll let you get home and take care of [Son]. I hope he feels better soon. [Teacher], can you stay behind for a few minutes, please?”

I said my goodbyes and headed home. A few hours later, I got an email from the school to the parents of all students in [Teacher]’s class. [Teacher] was finally fired! I later heard from other parents that, while there had been a fight, [Teacher] had knowingly falsified her report by including my son’s name, despite her own attendance records showing that she knew my son was absent that day. This prompted the school board to investigate other reports she had filed, and enough reports were found to contain false information that she was fired.

As of my writing this story, my son has recovered fully and returned to school, and his class is being taught by the school principal until they can find a long-term substitute.

This story is part of our Best Of July 2021 roundup!

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