(Overheard at a playground…)

Mother: “Are your children wearing traditional Japanese kimonos?”

Japanese Mother: “No, they’re Star Wars costumes.”

(My dad was an alcoholic when I was a kid until he finally got caught by the police driving drunk. I’m 21, and I enjoy watching police shows like “Cops,” or “World’s Wildest Police Chases.” I hope to have a career in law enforcement. Meanwhile, my dad returns from jail from his DUI, and is grumpier than usual, and I’m watching my usual cop shows.)

Me: *enjoying show*

Dad: “Turn that s*** off! Change the channel!”

Me: *innocently* “Why? I like it! Bad guy getting caught.”

Dad: *looks away and sulks* “Hmph!”

Me: *evil grin*

(I know what happened, but he doesn’t know that I know. I revel secretly in that fact. And before you all think I’m being harsh, my dad is the type that acts like a law-abiding hero at all times and everyone’s fooled. Only my family knows how he really is. Anyway, now he’s doing better, and watches how many he drinks, so that’s good. I guess a few nights in the slammer will really wake you up!)

(I am sixteen. This is when marijuana is not yet legal in California. My stepdad, who is only a few years older than me, has been bullying me for his entertainment. The latest topic is my choice of hobbies; art is for children, videogames are evil, Dungeons & Dragons is for satanic losers, and Pokemon is for the, well, an ableist slur I’d rather not repeat, and so on. I bring up my complaints about this chronic harassment to my mother.)

Mom: *smoking a cigarette indoors, despite my severe asthma* “Well, it sounds to me like you need to get more mature hobbies.”

Me: *not surprised, just irritated* “First, how is that fair? He collects baseball cards, and I collect Pokemon cards. It’s basically the same thing! And second, more mature hobbies, like what?”

Mom: *snaps* “GROW THE F*** UP AND FIGURE IT OUT!”

(I am not exactly friends with good people, but my friends are better than blood. They and their parents help me get ahold of “mature” hobbies, with the plan to use it just for show. After spending a week away without notice, I return home to my mother with a very full backpack.)

Mom: *notices the dog acting weird about my backpack* “What’s in that?”

Me: *flops some very raunchy magazines out of the backpack, followed by a suspicious bag of green-brown herb balls and some unmarked pills* “You said you wanted me to grow up and get mature hobbies. So, now, I’m going to go find out what that woman can do with that horse while I’m getting stoned, because that’s what adults do. If I get bored of that, I’m going to raid your liquor cabinet. Is that ‘mature’ enough of a hobby for you? I can’t get my grades any ‘higher’ so I might as well get ‘high,’ too!”

(The cigarette falls out of my mom’s mouth. For once, she is silent. We stare at each other for what feels like several minutes before I repack my backpack and take it to my room and put a chair in front of my door. I toss the backpack out the window, where my friend is waiting, and she sneaks away so I can’t get caught having possession of it. I spend the afternoon playing video games until my mom knocks on my door, instead of just barging in like usual.)

Mom: “Uh, so, uh… You can play video games and stuff all you want. I’ll tell your stepdad to leave you alone.”

(Tragically, he didn’t leave me alone. But at least they stopped trying to force me to stop enjoying my own hobbies after that. I didn’t ever end up using any kind of illegal drugs.)

(My father wasn’t a great parent when I was growing up. He and my mother divorced when I was ten, when she found about his ongoing affair. Shortly after their divorce was finalized, he married his mistress, and they moved to a place on the opposite side of the city and expressed no interest in spending time with me, despite my asking to see him. Fast forward a few years: I’m now thirteen. My father, his wife, and their twin boys move back into our area of the city, and for the first time since the divorce, he has agreed to spend time with me. I’m hesitant at first, but at my mother’s insistence, I agree to meet. I go over to their home to have a quiet evening with their family, see their new home, and meet my half-brothers for the first time. I’m a bit uneasy at first, but I start to relax once the kids take a liking to me. I’m in their playroom in the back of the house when I hear the front door slam shut. Concerned I don’t hear my father’s or his wife’s voice afterwards, I decide to check it out. To my surprise, my father and his wife are no longer in the house, and have left a note on the table saying they’re going out and will be back in a few hours. In a panic, I call my mom.)

Me: *panicked* “So… Dad and [His Wife] are gone, and I’m alone with the twins. I don’t know what I should do.”

(My mom flips out, cursing my father and his actions, but quickly calms herself down when she realizes I’m panicking.)

Mom: “Did they say where they were going or how long they’d be? Did they even mention they were leaving at some point?”

Me: “They didn’t tell me anything. I was playing with the twins in their playroom in the back of the house when I heard the door slam. When I went out to check it out, I saw their note on the table, which says they’ll be back in a few hours. They didn’t leave a phone number for me to call in case of an emergency.”

Mom: “I’m going to try giving him a call and see what’s going on. If I don’t call you back in ten minutes, you call me, okay?”

(About two minutes later, my mom calls back, saying she’s called my father, left a voice message, and sent him a couple of texts demanding he call either one of us as soon as possible. Because she doesn’t know when or if we’ll hear back from him, she offers to come look after the boys with me if I’m uncomfortable doing so by myself. I regularly babysit the kids in my neighborhood and the children of my mom’s friends, so I tell her I feel comfortable enough staying and watching the twins. I was more caught off-guard how I was thrown into the situation. Around 11:00 pm, my father and his wife walk through the door, asking me how it went.)

Me: “It went fine. They fussed a little bit, but calmed down after a while. I got them to finally go to sleep around eight and they’ve been quiet since.”

Dad: “That’s great. I knew they’d like you.” *to his wife* “See? I told you she’d be a great babysitter.”

Me: “That’ll be $55.00, please. I prefer cash, but I guess you can write the check out to Mom and she can cash it for me.”

Dad: *taken aback* “What?”

Me: “Um… My fee for babysitting? I charge eight dollars per hour for one kid, and then an extra two dollars an hour per additional kid — an extra three dollars if one of them is a baby. So, two kids, that’s ten dollars an hour, and the two of you have been gone since 5:30, which is five and a half hours. That brings your total to $55.00.”

(The two of them look at each other, then back to me, in both horror and disgust, as if I had asked them to help me hide a dead body.)

Me: “What? You literally ditched me and your kids, expecting that I’d watch over them. You’re lucky I called Mom first and not 911. So, if you’re going to treat me like a babysitter, I want to get paid like one.”

(After he dropped me off at my mom’s, my parents had a long argument over my father’s antics. In the end, I was paid the money — no tip, though — but it was a while before I agreed to meet my father and his family anywhere other than a public place again.)

(My father could be quite cruel with some of his comments when I was growing up. Despite not being in great shape himself, his biggest issue was the food we ate. Being typical kids, we liked unhealthy snacks, and each time we ate them my dad would start ranting about being unhealthy and making quite rude comments. Recently, my mother has told him off a few times for being meaner than usual. One year, we go on holiday from the UK to the US to visit some family friends. A couple of times during the journey, we eat at fast food places, and my father begins griping about how much “crap” we are eating. He’s especially tough on me, the youngest, and seems convinced that I’m going to become massive, which doesn’t help. After a couple of days with our friends, their parents announce we are getting take-out for dinner and ask the kids what they would like. We all respond that we want pizza. When it arrives, we all go to the table and excitedly await a slice. However, instead of a slice, my father puts a white carton on my plate. Confused, I open it and find it’s full of stir-fry vegetables which I certainly I didn’t order.)

Me: “Dad, this isn’t mine!”

(My dad shoots me a blank stare:)

Dad: “Eat your dinner, please.”

Me: “But Dad, I didn’t order stir fry!”

Dad: “Eat what you are given, now!”

Me: “BUT I WANTED PIZZA! WHY DOES EVERYONE ELSE GET TO EAT IT?”

Dad: *angry* “I DON’T CARE! YOU’RE GETTING FAT, AND I WON’T HAVE MY SON BECOME A TUBBY PUDDING! NOW, EAT UP AND SHUT UP!”

(After he finishes his rant, there is a tense silence in the air. All around the table, everyone, including our hosts, are giving him very dirty looks. Immediately, my dad looks sheepish.)

Dad: “Umm… I was just worried about what he was eating… That’s all.”

(He quickly sits down and reaches for the pizza box. To my surprise, my mum slams the box shut and picks up the stir fry carton. She then dumps half the contents on his plate.)

Dad: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I’m trying to eat!”

Mum: “You’ve gotten fat, and I won’t have my husband become a tubby pudding! Now, eat your dinner!”

Dad: “This isn’t fair!”

(My mum gives him a nasty look.)

Mum: “EAT UP AND SHUT UP!”

(People at the table giggled at this one, and my father looked furious but had to bite his tongue hard. After dinner, my dad tried to tell my mother off, but she loudly berated him for his “bullying tactics” and scolded him for being so mean to his children, especially when he was also eating the same amount of garbage we were! Thankfully, my father seemed to take the hint and became less controlling as the years went along. He could still be a difficult character, but the old mean-spirited man seemed to die out. His attitude apparently didn’t impress their friends, since we were never invited to visit again! As a father myself now, I understand the importance of children eating well, but I will never resort to the bullying tactics of my father.)