Many years back, I hadn’t been away from my abusive family’s influence long enough to say no when they said they’d be picking me up on the way to my grandmother’s for an early Christmas. On the way, we stopped at a shopping mall to stretch our legs and spend gift money. We were very sternly warned to be back at the meeting spot on time so that we weren’t late for dinner because we didn’t want to upset Grandma. (She wasn’t part of the abuse, but Mom and [Stepfather] threatening us with other people was.)

My sister (still in high school and living with Mom) and I were very careful to be there a few minutes before the appointed time, but when it rolled around, my mother and stepfather were nowhere to be seen. Five minutes passed, and then ten, so I told my sister to wait in case they showed up and I’d do a quick stroll through the mall to find them.

I did find them. They were in a pet shop, signing the final paperwork on a purebred Saint Bernard puppy. I was told to go wait, and they’d be along soon. I returned and let my sister know where they were, and she got livid. She ran to the pet store and started yelling.

Sister: “This is money you should be spending on me! How dare you neglect me in favor of a new dog?!”

Stepfather: *Yelling back* “This is my money, and I don’t need to spend any of it on my wife’s kids!”

Eventually, my mother quieted them down (“calmed” would be doing too much heavy lifting here). The dog was paid for and slated to be picked up on our way home, and we were told in no uncertain terms that Grandma was not to hear about this because she’d be upset hearing about a new dog.

In the end, Mom told Grandma about the dog over dinner, and Grandma was not the least upset over it. Mom, [Stepfather], and [Sister] came to the conclusion that their entire fight had been somehow orchestrated by me to try and destroy the “happy part of the family” out of spite. (Apparently, my sister was never going to notice stopping at the mall on the way back, the dog sitting in the car on the drive, or, you know, a SAINT BERNARD living in the house for the next decade or two).

I went on to write this story and to reduce the contact I have with my family.

Related:
Getting A Slap In The Face For Christmas

Client in April: “Could you do stuff for our wedding in early August?”

Client in June: “I will get something to you soon.”

Client in early July: “I’ve been busy.”

Client in very late July: “This needs doing quickly!”

Client on the week of the wedding: “I don’t like it.”

Client: My sister. 

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A Lack Of Planning On Your Part…

I am seven years older than my sister — both over twenty-five — but at times, I feel like we were raised by completely different people. While I never go to anyone else’s house without permission or invitation, she makes herself at home everywhere.

I was sitting on the couch watching TV by myself a little after 8:00 pm when my front door unlocked and opened. [Sister] walked in, smiling. 

Sister: “Want to watch [Netflix Movie]?”

Me: “I don’t remember making plans tonight.”

Sister: “I know, but I can’t get Netflix to work anymore.”

I recently learned that she was using my account without my permission. I told her I was not sharing it with her, but my mother gave her the password after she insisted I was okay with it. Then, [Sister] logged in at her house and gave my password to her boyfriend’s housemate and her friend. Now, my one account was being used by five homes, including my parents. I changed the password and logged everyone else out.

Me: “Uh… again, we don’t have plans. I have to work at 5:00 am, so I can’t hang out tonight.”

Sister: “I’ll be quiet. You can go to bed whenever.”

Me: “If you want to hang out tomorrow, that’s fine. But I am not having company tonight.”

Sister: “I’m not company; I’m family.”

Me: “You don’t live here. You’re company. Please leave.”

Sister: “I want to watch [Movie] with you.”

Me: “Then you should have called to ask if I was free to hang out.”

Sister: *Changing the TV* “I’ll keep the volume down. Just go about your business. Pretend I’m not here.”

Me: “[Sister]. You can get out or I can throw you out. You have ten seconds before I decide for you.”

Sister: “But—”

Me: “Nine.”

Sister: “You—”

Me: “Four.”

Sister: “That’s not fair!”

Me: “OUT!”

I moved toward her, and she ran for the door. As she was getting in her car, she flipped me off and swore at me.

The next day after work, I went out and got an electronic lock with a passcode and a camera. [Sister] posted on Facebook that she felt like she was hated for being who she was and that people would miss her if she decided to cut them off. I wonder what that was about?

Related:
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Like A Good Neighbor, Don’t Be A Creep!
Like A Good Neighbor, Stay Out Of My House!
Like A Good Neighbor, Eyes To Yourself!
Like A Good Neighbor, Back Off My Dog!

I don’t really remember much of this story as it happened when I was six. I’ve heard it a lot over the years since my brother held it over my head for my entire childhood. 

When I was six and my brother was eight, my parents went on a weeklong vacation for their tenth wedding anniversary. Our dad’s parents lived far away. We usually didn’t see them much, but they came up to babysit us that week. I was a very anxious kid and was worried about it, but my parents reminded me how much I loved my mom’s parents and said it would be fine.

As soon as my parents left, my brother and I started to feel uncomfortable. My grandparents would tell us, “You’re too skinny! You need to eat more,” and force us to eat past when we were full. They apparently said a bunch of weird things about my interests. I was a little girl who almost always wore skirts and loved playing with princess dolls. I was also a huge nerd who loved reading anything I could get my hands on, even as a six-year-old, and was obsessed with dinosaurs. My grandparents couldn’t put the two together. (I think they could understand girly girls and tomboys but not anything in between.)

They also said something along the lines of my glasses being a crutch for me to use instead of improving my eyesight naturally, and they kept trying to convince me to go without them the whole week. They said it was sad that a girl this young needed glasses. They insinuated that the only reason a kid my age would ever need glasses was to be bullied. I was teased at school but not because of glasses; this was in the early 2000s, and I was far from the only kid at school who needed glasses.

I’ve had glasses since I was a literal baby. I have amblyopia (lazy eye), severe astigmatism, and a really high prescription in general (+10 in one eye, +13 in the other) which hasn’t really changed much since I was a kid. Anything at any distance is too blurry to make out properly without them. When I was in fourth grade, for some reason, I took off my glasses when I went biking, and I almost immediately crashed into a tree and ended up in a wheelchair for the whole summer with two broken legs. So, my glasses were a pretty big deal.

I was a very anxious kid, so I didn’t really stand up for myself much. My brother argued with them on my behalf. I refused to take my glasses off whenever my grandparents asked me to, though, since they were so important for my functioning. They kept pestering me throughout the evening.

When I woke up on the first morning after my parents left, my glasses were nowhere to be found. My parents had given us a slip of paper with their hotel number, so my brother called, and after a few attempts, he was able to tell my parents what had happened. My parents were furious and demanded to speak to our grandparents, who reluctantly gave my glasses back. 

My parents tore them a new one. They were in the act of booking flights to come back up when my mom’s parents, who had been informed of the incident, offered to pick us up and take us to their home for the weekend. We saw our maternal grandparents all the time, and they were loving and accepted us for all of our interests, quirks, and visual needs.

My maternal grandparents came to pick us up before lunch. My paternal grandparents were upset and yelled at our maternal ones for a while, but there wasn’t really anything to do. That was Saturday, so we ended up missing school for the next few days, and our parents did end up cutting their trip early to come back and see us, but it was worth it.

We never really saw our dad’s family after that — apparently, it sparked a big fight with his siblings and parents.

But as I said, I barely remember this incident; I’m just recounting what my brother has told me as he continues to lord it over my head that he saved the day, even into adulthood.

I’ve been a substitute teacher at the same school for about ten years, and I’m one of the favorite subs the district has according to most of the kids. One day, I’m assigned to a class that has two identical twin brothers. I’ve known them for a few years, but despite my best efforts, I simply cannot tell them apart unless they are literally shoulder-to-shoulder in front of me. The twins are Black, and I am white.

We’re between classes when the kids have a few minutes to go to the bathroom or grab something from their locker. I’m standing out in the hallway when [Twin #1] approaches me.

Twin #1: “Hey, Mr. [My Name], can I please go to the bathroom before class?”

Me: “Yes, you may. Which one are you?”

[Twin #1] starts to answer, but then I hear a woman’s voice just behind me.

Woman: “Excuse me? What did you just ask him?”

I turn around and see a middle-aged woman I’ve never met before, at school or anywhere else. She is white, like me. Before [Twin #1] or I can say a word, she continues.

Woman: “Are you racist? Do all African American children look the same to you, so you need to ask ‘which one’ is speaking to you? I may have a word with the school principal about this.”

Just then, [Twin #2] comes out of my classroom and stands next to his brother. The woman splutters a bit and goes beet-red.

Me: “In this case, yes. I have a bit of trouble telling [Twin #1] and [Twin #2] apart. Most people in school do, and it has nothing to do with their race or ethnicity. Can I ask who you are?”

The woman refused to answer, turned on her heel, and started walking toward the office. I gave both twins permission to go to the bathroom and then asked a different teacher who I knew was on their free hour if they could please cover my class for a few minutes. The teacher agreed after I gave a hasty explanation, and I followed the woman to the office to make sure I could defend myself against any accusations she might make.

The woman turned out to be a brand-new substitute teacher, and she did try making a few accusations against me — racism toward Black students, verbal abuse against her, etc. The principal — whom I’ve known for many years, even before I started substitute teaching — didn’t buy a word of it after hearing my side of the story. The woman was invited to rethink her decision to become a substitute teacher and to either learn to figure out the facts before jumping to conclusions or find a different career.

I returned to class and got a high-five from both twins. We still sometimes joke about it whenever I have to ask “which one” of them I’m talking to.