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How To Give Your Kids A Very Un-Merry Christmas

, , , , , , | Related | December 23, 2021

My parents divorce when I’m about six years old, and my biological father moves to a different city. When I’m eight and my brothers are ten and twelve, we spend our first Christmas with my dad instead of with Mom.

Everything is fine for the first few days, though our father takes us daily to his parents’ house to play with the kids there — they work for the government taking care of children whose parents cannot look after them — while he sleeps on their sofa. We don’t get affected by it because it’s the normal procedure every time we visit.

But then, we wake up on the twenty-fourth, and our father is nowhere to be seen. We look around his apartment and find nothing — no note and not even food in the fridge. Since we are three children in a really bad neighborhood — my father’s house has been robbed three times at this point — my oldest brother calls my mom back in [Hometown] to ask what to do. They talk for a bit and she calls back later.

Brother: “She said Grandma and Grandpa will be here soon and to pack all our things.”

We do as we’re told, and half an hour later, our grandparents show up.

Me: “Where’s Dad?”

Grandma: “He had a very serious emergency at work, so you three are going to spend Christmas with us.”

They take us to their house, and I proceed to have the worst Christmas ever. My brothers and I end up sitting alone at dinner at a small table, and at night, my grandfather distributes BOXES of fireworks to the children. Imagine twelve children — not counting us — ages five to fourteen, all armed with fireworks. There is so much smoke that I get dizzy and I cough all night.

And because we are not supposed to be there, we also have no presents. As soon as I set foot back inside, my grandma shoves two unwrapped board games into my hands, no “Merry Christmas” or anything, and walks off. I found out later that what she did was unwrap presents aimed at other kids and give them to us, not caring what it was; my brother got a ball, despite his dislike for sports.

Many years later, nearing another Christmas and talking to my mom about bad holiday experiences, I recall this whole story.

Mom: “A ‘very serious emergency’?! Is that what they told you?! Yeah, I guess the police coming for him would have been an emergency!”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “When your brother called me, your father didn’t answer my call, so I called your grandparents. You know what his ‘emergency’ was? [Girlfriend] booked two nights for them at [Seaside Resort]. He abandoned his children without a word to go spend Christmas at [Casino]!”

Me: “…”

Mom: “And you know what? Your grandparents didn’t want to pick you all up! They said they already had too many kids, with [Favorite Grandkid] coming, and that they didn’t want the hassle of three more kids! They agreed and rushed to get you only after I told them that as soon as I was done with the call, I was calling the police and coming myself to pick up my kids — their d*** grandchildren — and I was having that b*****d arrested! That’s why I never allowed him another holiday with you!”

So, to recap, my biological father abandoned his three young kids in a dangerous neighborhood to go gamble with his girlfriend, and my grandparents refused to take care of us because it would have been “a hassle” to accommodate their grandchildren for Christmas in an emergency. I cut ties with that whole side of the family as soon as possible.

This Doctor’s Inability To Listen Is Nauseating

, , , , | Healthy | October 18, 2021

After I’ve complained about stomach pain for a few days, along with vomiting and nausea, my mom takes me to the ER.

Doctor: “Have you considered you might be pregnant?”

Mom: “Excuse you?”

The doctor turns away from my mom and takes my hands, moving her chair closer.

Doctor: “I know it may be hard to admit this in front of your mom, but you have to consider the chance that you might be having a child soon.”

She keeps on talking like that, giving me recommendations and numbers to call for help with teen pregnancy. My mom and I are looking at her in horror, until my mom can’t take it anymore and leaves the room.

Me: “Lady. I am, one, a fifteen-year-old virgin, and two, asexual, with a girlfriend. No. I am not pregnant. Can you let go of my hands and actually do some sort of exam now?”

Doctor: “Sweetie, things like this can happen by accident. Maybe your boyfriend and you were not—”

Before I got the chance to correct her, my mother came back into the room with a nurse, who told the doctor the head nurse was calling her. I ended up being seen by a different doctor, who sent me to do some actual exams. After a lot of different exams and many weeks of pain, whatever I had finally passed. We never knew what it was, but it was certainly not a child!

Live Free Or Twihard

, , , , | Friendly | February 20, 2021

I am sitting on a bench reading a book. As it is old, my mother has made it a plastic cover to protect the original from fading. There’s a group of men on a nearby bench, and one of them has been glaring at me and making comments to his friends that I can’t quite hear. I’m starting to get uncomfortable and decide it is best to leave, but as soon as I close my book, the man gets up and trots up to me.

Man: “Hey, you haven’t been reading that long. What, did something happen to your favorite fairy?”

Me: “My… what?”

Man: “Do you actually think vampires are all shiny and broody like that? God, all you teen girls like the same trash.”

I stare at him, trying to process what is happening, and then it finally hits me. The plastic cover of my book is black, and this guy probably confused it with a rather trashy popular vampire novel. I take my book back out, remove the cover and show it to him.

Me: “Actually, this is a collection of Lovecraft’s works. I also carry Dracula with me, since I am almost done with this one.”

Man: “Oh… um, those are… very good reads… I, um…”

He stuttered all the way back to his bench, where his friends were pretending not to know him. 

For the record, I dislike [Popular Novel] with a passion, but I do not attack people for reading it. Hey, at least they read.

When Push Comes To Punch

, , , , | Learning | February 6, 2021

When I’m in school, maybe nine years old, a new government program gives all children from elementary to high school little laptops with little functionality, aimed to teach kids about technology. Since they can go on the Internet, most kids use them to play games.

I’m sitting outside my classroom before class with a friend and a classmate, with the latter’s five-year-old sister standing near. I have come to hate this child because every time her kinder class crosses paths with mine, she aims to do her best to annoy me, including trying to steal whatever I am holding or have near me.

We are all playing games on our little laptops, nobody is paying attention to the kid, and I have my laptop bag next to me on the bench. The kid approaches her sister and suddenly snatches my bag and takes off through the courtyard. I put my laptop aside and take off after her, expecting to have to force a bathroom door open or call a teacher, because that’s where she usually runs to. But when we are nearing the restroom doors, the girl trips on a loose tile, falls on her face, and starts crying.

I stop, take my bag, and start walking back, but my classmate’s younger brother intercepts me, followed by his sister.

Brother: “You pushed my sister! What the f*** is wrong with you?!”

Me: “I didn’t even to—”

He punches me right in the mouth and I throw a punch back, but his sister and my friends manage to pull us apart. I walk off holding back tears out of pride, and I spend the rest of the day tasting blood.

When the classes are done, I spot my mom amongst the crowd of parents waiting outside our classroom and run to her, but I am stopped by another woman yanking my arm violently.

Woman: “Who the h*** do you think you are, pushing a little girl?! I should teach you some f****** manners myself, you little monster!”

I am starting to cry because this strange woman is screaming in my face and is still holding my arm. Then, I spot the little demon grinning behind her. Next to her is her brother, glaring at me, and then my classmate, pale as a ghost and trying to step away from her family. In the middle of the third or fourth time the woman calls me some form of the words “monster” or “bully,” another voice, equally as angry, rises above the yells.

Mom: “Excuse me.”

My mom makes her way to us, yanks the woman away from me, and hides me behind her.

Mom: “What gives you the right to touch my daughter?”

Woman: “Your little monster pushed my baby to the ground and then punched my boy in the face! I should call the police on you right now!”

My mom turns to me with a questioning look. By now I am in a complete panic, sobbing and hiccuping, but I am able to tell my side, including the brother punching me first. By the time I finish, the brother is trying to hide behind his older sister, and the sister has started defensively crying. Their mother explodes in expletives and curses, but this time talking to her kids.

Woman: “I did not raise you to steal and lie to me, [Sister]! Why in the h***—”

We didn’t hear the rest of it because my mom pulled me away and out of the school, muttering about crazy people and reassuring me that I’d done nothing wrong. 

The next day, the little demon and her brother stayed as far away from me as possible. My classmate came up to me and apologised many times for her siblings’ actions and for not stopping either of them. She turned out to be one of the sweetest girls I ever met, which still baffles me, having witnessed her mother’s behaviour.

Avengers… Assemble The Cake!

, , | Right | January 24, 2021

I’m at the grocery store shopping for cookie ingredients. A middle-aged woman walks up to me while I look for something extra to put on the cookies.

Customer: “Excuse me, where is the [Brand] caramelized milk?”

I figure she asked me because I was looking intently at the shelves, and I look around a little.

Me: “Well, seems like there isn’t any. Sometimes it’s on sale at the end of the aisle; hold on.”

I leave to check around the corner and come back.

Me: “Nope, nothing. Seems they ran out.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s too bad. You see, I wanted [Brand] to make a cake, but this [Other Brand] is always too sweet, and this other—”

She continues rambling about caramelized milk brands and I end up tuning her out because she starts mumbling and talking while looking away. I reassume staring at the shelf, assuming she’s just talking alone by now, when suddenly she whips back and stares at me.

Customer: “Are you sure you don’t have [Brand]?”

Me: “Uh… no.”

Customer: “You work here, right?”

I looked down at my Captain America shirt and shook my head. She then rambled some more, this time about powdered sugar, before grabbing a different brand and stalking off, leaving me to wonder if the Avengers worked the morning shift.