I humiliated my parents the most when I...

… projectile vomited on the priest during my First Communion.

I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even sick. But it happened, and my parents were never the same after that.

7 years old. First Communion was a big deal in our family as my parents were active in the church (Dad was married to stepmom #1, who was a fearsome little social-climber). Anyway, on my special day, we kids were lined up and kept waiting in a very hot room. Getting thirstier and thirstier, I spied my older sister and, after getting her attention, asked her if she could get me some water.

“No, I can’t. You’re not supposed to drink before the mass or you’re going to Hell.”
“But I’m thirsty!!!”
“If you drink, you’re going to Hell,” she said smugly, “but I’ll tell you what I did. When you drink from the chalice, just take a big gulp. It’s grape juice and there won’t be many kids after you, so it’s not like nobody else is going to have any.”
“Thanks!”

So, after an interminable wait we finally start. And I’ve gotta tell you, I am THIRSTY!!! So I wait while all the kids are called, getting thirstier and thirstier the whole time. Finally, the priest intones my name:

“JohnT, yadda, yadda, yadda. Drink from this cup…”

Whereupon I literally yanked it from his hands, tilted it up pretty high, and took 3 or 4 big, HUGE gulps… of wine.

Guess who is extremely allergic to alcohol, to the point where my stomach immediately and violently rejects it? Guess who found out during his First Communion?

My eyes got huge, my face turned red. I remember turning towards the audience looking for my traitorous sister, when I turned my head, dropped the chalice, and Linda Blaired all over the front of the priest. Wine, breakfast, remains of the previous nights snack, all came out and splattered the priest, the altar, and the chalice.

He jumped back in shock, the kids erupted in laughter, the audience… well, I don’t remember what the audience reaction was because I was consumed by the fact that I had, for the first time in my short life, really, truly, fucked up. And big.

I acted sick, which was pretty simple because I was sick. But still, one just doesn’t do such things… not in my family, you don’t.

My parents resigned from their church duties that week, found another church, and eventually got divorced about 3 years later. I don’t think that my first communion was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but I do think that it was when things started to go wrong between them. Which was alright by me, as I couldn’t stand her.

So, when did you embarrass your parents the most?

Lots of times…

One, my Montessori teachers were talking about drugs, and I mentioned to her that my parents used Coke… :rolleyes: It was the drink, not the drug!

Another, they were talking about sexual harassment, and I said my dad harassed my mom…guess who had been listening to naughty talk all that time? The teachers later told my parents, and all was over with laughing…

Oh, mine is GOOD. Blows the OP away, and I dare anyone to top it. I’ve got to build my courage up a little first.

i’m with you, pravnik.

:squeezes pravnik’s hand:

:wipes off rather disgusting taint of moisture and residue:

C’mon, Pravnick. You can’t let us hang like this… :frowning:

:wink:

They were having a dinner party, and I was talking to some guests. I must have been 13, 14 years old, and the conversation came to AIDS. I said all people with AIDS should be sent on an island to live alone, so as not to spread the disease to innocent people. Conversation stopped, my mom commented she couldn’t believe a child of hers would think like that, I was asked to leave the adults alone.

Within the next week (this is pre-info highway here) I had books, magazine articles, pamphlets, and my aunt the nurse came to talk, and I was quickly educated how AIDS is transmitted.

They were having a dinner party, and I was talking to some guests. I must have been 13, 14 years old, and the conversation came to AIDS. I said all people with AIDS should be sent on an island to live alone, so as not to spread the disease to innocent people. Conversation stopped, my mom commented she couldn’t believe a child of hers would think like that, I was asked to leave the adults alone.

Within the next week (this is pre-info highway here) I had books, magazine articles, pamphlets, and my aunt the nurse came to talk, and I was quickly educated how AIDS is transmitted.

Great, not only was I an ignorant little sh*t, its up there twice.

My Dad, a navy man, had just returned from six months at sea.

The next morning I ran into my parent’s bedroom, looked at my Mom, and asked “Where’s the man with the beard?”

I can’t remember this. No one knows why I said it. - I think one of my siblings put me up to it as a practical joke.

Okay, okay.

When I was 17, almost 18, I-how shall I put this? I wrecked my parent’s car in my underwear, and subsequently went to county jail in the only clothes in the car…which were some of my moms.

I was discovered the next morning by my lawyer/dad, who was at the jail interviewing clients.

Is that sufficient, or you guys want more humiliating detail?

When I was a mini kid, there was a point in time where I wanted to be a dictator. I told all my moms friends about my plan to give lethal injection to anyone who commited certain felonies, because obviously they were bad people. Little did I know that one of my moms friends had a son in jail for one of the felonies I listed, sigh.
I have since changed my views on Dictatorship and lethal injection and generalising on what makes a person “bad”.

Wow! All I have to say is ouch Pravnik, ouch.

Oh JohnT, that was bloody bew-di-ful.

OK pravnik, I need to know.

Why were you in your underwear?

Please, share. It’s ok. We are with you.

And how are your underwear large enough that you can wreck an entire car in them?

I went to France, and then England when I was 13. France: Beautiful country, aggresive drivers, nude beaches; too cold, and not enough nude. England: watching people break into cars at 3 P.M. is pretty interesting. Stonehenge: fun to climb on (i wish) :smiley:

So I’m flying back, and remember how my mother had embarassed me a few weeks earlier when I was boarding the plane. I know it wasn’t intentional, but it happened, and was the most dramatic goodbye I’ve ever seen/ experienced. I develop a plan so dastardly, so daring, that I laugh myself stupid half the flight back.

I exit the boarding ramp, back into BWI, where I will never see any person in this place again. Immediately, I start scoping for parental unit… located. Approaching target… nearing target…

(paraphrasing)

Me (very loudly): MOMMY!!! I’ve missed you so much mommy!!!

Her (telepathically): Are you on drugs?!

Me: I love you mommy!!! I’ll never leave you again!!! Why did you send me to such an awful place? I thought I was a good boy.What did I do to deserve being seprated from you for so long?

Her: ::while running for the nearest corner to hide in:: He is grounded for SOOOO long.

Me: ::in tow: come back mommy!!! All I want is a hug!!!

hehehe, and so begins a life of pranks, instability, and excessive amounts of laughing at people.

When I was four, my mom watched a baby from down the street a few days a week. This was in the middle of my Belle-and-Sebastian-induced “I want a dog” phase, and I’d decided that if I couldn’t have a dog, I’d act like one. Much running around on all fours, barking, and shedding of clothes ensued. (“But Mom, dogs don’t WEAR clothes!”)

So, one day the baby’s father came to pick him up, and I jumped up and licked his face, right in front of my mom.

When you’re 4, the world is your oyster and other such cliches. Anyway, my parents had to stop by a liquor store and I decided to make the best of this dull and boring place (I’m 4, remember), so I decided I’d play around with those numbers underneath those bottles of stuff. I changed the price of cheap wine to $12,345,678.90 or made the finest single-malt scotch a 50 cent bargain. Suffice to say, my parents were incredibly embarassed and we’ve never been back to that store, even though it’s probably the closest one to our house.