No, Mom and Dad, I am NOT going to Guelph with you to visit my sister and her family

First “Gotcha ya”, then “Fucko off” and now this! A veritable smorgasbord of catch phrases is the SDMB. :slight_smile:


I guess this is the “up” side of being an orphan, no?

And back to the topic…

I was invited to ride along with my grandmother and aunt as they drive to visit my sister and family. A drive from Chicago to Salt Lake City.
I said no. Here’s why :

When I’m in a car and not driving, I either sleep, listen to music or read. My grandmother finds it endlessly amusing to read roadside signs aloud - comparing gas prices is a favorite - and verbally ponder just what things are - roadkill and construction. I can take this for about an hour before I want to garrote her with her seatbelt. She doesn’t like to read :rolleyes: and won’t listen to books on tape. Unless I’m asleep, she’ll keep talking.


MGibson, are you trying to come across as humorless and sanctimonius? Just curious


I respect the fact that my father won’t be around forever, and my mother has already passed. Some of my worst memories were being around my parents when they were arguing, or when my mother was just being psychotic, as road trips or family gatherings were prone to make her.

So, scott, I empathize with your situation and will suggest that what MGibson said is exactly the reason you shouldn’t subject yourself to that. Good luck.

Does the stick up your ass have a stick up its ass?

Fuck you.

Jeez, I feel a bit left out… I have some great memories of family road trips. I’m sorry to hear others have less-than-great experiences.

I guess there are benefits to England being so small. For us, a two-hour drive is halfway across the country! :smiley:

MGibson and anyone else who has pleasant memories of family road trips: Some of us have had truly bad experiences.

Both of my parents are simply unable to control their emotions. I was traumatized by some of the trips I took with them. The way I see it, if your therapist agrees that it was bad, it was bad.

I’m going to have to tell the radiator story. Let me freshen my cola and I’ll continue in a new post.

MGibson: I usually respect what you have to say, but in this case you’re coming off as something of a prick. Some of us really do despise our parents and have turned out to be decent people in spite of their efforts. I cut off contact with my cruel, abusive father over a decade ago, and am a better person for it. I have no desire to interact with him, ever again. If you insist on judging me because of that, well, it would hardly be the first time somebody jumped to an inaccurate conclusion based on insufficient evidence and personal prejudice.

The Radiator Story

I was 14 years old. My parents and I drove from North Jersey to Penn State University to see my cousin play for the Nittany Lions. It was a pretty good weekend…until the drive back.

We had this POS Chevette, and on the way back, it started overheating. My dad pulled over to put in coolant. That helped…for about half an hour. He pulled over again and determined that we would have to wait for the engine to cool off.

My mom, who had been sitting on a tack ever since we’d started driving, commenced screaming at him that he was going to have to get us to a service station. He ignored her and stayed outside. Lucky him. Finally, we started up again, but the needle went back into the red almost immediately, and he pulled over again.

I could hear the engine ticking. My mom started screaming that the engine was going to blow up. I put all my stuff into my bag and prepared to leap out of the car if necessary.

My mom stopped screaming with words and simply screeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaamed. Now, if you’ve never heard my mom scream, you can’t know. It’s bad enough in a building, but in a compact car, it’s like being next to a jet engine.

I was pretty hungry by now. I’m not sure we’d had a meal before getting on the road, but if we had, it had been hours earlier by then. My mom was hungry too. She heard my dad rustling around in the hatchback and turned around to shriek, “Don’t eat anything! Are you eating? We haven’t eaten anything…ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh youuuuuuuuuuuuuu BASTARRRRRRRRRRRRRRD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” (Sorry, I know I’m fucking up the horizontal.)

You know what? I don’t feel like telling the rest of it. Is that enough, MGibson? Or do you need to hear how my mom was threatening to push my dad into oncoming traffic before you understand?

That incident drove a wedge between me and my parents for a long time. It was not an anomaly. It was simply the worst of many bad highway scenes. I get along with my parents now by virtue of the fact that we don’t go on road trips together.

Darn you, Cervaise, sneaking in there and summing it up better than I could!

I should also mention that my mom once screamed in the car when I was driving and she and Mr. Rilch were passengers. She was already gearing up to a tantrum, and got me so rattled I drove over one of those parking-lot dividers. I mean the cement ones that are about four inches high. That’s when she screamed.

When Mr. Rilch had guided me back off of it, he opened the passenger door and quietly asked my mom if that had really been necessary. Her reply: “Sometimes I just have a lot of frustration and I have to let it out!” Me, to her: “Don’t let it out on him. If you please.” To him, privately, “I’m so sorry you had to hear that. I’ll try not to let her do it again. But FTR, that was not even her worst scream.”

When I was thirteen, my mother, my grandmother (mom’s mom), my sister and I went on a two week trip to Florida, namely Disney World, Busch Gardens and The Ringling Brothers Museum in Sarasota.

I was trapped in a car with my mother and her mother (who I adored, but…) for two solid weeks.

I don’t really think I need to elaborate.

My ears are still ringing.

Not to diminish or mock the genuine abuse that many people have suffered at the hands of their own parents, but this cracked me up:

“Oh, pshaw, forget about that – it’s nothing! No need to dwell on that! In fact, don’t even pay me for today’s session – it’s a freebie!”

My own experience with therapy indicates that, as long as you want to talk about it, they’ll find a reason that you need to.

pld: The therapist in this instance had no compunction about telling me to get over something if he thought I should. He prided himself on a good turnover rate.

Hey, feel free to damn me. I’m a big boy, I can take it. :wink:


Scott Evil didn’t say his parents were horrible people or that he’s cut them out of his life. He said that the road trip was unpleasant but gave no indication that the rest of the trip was going to be horrible. I didn’t call Scott Evil names, I didn’t say he was being selfish, I didn’t even say he [ul]should[/ul] go.

However for some reason Daikona felt the need to jump in my face. I see no reason to apologize for jumping right back in his face.

I don’t suppose you could give me the benefit of the doubt? Maybe I’ve lost a parent and I don’t want Scott Evil to be in a position where he might regret decisions that can’t be changed.


  • MGibson*

then said

You couldn’t leap more to conclusions if you were a kangaroo on meth.

At what point did Scott say he was no longer in contact with his parents or even considering that? He doesn’t want to be involved in activities with them that cause him aggravation.

Wouldn’t it make more sense to do things everyone enjoys? If we follow your logic stream - the “they might DIE! today!” stream - that sounds like it would make things worse, not better. After all, things done out of pure obligation and not out of want are usually done half heartedly.

If not going with his parents on a drive helps keep the relationship between Scott and Mom/Dad Evil happy, let him catch the bus minus the guilt suitcase.

Well, you lost the parent. Stop picking on Scott because you forgot where you leave things.


I have a good relationship with my parents. I am able to discuss much of my life openly with them, including the gay thing.

However, I’m not about to spend six hours in a car with them bitching and screaming at each other. I only have a finite number of vacation days, and that’s not how I’m planning on spending them.

I’ll take a plane or train and go visit my sister, but on my own terms. I’m not going to subject myself to a a road trip from hell.