Well, it’s the damned honest truth. Not my mom’s fault that the real world sucks balls.
I admit that at that age I was not really aware of the world’s many, many injustices, but I thought that it was strange that my parents would seem to deliberately add to them.
A couple of theories:
You need to fill up the tank, but the gas station is not open all the time, and you know that on the first day you can get there during the time it’s open, but you won’t be able to do it the next day.
OR
Your kids are driving you up the wall and you just need to get in the car and drive for a while, because when your hands are busy with the steering wheel you can’t use them to strangle the little darlings.
When we’d go to the Mall, Mom would say that we’d meet at 8:00 PM in the central court and then go home. But on the way out to the car (typically through JC Pennys) she’d shop for another hour, and I’d have to stand there, waiting, while she’ went through rack-after-rack of women’s clothes. We’d finally leave around 9:00 PM, with the floor people discretely coughing and looking at their watches to get a clue to my Mom that they wanted to close.
And all the time, I’d have to just stand there where she could see me. Fuck’s sake, I just came back from roaming the Mall all by myself for two, three hours, and now all of a sudden I have to stand there like a five year-old where she can see me so I don’t get lost.
Then, when I was about 10 or so, I wanted a Huffy bike, like this. It’s what all the neighborhood kids had.
Instead, for Christmas, I get something like this. Godddamned this was so heavy, I couldn’t even hold it upright to get on it, and even if I could, I couldn’t even reach the pedals. I swear to God, I think that damned bike frame was made out of solid steel bars; I think it may have weighed more than most modern motorcycles.
Damn. Pee Wee Herman wants his bike back.
Visiting at the home of another family.
Enjoy a couple hours of the menfolk talking with each other, the womenfolk talking with each other, and the kids playing together.
Parents announce that it’s time to go, so stop playing, put on your coat, and get ready to leave.
Stand in entryway near front door, bundled up, fidgeting and bored to tears while the adults all stand there talking for another 20-40 minutes. But don’t wander off, because, “Hey, come back here! We’re leaving!”
“Gaaaaaaaaaah! So let’s leave already!”
“Brand name” clothing. I was tormented endlessly in junior high school because my entire wardrobe came out of the Sears catalog. Mind you, this was before Sears sold “brand name” clothes; everything in the catalog was their own stuff. So while “everybody” else I knew was wearing San Francisco Riding Gear or Brittania jeans, I was wearing Toughskins. When “everybody” else was wearing Nike or Adidas or Pumas, I was wearing Winners. My parents were utterly convinced that there was no tangible difference, and they refused to pay extra money “just for a brand name” (and they always said the words “brand name” in a remarkably sarcastic tone of voice).
However, in junior high school I joined the track team and discovered I wasn’t bad as a long-distance runner. I wasn’t outstanding, but I was good enough to compete. The coaches told me I needed better shoes, though, so I saved up my paper route money and bought myself a $30 pair of Nike running shoes to replace my $12 Sears “Winner” shoes. I was mocked by my parents for “wasting” my money in such a way, but ignored them and continued to buy my own Nikes when I outgrew/wore out each pair.
Not long after I started running, my dad decided that he would take up jogging to get himself back in shape. He proceeded to do so while wearing his Sears catalog “running shoes” (I called them “running-style shoes”, because really, they were just cheap shoes styled to visually resemble “real” running shoes, but with none of the underlying technology). He constantly complained after each run about how his feet and knees hurt.
Then one day, when I was 15 or 16, I realized I’d grown enough that I now wore the same size shoes as my dad. So my dad was getting himself dressed to go for his daily jog, and I handed him my Nikes and said, “Here, try these.” He rolled his eyes, but went ahead and humored me. He put them on, and went for his jog. When he returned, his eyes were wide and, notably, he wasn’t complaining about sore feet. He was so completely blown away by the difference the Nikes made that he went out the next day, found an athletic shoe store, and tried on all sorts of “name brand” athletic shoes until he found the ones that worked best for him (he settled on New Balance), and never looked back.
It was one of the biggest triumphs of my youth.
Wow. My parents did have a son! 
[Cordelia to Willow]Good to know you’ve seen the softer side of Sears.[/Cordelia to Willow]
Starting at about 4th grade, my Mother became mentally ill. She was a hoarder and not a housekeeper, plus she disapproved of all of my friends and girlfriends. Because of this, I couldn’t have friends over. That continued until I left home. Really made my childhood a trial, even though I knew she was ill. But its OK, Mom.
I almost forgot about this thread!
Whenever we stayed at a motel or hotel, before we checked out my mother would clean the room and make the goddamn bed!:rolleyes: She didn’t want the staff to think we were a family of slobs! :smack: Now days when staying in a hotel I stop just short of pissing in the sink.
When I was about 13 (1973) I had a tape recorder that just stopped working. I wanted a new one (about $12 at that time) but my parents would hear nothing of that. They insisted I take it to this “electronics” repair shop located down town. (please think about what “electronics” were in 1973). A week later the shop called and said my tape recorder was fixed. $10. :eek: Do you have any idea what $10 was to a 13 year old in '73? So when I went to the shop to pick it up I checked it out and found the thing still didn’t work correctly. It worked when using batteries, but would not work on AC power. They even tried a different power cord just to make sure that wasn’t the problem. I said I wasn’t giving them my $10 as they hadn’t fixed it. They said they would fix it and call me when it was done.
3 freaking weeks later they called me and said it was done. I go done to the shop and they tell me some lame story how it was a resistor and not a capacitor that was causing the problem, yadda yadda yadda. But now they want an additional $5 for fixing it for a total of $15. I told them no way! They didn’t fix it right the first time, I wasn’t paying extra for their screw up. They told me they would not return the tape recorder to me until I paid the $15. :pBwaahahahaha! Fine. I walked out thinking I’d just buy a new one and never deal with those fuckstains again.
But by the time I walked home the shop had called our house and spoke with my parents. My parents insisted I go back and pay for the work done. My old man got pissed because I told my ma that she was mental if she thought I was going to pay $15 to fix a tape recorder I can buy new for $12. Then I get this schpeil about how they could sue us for the money. (all $15? It’d be the court trial of the century!:rolleyes: ) I got into a huge shouting match with both of them. Finally the truth came out that I didn’t have $15, I barely had the $10. My pop said he’d pay the additional money. What a sap!:mad:
I missed this when it was posted so I’ll ask now: who are Cordelia and Willow? I don’t get it 
They would get drunk and forget to pick me up from school. So much fun sitting there with my bookbag clutched (sp?) in my lap waiting for hours for someone to remember to get me. That stopped after a teacher called the police. He took me home ( I was terrified of him) and gave my step-father a VERY stern talking-to. I think I was about 6 at the time.
Not that we stayed in motels offten (my parents prefered to drive everywhere in a camper), but you just described my mother to a T. Oh, and speaking of motorhomes, Mom always insisted we stay at a campground with full hookups and shower facilities. Which she refused to use. My father and I could use them, but no matter how clean or private they (& AFAIK the women’s showers were always private stalls, usually with a little changing cubicle w/locking door). Of course now that I think about she only insisted on staying at campgrounds with full facilities so she wouldn’t have to share the tiny RV shoilet with me & Dad. :smack: That actually does make some sense.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer reference.
Okay, I guess that’s what I get for not watching television 
Mustard Kids: “What’s for dinner?”
Me: “You get two choices.”
Mustard Kids: “What?”
Me: “Take it or leave it.”
mmm
rough story, and very revealing origin of your user-name.
There are some rough, heavy stories in this thread among the warmer and lighthearted. I had it very good in many ways, not so good only in a couple, but knew many with very similar stories as these, and worse.
I’m lately seeing a couple of versions of an ad selling some chocolate product, whose premise is scaring children. Making light of a subject that is a real, living and ever present nightmare to so many, is reprehensible to put it mildly and quite symptomatic of society.
I don’t believe there’s anything more important than how children are treated. Not only for our natural instinct to protect and love our children, but the benefit to all of raising loved, confident and caring people. I don’t mean to be a downer, but I think it’s on topic and I know it’s important to me, to say it…