I’ve read that, on average and as a whole, people are likelier to quarrel with their mothers than fathers while growing up (perhaps due to fathers being somewhat more absent due to work) and such was the case in my own adolescence and beyond. I’ve probably quarreled at least 5x more with my mother than with my father, maybe even 10x.
(Poll to come - not just “quarreling,” but hostility in general - which parent you had a harder time with, for whatever reason)
My dad worked evening shift during most of my childhood. I often never saw him Mon-Fri. He was either asleep, or I was.
Mom, by default, was the disciplinarian, so, duh.
As a kid, my mom. As an adult, my dad.
Mother. What it comes down to is some mental issues after my birth that never got addressed. As a result she basically wanted me dead most of the time. I never really thought of it much and I love her – at a distance. But it did cause the odd problem now and then like being sent to liove with relatives now and then for my own safety. Rather interesting family dynamic all in all.
Poll needs option for both, plus bystanders, plus “you looking at me”.
It’s a long, ugly story between my father and myself. The short answer though is that a little therapy and a lot of maturation on my part and our relationship improved greatly. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t nearly the disappointment I believed he thought I was.
I suppose my mother by default since my parents divorced when I was fairly young and my father faded from the picture after a couple token years of holiday visitations.
Classic 70s kid-of-divorced-parents situation. Saw my dad every other weekend, plus specific holidays.
Even as a kid, it was clear to me that he and I had nothing in common. All he wanted to do was hang out with his loser buddies and smoke pot. I spent most of my visitation weekends watching TV and trying to stay out of his way.
These days our relationship is cordial but far from ideal. We call each other on the phone 3-4 times per year. Every time the conversation revolves around how broke he is, how this bum in his life stole his beer, or that bum in his life stole his pot, or some other bum in his life stole his money.
He’s exhausting.
It really should be both.
I chose my mom because she used to scream at me while drunk.
But my dad was a big reason why she drank. And she yelled at me for being just like him.
But it wasn’t just the booze talking. My dad really was an asshole in a lot of ways.
As for me being just like him, I fucking hope not.
I rarely quarreled with either of my parents.
Yeah sorry, I should have added a both. I suppose perhaps “neither” suffices if one had equal hostility or suffering from/with both, since neither would stand out more than the other, but that was an omission.
And pie. But my mother was such a horrible cook ---------------
My father was quite strict and authoritarian. He wasn’t “abusive” by '50’s-'60s standards as such but I did spend most of my childhood doing my best to stay out of his way. He was very good to our mother and a good provider so hard to criticize his parenting style. Mom was the mediator. He only drank on special occasions and even then in moderation. My sister and I have had reasonable success in life. I was 23 when he died and my sister 19. Mom remained a widow for the next 40 years until her death.
My father was extremely abusive. Were he a parent of young kids now, he would be facing prison time. Pretty much the only good times in childhood were when he was gone or my mother had run away with us for a couple of days. She was a battered woman and unable to protect us. She would collapse easily to I had to protect her feelings. Consequently, I rarely argued with her as well.
My dad was, most of the time, an easygoing, mellow nerd. I related well to him because he was interested in books and learning and computers and so was I.
My mom and I had a complicated relationship. I’m pretty sure she was a narcissist, and the embodiment of the phrase, “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.” She and I clashed a lot because we were both stubborn. That said, we got along well most of the time. Aside from being overprotective, she wasn’t in any way abusive. Just difficult to live with on occasion.
My father, x1000. He had an explosive temper and would take it out on us verbally and physically. I almost died at age 6, when he beat the crap out of me for no real reason. He didn’t drink, so didn’t have that as an excuse. He did have several wonderful qualities, but as a kid all I was concerned with was his temper. I never admired him in any way until I was an adult, and then only partially.
My mom was the nurturer. She worked three jobs and still found time to cook and clean and take care of us.
This. My parents were excellent at parenting.
Mom. I was a model kid for the most part–good grades, no drugs, no cops, respectful, did chores without being asked–and she was always just a nasty cunt to me. She hadn’t wanted a second child, and my existence was apparently my fault. We don’t quarrel anymore because she’s still a nasty cunt and I’m an adult who gets to pick who I spend my time with.
I’ve always viewed my parents as a single unit. They’re both retired now, but aside from work they were (and are) almost never apart, especially now that mom is in declining health.
I always knew I’d get the same answer from either of them, no matter who I asked or what I was asking for.
Ditto