When I was twelve years old, my dad told me that if I wasn’t careful, I was going to turn out like my mom. We were driving down Main Street in Spanish Fork, just past the public library, when Dad dropped the b-word. Total bitch, he said. At twelve, I’d probably heard the word a total of three times, and I was embarrassed by it. Clearly, he and my mom had fought about something (money, more than likely); he was blowing off steam. Once after they’d argued, he punched the deep freeze in the garage, leaving a shallow dent. This time he told me that I was going to have a string of unsuccessful marriages and nasty divorces, because I didn’t know how to treat people. I don’t really remember my dad spanking me as a kid. But I remember this.
I remember, too, coming home from a church activity that evening, frazzled and upset, and telling my mother that one of the girls on my kickball team called me a bitch. I went to bed while the sun was still up. And, while the sun was still up, I was dragged back out of bed and into the living room where an innocent thirteen year old girl was waiting to apologize for hurting my feelings. I confessed, bawled, and went back to my room.
Later, my mom came in, sat down next to me on the daybed and asked me why I’d lied. I told her I didn’t know; let her assign it to general preteen angst. But I knew. All I’d wanted was for her to be sorry that someone had called me such an awful thing – without telling her it was my dad who’d said it. If I told her, they would fight again. Dad would punch something or hold onto the banister and yell until Mom left to drive around the neighborhood while it got dark. Later, when she came home, Dad would have written, “I’m sorry” in his slanting scrawl in dry erase marker on the garage freezer door. And I would have had another nightmare about thick, brown barrels tumbling from the sky – a dream I’d associate for the rest of my life with the barrel-shaped rootbeer candies – and woken up with my pillowcase soaked in sweat. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be the reason they yelled.
Mostly, though, I didn’t snitch, because I didn’t want him to be right.
Thank you for sharing something like that with us. I think alot of us can relate to this story. I know I have had similar situations, but mine involved stepdads and other types of lies and secrets. Thank you fish
worse than spanking, don’t you think?
At that age, yes. Most definitely.
That story is very familiar to me. More than once my father has yelled: “You’re being just like your mother!” Hurts on so many levels. I’ve also been called a bitch before by him. He always apologizes, but it still hurts. Thanks for sharing, makes me realize that I’m not alone in this weird relationship with my dad.
Ugh. No disrespect to your father, but you don’t saddle a child with that kind of thing about her parent. My throat is getting tight just thinking about it. I’m sorry that happened to you.
Thank you for sharing this. Your writing is amazing.
Also can relate, though it’s not my father that causes the issue for me.
Either way… *hugs*
So sorry Fish. Hugs and loves to you. I think you are good, and where good goes, hopefully good follows. I wish you the best.
Did your parents get divorced?
It’s hard to read such things when you have experienced them yourself. It makes it more real but helps to know your not alone.
Yes, when I was 25.
Been on main street in Spanish Fork. It’s no place to be. LOL! You’ve come so far. Both geographically and mentally. To think from Spanish Fork to the hearts of all your readers everywhere. It can be done! You’re my hero. Keep truckin.
When I was around junior high age (and, to be honest, probably going through quite a bitchy phase), my mom used to tell me that other people had told her I was a bitch; like aunts and uncles or family friends. I think she felt it would have more of an effect if it was coming from someone other than her, or maybe if I thought other people were talking about me behind my back it would scare me straight.
Of course I now realize that this is absurd – nobody has the stones to go around saying things like that about other people’s children (at least not to their face). At the time, though, I totally believed it. This was just a strange strategy of my mother’s to combat my general pre-teen attitude. What I learned was this: people, don’t lie to your children – it always costs you more than it would seem possible at the time.
It makes me hope that when I have children I have the emotional maturity to find ways to discipline them without stooping to trying to hurt their feelings or humiliate them. My mother (and lord knows I love her) never got the hang of that.
My parents divorced when my brother and I were older, too. I think it’s harder to go through it when you’re older, because you understand too much and can’t hide behind confusion and ignorance. And although I remember many spankings from my youth, the words are what hurt me the most.
Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hold onto.
My mother did this to me all the time growing up, except she would say “you are just like your father!” The problem was, they divorced when I was 4 and my father, to her, was essentially one of the worst people on earth. So even at a young age I understood fully that this was meant as a great insult.
I love you, kiddo.
my stupid father used to make references like that all the time, up until recently when i stopped talking to him. but i used to piss him off by saying, “i’d be lucky to be like my mom”, hehe he’d go haywire
Parents who think that words don’t hurt, or that saying “I’m sorry” makes everything OK, are delusional. Words hurt, and they create problems in your children that you can never even begin to imagine.
Thanks for sharing Fish. I’m still amazed at how vivid some of my childhood memories are, the good and the bad. I definitely know where you are coming from.
I’m pretty sure that if the girl you were then knew of the woman you are today, she would be really proud.
Talk about not knowing how to treat people. Shame on your dad for talking to you like that.
What he said will never come true, and he was oh-so wrong.
Wow, what a poignant post. “I’m sorry” really doesn’t even scratch the surface, suffice it to say that I’m glad you’re such a talented, well-adjusted adult.
Your writing may be often sublime Heather, but your honesty takes it to another level entirely. I stand in awe; no wonder I cant help coming back time and time again.
Take Care
MarkJ
it amazes me how parents don’t get that stuff like that sticks with you forever… even though their parents were probably just as guilty… I’m in my 40′s and just getting over a lot of things said and done to my by my dad… at least I think I’m getting over it… we’ll see when I go to visit in August…
we feel for you honey,
especially those of us who know exactly what you are talking about…
[[[hug]]] Just because your dad loves you doesn’t mean that he is right. I just thought I would tell you that.
This makes me grateful my Dad never insulted my mother in front of us. And brings up all the stinging little insults from childhood that you don’t forget. Most of mine were of the “you would be so pretty if you lost weight” variety.
I can remember these words from my father: “You are turning out exactly like your mother. Manipulative.” I recall feeling ashamed. I was 10. And it scared me to death. I can’t remember what I had done to deserve such a lashing of words, but they were divorced by the time I was 8, so hearing her name pass his lips with a sound of disdain wasn’t uncommon. This was just the first time that he had directed any of that animosity toward me. I look at my mom, who was hard and callous at the time, but I know now that it was because he left. And she raised 3 children, overcame breast cancer, and she continues to care about what happens in my life.
15 years later and the only reason I feel ashamed of that moment now is because I had feared that what he said were true. If any of the strength that she has displayed through the years resides within myself then I consider me to be a very lucky woman.
Ug – sounds painful, and confusing. I’m sorry that happened to you. For me it was ‘moron’ and ‘dumba$$”. I’m not dumb, and I’m pretty sure you’re not a ‘B’. Going on a road trip with my Dad later this summer – in the hopes of working on our adult relationship. This will either be a great thing, or the worst idea I’ve ever had…
I really appreciate you sharing this story and the comments that came after with similar experiences. I’ll never forget when my Dad told me I was going to end up a “sneaky, lying bitch” and whoever I married was going to be disappointed… this was shortly after he’d remarried to a sneaky, lying bitch of his own.
I wonder if he remembers saying this to me. I was young – only around 10 or 11. I also remember how I was just bawling and couldn’t get up to get a tissue, so I was using my flannel shirt as a snot rag.
Sigh.
Nobody loves us like our parents.
They’re the ones who tell you the truth about yourself, while your friends gloss over it and just try to make you “feel better”. Because it’s easier.
I totally understand. My dad used to tell me and my sister that we would end up living under a bridge some day. Translation – we would be losers. Not to mention all the lovely profane names he called us. I haven’t talked to him very much since I left home for college in 1994. What would there be to say?
Erica,
I think that may very well be the grossest overstatement about parental affection… ever.
Parents are not perfect, and neither is their love. Some parents let jealousy or anger color their interactions with their children. At 12, my father was not telling me a hard truth. I was not a bitch; I was simply 12. He was mad at my mom and since he couldn’t take it out on her, he chose me. And from the other stories here, I can see proof that other parents let their own sadness or hate of their spouse affect the way they related to their children. It’s not the “truth” when it’s coming from a place of hurt.
Beautifully written, as always. This also struck a nerve with me. The hard part about becoming an adult is understanding that even though your parent was human and trying the best she/he could under the circumstances, you also understand that it is a form of bullying to sling personal attacks from a position of authority. The child has no authority to defend him/herself.
One of the wisest pieces of relationship advice I ever heard was “Don’t say anything to a loved one that you wouldn’t say to a friend.” A friend can say “You have no right to speak to me like that” and choose to end the relationship. A child is stuck, at least until adulthood, to sort through the messages of love & attack, and see which one balances out in the end.
Thanks for your voice.
Fish, that was a horrible, horrible thing your dad said to you. I don’t care how hurt he was, you were all of 12 and your *father* was the adult. Adults aren’t supposed to take out their own inadequacies on their kids….
Your story jarred my memory of an ugly incident just a few years ago. At my nephew’s birthday party, my dad took it into his head to get royally p*ssed at me and started yelling (in the middle of the street!) for me to come out of my sister’s house so he could slap some respect into me. In front of all the relatives and family friends! The worst part is that I was 27 (now 30) and I was still afraid of what his extremely volatile temper could do. It was totally humiliating. And infuriatingly debilitating, because as much as I wanted to go out there and square off with him (he had ZERO right to make me feel worthless, especially not as an adult!) the truth of the matter was that there was no earthly way I could make him back down or accord me any semblance of respect. As to what set him off? The fact that I’d “let” my car tire get flat, and that I ignored him when he belligerently accused me of not taking care of my car. He was 70 at the time and STILL fully capable of behaving like a 100-karat jack**s to his adult kids.
As for my mother, far from defending me or getting my dad to calm down, actually added fuel to the fire and told me to go out and apologise to my dad!! Suffice to say, I still have both anger and esteem issues over being made to feel worthless… I don’t know whether I’m angrier at them for falling so short as parents, or at myself for still reacting so badly to them, when I know better. Most times I think I’m over all the BS from my parents, but being called a stupid, fat pig for failing to come in first in exams — even if it was close to 20 years ago — never loses its sting.
Ahh… we adult sufferers of the emotional and psychological abuse inflicted by our parents and others…some who didn’t know better and some who did. Words leave permanant, mostly unseen to the eye, wounds that manifest themselves in our lives forever. Sometimes those wounds actually help heal others as I suspect your words often do for us. I think we all collectively hope they do for you too! I suspect the sting of those words has likely heightened your awareness of how powerful words are and what makes you such an absolutely fantastic writer and communicator. I have a few tales of parental fights, mud slinging and throw-the-other-parent- under-the-bus-stuff. I strongly suspect it is THE reason I am a 41 yo full-time single parent now. I am scared that I do not truly possess the tools to keep a healthy relationship…well…healthy and am focused on raising my son to be a good man. Yikes. The legacies we endure…and leave.
Thank you for this story. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only one who went through “stuff” as a kid – even though, now as an adult, I know I’m not the only one – it’s cathartic to hear from someone else.
It’s so confusing when you’re a kid to have to go through this and not know what to make of it. Some kids have a handle on it, some do not until much later in life.
Forgot to tell you: one time (in the not-too-distant past), my dad was in a pissy mood and called me a “B”(rhymes with witch). I retaliated by telling him that if I was a “b****,” then he was a son-of-a-b****. He took extreme offense at that, asking, “Are you calling my mother a b****?” I said, “You called me one – what’s the big deal?!?” He hasn’t called me a b**** since.
I had something very similar happen to me. Even though they had already divorced, I didn’t tell my mother because I was afraid she would agree with him.
Wow. Like Alec Baldwin abusing his daughter. You do realize now that this was all about your woman hating dad, right?
I can remember few good moments with my father in the 18 years we spoke to each other. Actually, I think I don’t even need my ten fingers to count them. That’s the kind of person he is, and that’s how willing to be a father he was.
The bad moments, those I remember pretty well. All of them. The day I told him I wanted to participate in my first gymnastics competition, and he refused to pay for it, because I wasn’t going to win anyway… why should he waste his money? The slap on my face when I was 13, because I didn’t want to stay beside him when he was drunk and having fun threatening to burn my face with his cigarette; the day I asked him five bucks because I needed material for a college exam, and he told me that flunking a class for once wouldn’t hurt me (that’s what I get for getting into a good university when he was never smart enough for that); the day he zigzagged on the most dangerous road in the city at 120 kilometres an hour just to scare me… oh I remember them all. Every single detail.
You know what the problem is, Heather? You’re always the only one that remembers the hurt. And when you talk to people about things like these, they have two reactions: either they look at you funny and roll their eyes, as if saying that you are overreacting, or they pat your head as if saying ‘poor kid’. But in the end, all of them say you need to love your parents just because they share your blood and last name.
I have always been a very logical person, and that makes no sense to me.
Some parents won’t love you. Some will, occasionally, but most of the time they’ll be so wrapped up in their own lives that they will treat you like you’re just another piece of furniture and won’t even notice the damage they’re causing. If you’re lucky, you get a parent that will remember that children are human beings too, and no, they don’t bounce back from everything.