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ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago
Commended by mizal on 10/19/2019 3:16:35 PM

That title seems extremely suspicious when I put it like that. But in the end, I am a sweet, benevolent angel who could do no true sin... And I'm pretending this is reddit, unfortunately. I'm just awful curious. Stories from childhood, lets do this! Surely you have something interesting to share.

 

dad's "job"

  My dad was a really scummy guy.

  Not like I exactly think he's a terrible scrub right now or anything (last time I checked he totally is) but it's more like he fits the text book definition of scummy. Like he's been type casted as the sneaky money laundering rat bastard you see in all those contemporary musicals set in the 1920's about worker's rights. You've seen 'em. Like....The Newsies. Or Urinetown. Yeah, that's musical theater for ya. A lot of songs about piss.

  My papa, he was supposed to be working at a paper factory, doing some kind of management thing and making good money. He'd also go on seriously long business trip, and when he got back, my lil' sis and I would decorate the house with paper cutout decorations of various unrecognizable animals. He'd bring back presents-- Normally cheap jewelry-- from really far away places like Thailand and Indonesia. It seemed very awesome back then. Honestly don't know why a well-to-do but otherwised small town paper factory would send a guy on month long trips to Thailand.

  My papa also gambled and drank a lot. Like, a lot. I only bring this up because he was supposedly Muslim, but I guess he just was damn bad at the whole religion thing because he sure liked them slots. And craps. And poker, although he might've been good at poker. He was a charming son of a gun, too. Think Bruno Mars, but with more cigarette smell. Dashing guy.

  Papa's gambling got him into all sorts of trouble, more trouble than you'd think. There was the bank getting antsy. There were family friends getting suspicious. But also? I would be watching TMNT and eating cous cous, or chasing our cats around the house, or tracing the covers of Disney VHS tapes and we'd get a call on the home phone (this is back when home phones were a thing). I'd answer it like a good widdwe boy.

me: "Hellowhoareyou."

mysterious, man: "Hello, is Abdelatif home?"

me: "He's at work right now."

mysterious man: "When he's back, tell him to call this number."

me: "Do you want to talk to my mom?"

mysterious man: "No, that's okay. Just tell your dad when he gets back."

Click.

Obviously, that doesn't sound strange at all. Just a guy, that's all. But the thing was that it would happen several times a week, or a few times a day at some point, various guys asking politely to hear from my dad and sometimes not so politely. My mother didn't know much about it. She was awful busy with her own job, and the pops be out on his own excursions leaving little ol' me and the sis to talk to all the mysterious people that happened upon our number. 

Once, the phone rang while I was watching TMNT with the ol' man. I went to get it, but my dad said to just let it ring. I told him that some guys ask for him a lot. I can't remember his expression, but I just know after that I was not allowed to pick up the phone at all.

All this sounds like unbelievable speculation. Totally suped up, right?

After my parents split up, my dad had lots of girlfriends. Correction: He was more open about his many girls. Every time I'd visit him it seemed he had a new foreign cutie, normally from Indonesia or Thailand, and they always were set with the big bucks. I'm kinda sad about it now. Lots of those girls were very sweet and there they were, dating a bumblefuck like my pops.

My mom let it drop at some point that my dad certainly had a collection of fake identities and names, that he got married to at least one other hot girl in Tasikmalaya and totally had a kid with her, that he stayed out of some place for a while because he got in trouble with a gang for borrowing money.... It's all so juicy. What absolutely incredible news. There's all sorts of whack stuff I'm sure my sneaky rat of a pops has done, and damn do I want to know it all. In fact, not too long ago I spotted him at the mall with this super adorable little boy with a rad as hellfire tiger jean jacket. I can only hope that that kid grows up to be as rad as his leather jacket and not just another face on the hit list of the Lebanese mafia.

ultra violence bad bad kid

I was a pretty violent kid. My sister tells me I was a positively insane megalomaniac with a crazy God complex of sorts, but she probably just says that 'cos I beat her up so much. I beat up my friends, I beat up the neighborhood kids....Heck I even beat up people on accident. I was extremely punchy. I like wrestling, and I was always in the mood for a good fight. Once, I nearly broke a middle school girl's arm during a match because "I don't care if you say stop, you have to tap three times out."

It wasn't like I was super big. In fact I was, I was the tiniest: When walking to school on a windy day, I'd get tugged all over like a plastic bag. I'd been born a month early and I've been skinny as a stick ever since. Teachers worried that I wasn't getting enough to eat at home. Turns out it wasn't neglect making keeping me at a clean 56 pounds, it was just my raging metabolism and my burning urge to bust the kneecaps of everyone within a 3 mile radius.

Oh, the 3rd grade.

Bella Sara cards were the hot shit at the time and basically every girl in class was drooling over the glittery sparkle unicorns with their long, flowing manes (I was excluded from this phenomenon as I was stubbornly anti-horse). But also? THIEVERY. The prettiest of ponies were being plucked from under our innocent child child noses. But I'm not like the rest of 'em. I'm a detective.

So by using my incredible genius, I deduced that that blonde bitch Dakota was in for the beating of his life. I could tell because I'd raided his bag and it was filled to the Jansport zippers with incriminating princess themed horses. I exacted justice. I'm a saint. I graced the classroom with their lost property, face a bit bruised from the fight I'd just incited.

Somehow I never got in trouble. I just didn't look like the kind of kid to make somebody eat dirt. Dakota didn't even hate me afterward, either. 

fat cat skinny cat

Once I had these two black cats. One was skinny (that's Sam) and the other was fat (Oscar!). Very cute, energetic and highly pettable. Perfection, in feline form. The on problem was that my papa was extremely allergic to them.

One fine day, Sam and Oscar disappeared into the void of the woods. I asked my pops where they went.

"Cat went hunting in woods...." He said.

Ya know, some things really flew over my head.

pineapple bastard

My imagination as a child was wild. I'd come up with long-winded, nonsensical stories on the fly, I'd constantly make up complex persona's and outfits for myself based of things I'd admired (Han solo, James Bond, Indiana Jones most definitely), and I never stopped drawing. I'm pretty sure a lot of this is due to my undiagnosed and off-the-rails ADHD. I'm just so *quirky* lol *gwomps u*

I downside to all this is that I'd see things very vividly. Like, actually see my imaginary monsters walking around and psyche myself the fuck out. I don't have schizophrenia, I don't have a lesser demonic figure residing in my mortal form. I just whacked my poor little brain out with insane, sometimes horrifying ideas of things that were most certainly not real. Like the pineapple monster.

The pineapple monster was a positively grotesque amalgamation of unspeakable sin and cucumber. Sick bastard. He had cucumber for legs and arms, he shuffled around with a forever smiling tomato mouth, he would peak around the corner and disappear from sight before I could properly understand what I'd just seen. I'd see him everywhere. He'd follow me. He was a blight upon this Earth and I promised myself that I would exterminate him. I slap the celery scent outta that abomination and one day, I'd walk a free man....

Except for he was just imaginary, so I couldn't exactly do much about it except stop thinking about it. Which I didn't do.

I also couldn't stop thinking about rats. I'd get a chill in the night and I could have sworn that there were definitely rats crawling over my blanket. Terrified, I'd stay up all night trying to hold perfectly still so that I wouldn't upset the monstrous horde of rats making their way across my bedroom. I'd see things-- The moonlight hitting my coat in the open closet, to name one-- And I'd go wild. Like the folds being highlighted by the moon and darkness would look like a face to me. And I'd just stare at it, realizing I was helpless against this incredible power that be. Lots of sleepless nights ogling at tree branches or specs on the ceiling. Really, I had quite the imagination.

 

That's all I gotta say. I wanna hear really weird or cool stories about y'all as kiddos. I wonder what End was like. Maybe he just was there.....Like, from the beginning.

 

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago
If you don't know what night terrors are, here's a mathematical equation.
nightmare + sleepwalking + actually being mostly awake + ghosts/monsters + being a child = scary shit

They almost always happen in childhood and you kinda grow out of them. My brother had them like once a month when he was little, but the thing was he could never remember anything after it happened. We could never understand what he was seeing that made him act autistic, which makes it way funnier. He was always bawling whenever it happened. Here are some of my favorites.

One time he went downstairs while me and my parents were watching a movie, went directly to the closet, put on my angry birds backpack, and walked up the stairs ripping moderately large farts every other step.
One time he ran into my parents room naked screaming "look at my bottom," spreading his ass cheeks for them to see... whatever it was he wanted them to see.
One time my mom woke up to a loud repeating banging noise and shouting coming from me and my brothers room. He was trying to stand up in bed, but being on the bottom bunk he just kept ramming his head into the metal bars under my mattress and then screaming in pain, then trying again a few seconds later. Apparently I slept through the whole thing.

Now I know what you're thinking. How could you have come up with such an accurate mathematical equation if you've never had a night terror, and your brother can't remember any of his? Because for some reason I remember the only one I ever had. Or maybe I've had more, and I can't remember those.

I remember walking down the kinda long narrow hallway we had in our old house, the only lighting coming from the moon through the small skylight. Everything was SUPER LOUD, like my feet moving on the carpet was deafening, and I was hearing things that weren't there. I think they were coming from the walls. I felt like I was moving really slowly, like in those dreams where you're running away from something but you're at half speed. I knew there was something behind me, so I kept running, but I was actually walking slowly because nightmares. I got to the open doorway of one of our other rooms, and I looked inside and saw a face on the wall. A huge one. It was smiling at me, but in a bad way. For some reason I instantly made the connection that the face and my unseen follower was Satan. Maybe it was. Maybe it was actually real. To this day ghosts are by far my greatest fear, even though I don't think I've ever seen one.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago
Night terrors are a thing for a lot of adults too, and there's a bit more to it than that.

Anyway, should be interesting to see how this thread goes, have fun baring all your darkest childhood secrets all.

*takes notes while nodding to herself and muttering about things being innnnnnteresting*

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago
Welcome to the CYSTian Bad Dad Club. You'll have to wait for your membership card though, we ran out again.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago
I remember when I would visit my dad's mom. Usually I and maybe my brother would be left there for a while while my parents went off to do stuff. It wasn't until as I was typing this that I realized the reason for that. They had to go to the town my grandma lived on for legal stuff, and they couldn't just leave four year old me at home five hours away. Sometimes my cousin was there too. His mother was actually my cousin, but his mother was also my mom's age, and he was my age. So I just thought of him as my cousin. I think my grandma watched him every day while his parents were at work. So sometimes I would see his mom too. The roof of her house was like a barn, and there was an apartment above that someone else rented because my grandma was a greedy selfish landlady. In the backyard was a crowded shed. I didn't go out into the yard much when I was there, but I remember that. I also remember a tree with what I thought were cherries growing in her neighbors yard. They were probably ornamental crabapples or something. Regular sized cherry trees don't grow there. Inside the house was the living room, then the dining room, then the kitchen with it's pink accented linoleum floor and that one box of Captain Crunch cereal that always seemed to be there, then there was the basement. I don't remember what the basement looked like, but I remember pretty distinctly being told that the bed down there was a WATER bed, and I imagined that as being just a squishy sack of water like a water balloon. I think that was where my dad's other daughters stayed sometimes. Then back upstairs--I think you got there from the kitchen--was my grandma's bedroom, and the bathroom. You had to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom, and I remember it being very quiet in there except for the sound of a loud clock ticking. The bathroom was small, and the handle on the faucet was that clear plastic kind that you have to pull up to turn on. It was hard for me to turn on then, and I remember being frustrated by that sometimes. The door handle was a glass knob, I think. It might have been porcelein though. I can't remember. The house had a smell I can't describe. It was partly old person smell, but there was a little bit more. It isn't too unpleasant. On the refrigerator were a bunch of souvenir magnets. Some of them my dad has in the garage now. They were from Florida, where she once visited us. She also had this stuffed moose that would rock back and forth with it's front hooves up and play "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" when I turned on a switch and hit a button. I can't hear an instrumental of that song without remembering that now. There were a few other stuffed animals. One was a white tiger from Florida that I now have, and another was a husky dog sitting up that seemed huge to me then. It was probably two feet tall. I think my cousin has that. I remember one time eating Spaghetti-Os in the dining room. Something about the combined smells along with an aversion to eating off other people's dishes made me not want to finish them. I still don't like eating off most people's dishes, but I feel bad about wasting food like that. When my parents came back, I remember my dad often talking to his mom about money and making sure she was doing all right with that. He had bought the house for her and took care of her. My grandma was partly deaf and legally blind by the time I knew her. She could see enough to read her ultra large print Bible with one of those lighted magnifying glasses that was always on the side table next to the couch though. I was a brat and often got impatient with her when she couldn't hear me. I really wish I could have known her when I was smart enough to appreciate her. She died a few days before I turned seven, of colon cancer I think. I remember visiting her in the hospital once, and I was in the basement of the home I lived in then when my sister, who was staying to take care of me and my brother while my parents were with my grandma, told me that she had died. I spent a lot of time after that still in her house, because my dad was changing out the carpet and my parents were repainting the interior so they could sell it. That was the first time I went to the upstairs apartment too. I found a Noah's ark puzzle there that I must have put together a dozen times. I think it was missing a piece though. So I never could really finish it. I also found a little booklet by Tide or some other laundry detergent brand that had how to remove various stains. I live near where she is buried now. It's where my mom's parents where supposed to be buried, but they ended up deciding they wanted to be by the lake. So we just had the plots all there and ready and in the town my grandma lived in. It's in a part of the cemetary usually reserved for veterans becuase of that. We still have a plot next to her that will come in handy someday, I am sure. She was buried in a lavender colored casket that I think was the same exact one my other grandma had. After the funeral, we went to one of my uncle's houses (or maybe it was a cousin. I honestly can't remember. I only see most of these people at weddings and funerals, and the former is rare when the only one's close enough to bother with are nearly all over fifty), and there were chihuahuas and parrots there. One of the parrots could say a few words. I think it was the grey one named Scooby.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago

Every Sunday my family, twelve of us, including grandparents and cousins, went out to eat.  We always went to the same place until my grandma grew sick of it which took several years, and then we'd beat some other place into the ground.

I mostly think about a Greek diner we went to when I was probably between nine and twelve.  The rules for what I could order seemed obscure to me at the time.  A hamburger with french fries was fine.  But I was advised not to order stuffed shells at a Greek diner, which I found arbitrary.  A hot open turkey sandwich planner was acceptable.  The French onion soup was not.  I wanted to go through everything on the menu, but really, I was only allowed about ten things as reasonable choices. 

After dinner, the adults lingered over coffee, I thought, ugh, why are adults so *boring*.  I could not understand why they wanted to sit and talk about things, and I and my cousins got up and ran amok in the diner.  There were mints by the front, those mints with jelly in the middle which I haven't seen much lately anymore.  I wonder if I could even find those if I looked.  At first they had those mints in a dish with a big spoon, and you could get about eight with a greedy spoonful when the cashier wasn't paying attention.  Later they switched to some sort of lame dispenser which would give you maybe two with each raid on it.

Here's the detail that really dates this story.  Then we'd go play with the cigarette machine.  Only those around then can remember how fun it was to pull those spring-loaded pull thingers.  Looking back on it, I bet they made those fun specifically so kids would play with them.  They sprang back with the best ka-chunk.  I looked at all of the cigarette brands and discussed which was the best looking one.  My older cousin had thoughts about Camel.  Marlboro seemed so generic.  There were ads for that everywhere.   Kool sounded cool, but my uncle advised me that Kool wasn't for me, which he never explained and which remained a mystery to me for a long time.

After dinner, not infrequently, I would get to sleep over at my grandparents' house, which was the best.  First we'd go to B. Dalton, which is a bookstore that is now defunct.  I would check out the D&D section and pick out a module.  If my grandmother seemed like she was in a giving mood I would bring back two to her and say "I can't decide between these two" and every so often she'd buy me both.  I don't think she had any idea what she was buying me except that I seemed to like these softcover things with monsters on them.  Satanic panic was not a thing in my household even though I'm a gamer of the late 70s and 80s.  I was dimly aware of it, but it was not ever an issue, which I'm thankful for.

The very very best part of going to my grandparents was that they had technology to play with.  My grandpa was the king of early adopters.  He bought a mainframe in, I want to say, 1977-8, and a personal computer (a TRS-80) in about 1977 *and* a VIC20 in 1980.  And a video camera, a massive one that I could just barely hoist on my shoulder. (mostly I used a tripod).  He not only bought all this stuff to play with, he let me play with it as much as I wanted.  This still boggles my mind.  He liked digital personal organizers, calculators, watches--just all sorts of gadgets.

I sat and wrote programs for those computers for hours, in BASIC, trying to write some sort of RPG.  Then, the rest of the week at school, I wrote my programs on looseleaf, waiting to get back to the computers to painstakingly type in my program, making a billion "syntax errors" and debugging. 

My dad ran the company my grandpa had founded and co-owned, and then my grandpa told my dad he wanted my dad to get a computer at home for, I guess, work stuff?  So then we had a TRS-80 at home.  Frogger, Sea Dragon, *Adventureland*!  And the worst part was now the computer was so close.  But my parents seemed to think I ought to not spend eight hours a day playing games and programming, and my computer time was seriously, seriously limited.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is why I did not become Steve Wozniak.

 

 

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago

Ding Dong Ditch and Bitch 

My siblings and I were complete brats and assholes when we were younger...actually still assholes but you get the point.

We livrd in a two story house, then we also had our CHAD basement and an attic that really could have been turned into an apartment if like, a kitchen and a bathroom and been put in there. But we did not have money like that lol

Anyways, my poor, sweet grandmother used to live on the first floor, and we on the second. I remember one day (honestly probably more days than one) the three of us would "sneak" down the stairs and go knock on our grandmothers door. We went down the back hallway and the back door was locked so she always knew it had to be us or my parents.

So we would wait until we heatd "what?" Called out from wherever she happened to be or "oh one minute"

Then laughing like a bunch of idiots we would storm back up the stairs and wait a bit, then repeat. Of course she knew it was us and we would always try to play stupid. 

Now, what was even funnier was the lady who lived down there when we first moved into the house, the old lady who would pay my parents rent.

Now this lady who lived there before my grandmother did was actually kind of a bitch as I remember. But there are instances where I suppose I kinda get it. Dividing our kitchen and living room was, well really just a wall but it had two openings on either side with a closet built into each side.

Being young, and well, children. We would all get up early and sometimes chase each other around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around the thing.

And lmao she would literally take her broom and hit it against her ceiling to try to get us to stop.

We thought it was funny and would start actually stomping around the thing, and of course when my dad found out this all occurred he just thought it was hilarious.

 

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago

Being young, and well, children. We would all get up early and sometimes chase each other around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around the thing.

This is why I could not wait to move out of an apartment and into my own house.  I can't stand the sound of people walking over me.  But I like the banging on the ceiling with a broom.  That's such a cliche from movies!

 

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago
That got me too. I guess it cushions the ceiling a bit so you don't make marks? But then it wouldn't make mych sound either. Either way it is hilarious

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago

Oh I shoulda mentioned it was with the stick end of it

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago
Risking making marks on the ceiling of a rental, smh

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

one month ago

I know right

So glad my dad kicked her out and had my grandma move in lol

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

29 days ago

When I was younger, I used to jump on the trampoline in my backyard for hours at a time, with nothing but my own imagination to occupy me.  I'd come up with all sorts of things, usually with me as the main character, and usually involving superpowers from whatever show or video game I happened to be interested in at the time.  I didn't even act out what I was imagining, I just kinda thought about it.  Something about the monotony of jumping helped get my brain spinning.  Even to this day, I'll go out there from time to time, though not nearly as often as I did a few years ago.

I've began to notice that I'm not the only person who had these sorts of habits.  My little sister, who's also shown an interest in writing, is constantly telling stories to herself, often while walking in a circle around the living room, over and over, which is what I used to do before I decided the trampoline was better. 

Even Judy Blume did something like this.  She would bounce a ball against the garage door, over and over again, playing using only her own imagination.  (At least, it was something like that.  I'm not completely sure about the details).  The point is, I've began to detect a sort of pattern among storytellers.  It might apply to other creative fields as well, but this is where I've noticed it most.  Stranger still, it seems to always involve some kind of repetitive motion, (Jumping on a trampoline, sitting on a swing, etc).  So my question is, do any of you remember doing something like this when you were younger?  I'd like to know just how common this is...

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

I can relate. I did a lot of repetitive things. Typically it was something like bouncing a ball against a wall, infuriating my father, catching it, thinking of an epic story, and repeating. I was also a pencil tapper.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

29 days ago
Hardly anything interesting happened to me for the first ten years of my life, which is what I figured was my childhood. Though, I do have the odd story or two, and I can always bitch about how my dad found creative ways to not a shitty dad. My Tooth with Erectile Disfunction It was once said I have my mom's teeth and my dad's mouth. That meant my teeth are big and my mouth is too small for it. To be precise, a molar on my lower left jaw never erupted because it got stuck between two other molars. Now, what would a normal family do? I'm not sure, since I instead went to an orthodontist who gave an... interesting proposition. He was fascinated by my condition, apparently he saw this specific kinda case only one other time during his half-century career. In return for him doing everything for free, he'd get to do whatever he wanted to my mouth to get that pesky tooth to erupt. Of course, my parents accepted, because what's the worst that could happen? First, he tried to shift my molars to make room. He did that by attaching one molar to another on the other side of my mouth with a giant, cylindrical metal bracket. Somehow, that was supposed to shift a molar, but it ended up doing shit. Next, he took inspiration from some horror movie. He attached a giant metal chain from a top molar down through my gum and into my unruptured molar. That way, whenever I opened my mouth up, it would yank that pesky molar. Believe it or not, it did absolutely nothing for the months I had that in my mouth. Thus, they then did the normal thing and took the tooth out, since my teeth would naturally shift, and my wisdom tooth would take up the remaining space. I couldn't even chew with half my mouth for over a year in all. Did I complain? No. Orthodontist offices had video games, and my house had none since my mom thought they were from the devil or something like that. Punishment It took my almost another decade to realize how... nonconformist my discipline was, at least to everyone I ever talked to. Maybe there will be some people like this here? I haven’t talked to anyone who had it quite like me (not even my brothers who always received far less punishment than I no matter the case). My dad was in the army and is proud of it. As far as I can remember, I rarely got spanked. When I did, I'd scream and wail with a snotty nose. Normal enough. My dad now claims I'd just stare at him with a "I challenge you" look whenever I got spanked to justify what he normally did. idk. Fuck him. Good ol' paps elected to ramp up discipline in the household by having me do workouts inspired by the Army. Instead of getting spanked a few times for not greeting him with enough excitement when he came home (yeah, he'd do that), I got to do workouts for two hours in the basement! At nine, I distinctly being able to do over 60 (maybe 80ish?) of them in succession. I'd go until I screamed bloody murder with trembling arms while my dad screamed at me and threatened there'd be hell to pay if I stopped. I'd stop when my arms could go farther, and I'd just collapse panting on the basement floor. This process would be repeated for things like squats, sit-ups, and holding out books. The latter probably was the worst. It's amazing how much that hurt after just 15 minutes. Then, try to spin your arms in little circles after that (when you're 10 and under). He’d also tell me how horrible, stubborn, and selfish I was. I think he was mostly venting from frustrations at work. But, tt wasn't the workouts that irk me in hindsight. It could've been worse. It was more his threats if I didn't do them, what he’d say to hurt my self-esteem and worth, and the fact that I technically was punishing myself. Freud would love me. I also once heard him boasting how he used a bunch of psychology tricks to make me more terrified of him. (He has a bachelor’s in human behavior that he never used to get a job in that area.) I never figured out what those were since I don't recall much from that time, but I think they worked on little Wibbons. Oh, he also did meal skipping. I don't remember that one much except for the longest instance, but there was a time where he said I lost about half my dinners for... months I think? Eh, the longest I went during that time was around 28 hours. I distinctly remember that number, so it wasn’t that bad. Barfing at Melted Cheese or Other Things I really hated melted cheese as a child, or all cheese in general besides parmesan. I'd pick the cheese off my pizza. I'd suppress a gag reflex when my mom baked lasagna. I once hurled all over cheesy potatoes after my mom made me take a bite. It was weird to say the least. The oddest foods would just have my turn into a tiny fire hydrant. Once, I hurled all over a buffet's floor because I tasted those warm apple + syrup thingies. Another time, I barfed on Thanksgiving because I tried cranberry sauce. I had no clue what'd set me off. I now love eating all those things. Last but not least, I once looked at lasagna with MELTED CHEESE on it and commented "I'd rather eat sauerkraut than that." I never had it before of all things. I just knew my dad hated it, so I assumed it must be bad. My mom told my dad who decided to get some for me to eat in place of dinner on the way home. He got a bag of raw sauerkraut and dumped it on my plate. My mom told me years later the smell almost made her puke, and I still vividly can recall the stench. He made me eat it for the next hour and a half. I cried into the plate and ate my meal one piece at a time until he stopped me. It remains one of my most specific memories from my childhood. I also happen to now love sauerkraut and order dishes with it whenever I get the chance. In Conclusion So... yeah. That's me. I'm sorta disappointed and spooked. There's very little I remember specificly from that time besides my angry dad, barfing, getting in trouble and punished, my mouth problems, and baseball. My dad made me join little league teams, and I sucked at it so much despite hours of desperate practice to impress him. I also always got put in left field (where other players would hit the ball once every three games). Oh, I also punched kids a lot and got into fights, but that was more when I was 8 and younger. I had a tendancy to lash out violently at whoever annoyed me. I'll blame my dad for that to make me feel better. I don't rememeber any fights too well except fighting a kid in the middle of a field. An adult just stood there and watched us like a dick, but I broke the kid's sunglasses. I don't regret that. The kid was a shitty little bastard who was antagonizing everyone.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

29 days ago
Wierd stories from childhood? Finally a thread I can contribute to! Toddler Hit And Run I grew up in the middle of nowhere on a small farm. It was just me and my sister kid wise for miles, so unless someone's parents drove them to us we had no one else to play with. I was probably about 9 or so when this happened, but my dad had bought us a four-wheeler for Christmas and my sis and I took turns taking it around the trail in the woods behind the house. I hop on for my turn and take off full speed ahead because I'm a child with no concept of safety whatsoever. I skid around a sharp turn and suddenly low and behold two tiny faces peer up at me in horror. I'm going too fast to stop in time so I swerve at the last minute, run over one kid's foot, and hit a stump that stops me. Screams of terror and pain start up. I panic because I don't want my dad to take away the fourwheeler and throw that sucker in reverse. They had to jump out of my way to avoid getting run over again. I made it back to where my sister was waiting, told her I'd run over a yellow jacket nest, and then convinced her it was the absolute best time ever to go in the hay fort in the barn. We hid in the hayloft for probably an hour. My sister had no clue what had happened and I never found out who the rando children were. Also did not get in trouble for it. Angry Beaver I was probably 12 when this one happened. Me and my sister used to walk down the road to this large creek that run under a small bridge about a mile out from our property. We noticed a beaver dam had stopped up a good bit of the creek and decided it was a grand idea to save the creek. So we start knocking down the dam. Just as we have the water free and clear, the beaver comes home and he is PISSED. I'm pretty sure the movie industry uses angry beaver sounds to create demon noises in horror films. That SOB came after us slavering and hissing and chittering like a madman. He chased my sister up a tree and I had to beat him off with a limb to save her. We of course deserved his wrath, but beavers are pests in the area so I'm not all that sorry. Shit Throwing My dad's side of the family are cattle ranchers and we used to visit their farm a lot as kids. My sister and I would engage in dirt wars. Which is where you pick up a dirt clod and lug at the nearest human being. It bursts into a glorious poof of red dust on impact. Sometimes rocks got thrown instead, but we made it to adulthood so it wasn't too bad. Anyway, I had older cousins who would take us around the farm and play with us when we visited. They taught us how to do dirt wars, but usually fought dirty. We'd be walking along when suddenly a dirt clod would hit us in the face and the war would be announced. Then it was a bloodbath. Well, I'd seen my little sister ambushed by geurilla dirt clod fighters one too many times so I hatched a plan. I waited until they started another dirt war and I went for the nearest pile of horse shit. Picked it up and chucked it full force back at them. This turned out to be a massive tactical error as they were all much bigger than us and getting shit thrown at them made them angry. So dirt wars turned into shit wars. Cow paddies were the projectile of choice, they gave more of a splatter effect. Horse turds were less traumatic, they just smelled like grass. All of us were forced to strip and get hosed off in the driveway before we were allowed to change clothes and come in to eat. But we never actually got in trouble for it and it did happen again... several times. Redneck Neighbors The people who lived across the road from us were the absolute the finest specimins of rednecks I have ever seen outside of a trailer park. The entirety of their acre of yard was covered in lawn ornaments. There wasn't even a theme. There were random lawn gnomes, ceramic lions, concrete frogs, candy canes, flamingos, turtles, and a wooden cutout of the grinch was permanently on the roof of their trailer all year long. They were an odd couple. The man was this scrawny hillbilly with the most glorious mullet I have ever seen. It was fluffed on top and the back was probably 2 feet long. He had maybe 4 teeth in his mouth. Then the woman was a brunhilde type. She had a widow's peak that she tried to hide with overly teased bangs, fat rolls that could hide a foot long sub, and boobs that hung lower than her belly button. Every weekend, my sister and I would venture down into the hay field to spy on these neighbors. The wife would cut the grass on her riding lawn mower and the two of us would bet on which lawn ornaments she would knock over in the process. We had also been attempting to figure out if she was cutting the grass in the nude or wearing an unfortunately small strapless bikini that was capable of hiding in her fat folds for several years. My bet is still on her having been nude. Anyway, after she would cut the grass their relatives would start popping up. They would all start drinking and we knew if we watched long enough eventually there would be a fight of some kind or they would start karaoke. Now, I don't know how many of ya'll have had the distinct pleasure of witnessing drunk rednecks singing karoake on a homemade stage with a massive rebel flag flowing gloriously in the background, but let me tell you it is even more amazing than you can imagine. Over the years we witnessed fist fights, women busting beer bottles over each others heads, hair cuts, redneck jesus getting run over by his ex girlfriend then popping back up like a goddam miracle worker. Sadly the couple eventually divorced and gave the trailer to less fun people. I miss them.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

29 days ago
That beaver story is gold. Redneck had me laughing throughout too.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

Lol! This is great. Thank you for sharing these child hood tales. You need to make a book from them.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

I've been reading through all these, and they are quite the delight. Night terrors, beaver insanity, and for some reason roff's brother has a lot of butt related stuff floating around his subconscious.

Sorry, but I can't help but picture Gower's childhood in black and white, like a deleted scene of To Kill A Mockingbird. And Gower is like a tiny little child Atticus Finch. How darling. 

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago
I can't unsee this now. XD

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

I can probably comment on a few life lessons I have learned:

Background

Have you ever seen that old movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Probably not, but it was a movie made about my family. They changed the family from an Italian one with everyone named "Nick" to protect the identities of my Italian family with 7 living relatives named "Joe". To sum up my family we are all loud and eat a lot-- I learned sword play from sharing a banana split with my two sisters: nothing was yours until it made it in your mouth and stealing off another's spoon was encouraged. I was the short foul-tempered one with curly dark hair; I was also the quiet one. These are some of the stories my family would tell you.

Greed

Growing up we did not have cable. Our home-entertainment consisted of the worlds largest collection of Disney VHS tapes at the time--if you can't quote the lesser-known movie The Black Cauldron don't argue this point. However, I did enjoy the wonder that was cable television in the early 2000s: my aunt would often baby-sit my sisters and I, allowing us access to all three stations we cared about (Disney channel, Cartoon Network, and Nickelodeon). This aunt also has the internet--something we were not allowed to use in my house because it clogged the phone lines with dial-up connection. the combination was heaven for a a quiet gamer nerd with anger issues.

There was only one tv that was visible from the computer desk, as laptops were not something everyone has back then, and I would line up my turn on the TV and computer to use both at once. Joy! Excitement! Entertainment! Never was a kid happier than me watching invader zim and playing chips; unfortunately, if you left your seat you lost it. This usually didn't matter since our turn in the computer only lasted a half-hour, but today I forgot to use the bathroom before my turn started.

With my cousin and younger sister greedily eyeing my seat I tried to hold back the urges, like Bill Clinton while in office at the White House. Gritting my teeth I muscled through 10 minutes, 20, 30--then it happened. While my sister complained it was her turn, my aunt gave my unwarranted grace and announced that I could finish my show not knowing that at episode had just started.

Double time! This has never happened before. I thanked god for my extra time with both the TV and computer, but cursed the universe for my small bladder. Eventually I found a solution that allowed me to finish my turn without nagging pain. The whole hour went without incident, until it was finally my sisters turn. That is when she discovered my clever trick, when she sat in the pee-soaked rolling computer chair. Needless to say I lost my computer/TV time and my family has never forgot.

Anger

Ahh anger, my younger self's favorite deadly sin; of course, it was always their fault for making me angry to begin with. Except one time. Yeah, this one time was totally my fault. In fact, I don't know that I have forgiven myself for this one, but hey let's put it out there.

I used to play hockey, you know, the winter sport that Canada is always good at? I was pretty good too--almost as good as an average Canadian. One year in particular I was the best on a pretty bad team. It was a tough year. I played defense and was often paired with a less-stellar partner on the point; my team simply did not play offense due to to lack of talent. Our defense was one of the best in the league--on average we gave up only one goal a game--we also lost almost every game 1-0. 

One day we had a unique chance to upset the best team in the league. They were undefeated, and we actually scored. To sweeten the deal a local new station aired the game on local TV--my mom was proud. In the last five minutes of the game the reigning league champions pressed in an all-out offensive attack. My team only had one chance at weathering the storm--a line consisting of all our best forwards mixed with our best defensive pair. That mean that my defense partner and I were not leaving the ice until the game was over.

One player on the opposing team stood above the others--the undisputed best center in the league that year. He was paired against me--the second pick overall in the draft my league had at the beginning of the year. He took control of the puck and charged down the far side of the ice against the boards. His speed was blinding; he flew by everyone on the ice like they were standing still--except me. Locked in a one on one he lowered his shoulder and looked to overpower the scrawny defenseman. I never backed down from a challenge, and I hated to lose, so I lowered my shoulder and left the game up to a battle of balance and strength.

No one likes a tie, but we were evenly matched. As we collided we tangled together and went spinning out of the play. Standing alone with the puck was my defensive partner--usually relatively dependable in situations such as this--he has no one near him and is in full control of the puck; unfortunately, he is unable to stay on his feet and falls. This results in an uncontested breakaway goal that ties the game. On the resulting face off we win the draw, the puck goes to my defensive partner again, and he falls again. 

caught off guard I can not recover the play and we lose 2-1. Rage bubbles up within me, reaching a climax in the locker room. In front of the coach and everyone I exploded--making sure everyone knew that my defensive partner was the sole reason we lost the game. He left crying. How was I supposed to know his mother had terminal cancer--and subsequently died the next day. My mom showed me the paper two days after and all of the blood drained from my everything; this is when I realized I was a jerk of unprecedented proportions. I spent the rest of the year apologizing and dropping gloves with anyone who looked at my defensive partner funny--but I never can make up for that.

Gluttony

I was going to do all 7 of these, but the last one sort of killed my motivation. Instead I will end on a funny note and be done--mostly to avoid depressing myself and others.

Early in the 2000s one food group stood above the rest for hungry teen boys: a five dollar hot and ready from Little Caesar's. You could afford them on the measly allowance your parents granted and eat an entire pizza with only constipation as a side affect! Those were the days. My friends and I took advantage at an in health level.

We could not drive; after all, none of us were sixteen yet. So the main mode of transportation was the trusty bike. Yes, we could cruise anywhere in suburbia we wanted as long as the street lights were not on yet. one sunny day me and several friends were doing just that--exploring the vast expanse of charted territory we mapped out on map-quest. It wasn't long until hunger struck us like Bear Grylls; not wanting to eat rodent poop, we decided to petal over to little Caesar's.

It was then that we realized we were running out of time to bike back to my house--the starting point of our journey where our parents expected us before nightfall. Not wanting to skip out on pizza we devised a solution: we would use the handle-bars as a table to hold the box and eat on the road. That's right we ate pizza while biking home. It didn't seem strange at the time, and it got us home on time. Our parents were confused as to why we carried home empty pizza boxes...I didn't have the heart to tell them how fat and unsafe I was.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

I grew up in a little city called Queretaro in central Mexico (at least it was little when I was growing up, it's quite big now) with my twin sister and my parents. My dad was away most of the time since both of my parents were extremely young (mom was 18 and dad was like 23) when they had us. He was finishing his musical studies in the conservatory while working shifts in whatever work he could find. Therefore most of my time was spent with my mom who was a pretty crazy woman constantly on drugs. She would beat us constantly while shouting in French (she was Canadian) which made for pretty scary experiences, but perhaps the weirdest thing was when she used us to sell drugs around. I'm not really sure why she sold drugs (aside from the money, obviously) or where she got them from but she did and unfortunately, me and my sister acted as mules several times. She'd usually put the stuff in our pockets and tell us to stand somewhere until some dude came and took them out and place the cash instead. I'm not sure it was the best method especially considering we lived in Mexico so selling drugs isn't that uncommon but she was serious about safety I guess.

Anyway, one time she had us do the usual routine and drove us to some random cornfield outside of the city. I noticed she had given us MUCH more of the stuff than other times but didn't think too much of it. Also this time she had us both go at the same time which again, was unusual. She opened her trunk and gave us some other stuff and took the opportunity to empty her trunk of random stuff, throwing trash, empty containers and other random stuff on the ground. Then she told us some dudes would get here in a van but she couldn't be seen so she left and said she'd come back in like an hour. So me and my sister stood there for a while, a little confused perhaps at the unusualness of the whole thing but not really too concerned since we had done this before. Anyway we waited for a while and eventually my sister started rummaging through the shit my mother threw on the ground. Inside a trash bag she found a mostly full bottle of whisky. Now we had never had alcohol before, but being dumb bored kids we obviously though it'd be a good idea so we went for it. Naturally, after just a couple swigs we were pretty much wasted and we started wandering inside the cornfield laughing at random stuff.

Eventually, while trying to demonstrate to my sister that I knew how to start a fire with some branches, booze and a lighter I always carried around I ended up starting a small fire in the cornfield. It certainly didn't help that my sister tried to use the remaining half of the whisky bottle to extinguish it. We panicked and ran away the opposite direction we came in and found our way outside. Amazingly, my mom was parked there, and she naturally wasn't too happy to see us there with a rising column of smoke behind us. The fire grew fast and was quickly consuming the whole cornfield, so after smacking us around a couple of times my mom got us inside the car and drove off complaining about how the guys were gonna be pissed. However, as it turned out, the cops showed up because of the fire and arrested the dudes that were waiting where my mom had left us because they found drugs on their car.

 

So by getting drunk at age 9 and burning down a cornfield, I helped the police arrest a couple of drug dealers.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago
All part of the plan. XD

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

That is nuts! On the other hand it is a great backstory for a vigilante super hero! Have you considered fighting crime in tights?

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

Not sure how much help I'd be, considering that fighting crime in Mexico involves fighting thousands of heavily armed men with tanks and military-grade equipment.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

Well just make sure you become a billionaire and built a bat-car first...

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago

So one time when I was in kindergarten this girl was all giggly and wanted birthday spankings even though it wasn't her birthday, so I spanked her. Then she giggled about that so I spanked her some more and I was laughing too. It was funny.

She was Arabic.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

28 days ago
I can't explain why, but that last line really makes it.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

27 days ago

So one time when I was in kindergarten, I was running and I just couldn't stop. I ended up running towards the girl's bathroom and some fat ugly girl told me I couldn't go in there but I didn't listen because I was running and just couldn't stop. 

Ran into the bathroom and turned the corner and this little blonde girl was on the toilet and she screamed and laughed. This broke my concentration causing me to yell and immediately turn around and run out of the girl's bathroom laughing. Meanwhile the fat ugly girl had already tatted me out to the teacher who just shook her head saying I knew better than that, but didn't do anything else.

Anyway it was funny and the blonde girl was still cool with me.

She was a twin.

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

27 days ago
I'm waiting for the one that ends with "She was my sister."

ah, the sweet innocence of childhood

27 days ago

You'll be waiting a long time considering I'm happily an only child.