my 'father'
is an alcoholic abusive bully with classic small man syndrome who made my first 18 years abject misery.

my mother buried her head in the sand through all this.

i'd rather take a sharp right turn on a mountain road left hand bend than evolve into that particular tram smash.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:25, 3 replies)

Ooh! Maybe I do have a few tales to tell!
As a child I read a lot. When I encountered a word I didn't know I'd often ask my parents for a definition, and they'd usually oblige.

The only problem is that by fifth grade I was already reading on a college level. I asked my father what "marmoreal" and "nuncupatory"* meant and got a blank look, and was told to look it up. So I got to be quite familiar with my parents' unabridged dictionary.

Fast forward a bunch of years. My son asks me for the definition of something. I gesture toward an unabridged dictionary sitting on a shelf. "Look it up."

And I can hear Dad chuckle.



*meaning "marble like" and "Nominal; existing only in name" respectively. I was reading a lot of Jack Vance at the time.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:22, 2 replies)

when i was fourteen..
i thought my mum was a moron.
now i'm nineteen,and it's amazing how much she's learned in the last five years.
yes yes alright stolen joke,fuck off
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:15, Reply)

my father...
used to be a cynic,and now he's a stoic.Life happens to him and he's not phased.Materialism and that shit passed him by and he's fifty-odd now,retired and content.
I woke up three days ago and realised that he's always been completely right about everything,and that life is far too important to take seriously.Your posessions mean nothing and all that matters is that you make the most of the time you have.
Dammit!I'm supposed to be a swingin'-student-type-sex-having-party-going-exam-worried-character-building-type person at 19 and i've found myself post-mid-life crisis.
So today i went out and bought myself some slippers.
By the way,thank christ that public sex QOTW has ended.I had absolutely nothing to add...
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:10, 2 replies)

We're moving soon
And when discussing this with my other half, she mentioned having a larger garden would be nice 'because of the kids'.

To my horror, I heard the words come out of my mouth ...

"They'd better watch out for my plants. I want to grow some rhubarb".

I'm 25 ffs.

And I really like rhubarb.
(hangableautobulb is an anagram of the best album ever, on, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:01, 5 replies)

I'm nearly 42 but my girlfriend is a supermodel
amd I drive a Ferrari

true story
( Gilgamesh gazed in wonder as Frampton came alive, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:55, 3 replies)

Drumming on the steering wheel
singing along loudly to Chris de Burgh. I'm halfway there.




I keep my hands on the wheel :(
( djtrialprice, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:55, 2 replies)

No No No No No
I do not want to turn out like my dad, because that means I'll be shagging a ginger dog like my step mum, who has a fanny like a ripped out fireplace*

*she has had lots of kids.

euuurggghhhhhhh
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:53, 7 replies)

Housework
I've also began to whistle when I'm washing up. But I don't whistle a particular tune, just a few bars of nothing really.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:52, Reply)

Body of an 85-year-old
I hope this counts, may be slightly off-topic but I feel slightly bitter about the fact that I seem to be aging prematurely...

My father is 51. He doesn't smoke, and hardly ever drinks. He rides his bicycle and walks to work weekly. He used to play football in his twenties, and did well in sport at school. He wears glasses for reading and close-up work. He has only ever broken a bone once, when he fractured his arm (so it wasn't even a proper break).

I am 19. I don't smoke, and hardly ever drink. I get out for exercise at least twice a week. Despite this...

I was born with a dislocated hip. I had no less than five ear infections in my first two years. In middle school, I suffered with several kidney infections. At age 13 I was told I'd never have kids (thankfully sorted out now). I had to have physiotherapy at 14 because my muscles grew and my bones didn't (paaaaaainful). In my early teens, I started to faint and have fits (this still goes on). I have broken my fingers, my toes, and chipped a piece of bone from my chin. I have had an operation to remove intestinal stones that failed, leaving me to pass the stones.

To cap it all, I am now currently sat up in bed, off work with a slipped disc. I will say this again: I am 19. My parents are in their 50s and in the prime of health.

Serously, what's up with that?
(theneet began to cut her hair and long for balls, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:51, 7 replies)

Day out
Sometimes, weather permitting, we (wife and any of my 3 teenage kids who are bored enough to tag along) go for a day out. A drive up the coast or onto the North Yorkshire moors or some other picturesque area.

Over the last year or so, I developed a habit whereby I always take a Thermos flask of tea with us and ensure that there are some sweets in the glovebox, or more recently, extra strong mints.

We've also taken to spending the last hour of the day out sitting in the car before we decide to head off home.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:49, 1 reply)

I must be getting old
Because I have started to think and say things that my dad would say, the most resent one was when I caught myself thinking.

“Back in my day these little urchins wouldn’t have dared act like they do know as they would be punished by their parents”
But alas those were the days when children could write a complete sentence, when the parents ruled the house hold not the children and when the children would be told of for setting fire to the local church.

The sad thing is I’m only eighteen. Ah how the times have changed.
(radial head fracture, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:46, 2 replies)

Arse
This is (I think) strictly a man thing.

Something arcane happens to a man's bowels in his mid-late 30s. Something deeply mysterious and not at all nice. As children, my brother and I marvelled at the sheer toxicity of our father's rectal output - he had his own lavatory into which only the foolhardy or mad would dare to go. It stank of decomposing vegetation ALL THE TIME. The stench of his anus had actually permeated the porcelain, rendering the room a 'no-fly zone' for all but himself.

My brother is now nearly 40, and has remarked on more than one occasion that he is heading the same way. He, though, seems to derive some kind of twisted pleasure from his emissions.

I am terrified that I must be next...to be the keeper of that most poisoned of chalices....
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:41, 5 replies)

Not parents, as such, but close relatives.
Fairly apt, actually, because a few nights ago I was looking through some old family photographs. My grandfather was an avid photographer, as was my dad – as a result there are many, MANY photos of my aunts, uncle, father, and grandparents scampering around, having a jolly old time. Up until the age of six, my life was fairly well documented in a series of well-taken black and white photos – along with the typical “birthday-party” and “look-at-my-daughter-she-can-play-the-piano” posed type, there are ones of me and my sister engrossed in T.V.; me doing homework with an expression of utter concentration on my face; eating cereal; doing the washing up. I’ve always been allowed to wear what I want, and when I was little it usually consisted of either Clarks or Doc Martens, teamed with Laura Ashley dresses and cardigans knitted by my grandmother. Which leads me back to the point that I was trying to make.

In these photos, my grandmother was beautiful. She was incredibly well-dressed – not in the formal sense, but her outfits were unique and really quite special. She was an avid craftswoman, and made countless nighties and dresses out of William Morris fabric or old Liberty prints. At the age I’m getting to (i.e. old enough to need to buy my own clothes) I’ve realized how useful it would be to be as good a seamstress as her. I’d also been nursing a desire to find some cats-eye glasses, and, lo and behold, there is my grandmother wearing such a pair. I think about the sort of things I’d like to wear and I see my grandmother – who I only really knew when she was dying from a dehabilitating illness – as the sort of person I’d love to be. This is a woman who had five children, lost her husband early and lived a full life, never losing heart. If I were to turn into my grandmother, I would be happy. She was so strong; and so beautiful.

As mentioned, there are a lot of photos of my three aunts, uncle and father. All my aunts are stunning. They have dark hair and huge eyes, and big grins. But the one that stands out most to me is the middle sister. In this particular album, she is around my age. She was not the most beautiful – that prize goes to the eldest – nor was she the most attractive – that was the younger. She had closely cropped hair, like mine, and she looked solemnly at the camera. Most of the handwritten captions (by my grandfather, with obligatory puns – it runs in the family, but that’s getting off the point) make reference to her being pensive, thoughtful, contemplative. She is the aunt I see myself most in.

This is the point where I mention there is quite a large problem of mental illness in my family. My father has suffered, I am suffering at the moment with similar problems, and we have the suspicion that both my grandparents had such illnesses too. But this aunt – the one I like the most in the pictures, the one I would imagine myself to be – went off to university, like I myself am about to, and had a mental breakdown. She developed schizophrenia and has not led a normal life since – understandably. And that terrifies me. That is what I dread most, as concerns “turning into your older relatives”. I had a phase where I was convinced I was developing it, to be told that worrying about developing it was a sure sign I HADN’T got it, which made me feel a bit better. But I do fear losing my mind. I fear losing the ability to live my life. It may be unlikely to so closely follow in my aunt’s footsteps, but the fear is there.

I’m sorry for lack of humour, and the tenuous link to the question. As for length, it’s my second time, I’m warming up a bit and can last a bit longer. But I’m sure I can perform even better ^_^
( Lampito rise with the moon, go to bed with the sun, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:39, 4 replies)

trying to catch up
This question would've made me cringe about a year ago. But how things can change.

I am not like my father at all. He's just sort of irrelevant, so let's toss him to the side straightaway. But Mom, on the other hand...crazy, yes. And certainly my own sanity has been questioned *here* before, ad nauseum.

But my mother...smartest person I've ever known in my life. Chemist/Biologist, could rattle off covalent compounds in her sleep. Wild woman, scuba diver, equestrian, motorsport enthusiast. No fear at all. Spendthrift: 'my bills shall die with me.' Generous, to a fault. Able to drink most men under the table, and out-shoot them all. Taught me how to fire a rifle. And a revolver.

She grew up through some fearsome shit. And retained her love of life until her final day. I'll never match her intelligence, but will strive to live with adventure and no regrets.

Oh, and she gave me my brother. My best friend for life.
( cackers, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:32, 1 reply)

Norman! Norman!
Turning into your parents?

Does keeping your mother's dessicated corpse in your family motel and then dressing in her clothes count?

Phew, thought not.
(Rsoles, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:31, Reply)

It's alright for you youngsters...
...our Sprog is 21 now and we're looking forward to being Grandparents!!
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:30, Reply)

Both of my parents are pretty cool for 63 year olds.
I have no issue whatsoever in turning out like them.

My ma watches Later with Jools Holland and marks the acts out of five, which she then shows me when I go to visit her on Sundays. She's got pretty good taste. On hearing 'Spitting Games' by Snore Patrol on the radio one day, she didn't even look up from her dinner as she said 'Ah, this song. It promises so much and delivers so little'.

I love the bones of the pair of them. If I turn out half as fantastic as them, I'll be a very happy camper.
( Blue Star was working part time at the 5 and Dime, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:23, 1 reply)

But on the plus side
If I can turn out as kind and patient as my dad, that's fine by me.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:15, Reply)

I wish
My life's great shame is my complete failure to turn into my ancestors. One of my grandfathers was a general, the other a professor. My father is a respected academic - as well as being a pretty cool chap who turned me onto Hendrix, reggae and surf music from an early age with the same boundless enthusiasm that has also given me a love of history and of learning in general. I grew up in the most amazing houses in some beautiful towns (at one place our garage was an old stables with arrow slits in it).

I live in a one bedroom flat in the East End and can't afford to replace my oven (which broke before Christmas), and my daughter is being raised by a psychopath.

If I could turn into my father and give her the wonderful upbringing I was so lucky to have, I'd be the happiest man alive....
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:12, Reply)

I've started drinking responsibly
I feel dirty admitting that.
(Hagbard MacDougal, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:10, Reply)

Ah yes.
Also, managing to put together a budget and sticking to it.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:06, Reply)

While on the subject of music
Am I the only one who thinks that there is more variety and originality in one song from Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd ("Dazed and confused" or "A saucerful of secrets" as examples) than there is in the entire output of, say, the killers?

Please stop pretending to be good and fuck off.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 16:05, 6 replies)

And another thing.
I want a teapot. This is not reasonable either. And it would have to be a novelty one.

Shit.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 15:54, 6 replies)

My dad and I ...
Both listen to planet rock radio station*,
have a teasmade (alarm clock that makes you a cup of tea, bloody brilliant device),
enjoy going to the tip on saturday mornings
and often ring each other up to compare the weather in somerset and london and how well our tomatoes are growing...
I'm only 24 :-S

*station that specialises in dad rock - Led Zeppelin, Clapton, deep purple etc...
(bryo, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 15:53, 5 replies)

Not much chance of that.
Like most people my age, I have parents who are utterly uninterested in any music that came out after about 1960 and have made no effort to keep up with current culture. They're aware of who the Beatles were, but know nothing of Pink Floyd or any other major musicians.

Dad is a classic Type A career-driven workaholic- if it isn't related to work or making money, he isn't interested in it. Mom has been the housewife for over fifty years and at one point ran a shop- somehow I don't think that's a likely thing for me. They both dress rather conservatively in old peoples' styles.

I, on the other hand, still introduce my kids to new bands and exchange mp3s with them. I work to live, not the other way around. I typically wear jeans or shorts and tee shirts, and have a lot of creative hobbies. I did inherit Mom's interest in cooking, and have often compared notes on recipes with her- but so do my kids with me.

Nope, I'd say that I'm living in a wholly different world than the one they know.

However, I can definitely see my kids starting to turn into me...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 15:53, Reply)

Ma belly
Fuck you, slow metabolism, fuck you.

How fucking dare you let me develop a beer-belly. How fucking dare you. I sort out the pies and the beer, you burn the fuckers off, that was the deal. None of this watch what you eat and drink crap, that was for the other people. We were perfect, we were slim, and now you've gone and given me bitch tits.

Fuck you, slow metabolism, fuck you indeed.
(Go on , touch it, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 15:51, 5 replies)

Fight the power !
What's wrong with you lot ? OK, I listen to Radio 4 but I have all my life, so that's not a transition.

I embarrass the hell of out of my poor children. "Turn it down", "Stop dancing whilst you're driving" and so on. Last night went to a concert with my eldest daughter, her boyfriend and my new girlfriend. Felt myself coming up on MDMA whilst talking to my daughter before the concert started; managed thankfully to hide the symptoms. Later got told off by security for daring to get out of my seat and dance - could see my daughter in the balcony pissing herself laughing at the antics of her old man.

I take being a parent really seriously (honest - this way the only way the poor darlings can rebel against me is by being straight and normal) but the concept of gardening, DIY beyond painting and changing electric fittings, or getting a sensible car are just alien to me.

I'm 42 next week. I don't think I'm going to change any time soon. The only way I'm like my parents is encouraging my children to speak / write properly and to read as much as they can. But maybe encouraging them to have fun is not such a bad thing.

I'm sure I'll get lots of criticism for this post but...I am who I am and as long as it hurts nobody, then I can't see myself changing...
( I_Was_Mordred, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 15:50, 2 replies)

You know you are turning into your Dad when..
...you're sleeping with your Mum..






Goodnight.
(r0ach, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 15:50, 9 replies)