Can I just say
If I see another Madeline McCann joke, I'm going to rupture myself laughing. I can't stop myself. The longer it goes on, the funnier it becomes. I can see headlines in five years: "Maddy parents travel to bottom of Marianas Trench in titanium sub in search of missing toddler. With the pope and the Dalai Lama.."

What awful parents etc...
(frankspencer, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 15:05, Reply)

mmmmmmm. history teachers. drool.
anyway.

my mother was a primary school teacher and some bits of helping her were fun. i liked helping with the artwork and hearing the kids read, and i even quite liked helping her run the tombola etc at the christmas fair.

i did not like it the year i was 13 and she said, "where do you think you're going?"

"christmas shopping!" i said.

"no you're not. we need an elf to help santa at the fair."

i had to stand there, prepubescent tits and thighs swelling horribly provocatively out of a costume meant for a 10 year old or a dwarf, ignoring all the stinky old fathers who leered and made suggestions about stockings and naughty girls and stuffing...

hmmmm. not sure if my mother was the crap parent or they were, to be honest.

on the cruelly stupid names topic, she had one child in her class whose mother was from barbados and couldn't actually read or write. the mother had made the names up herself. one of them was r'kay. which sounds quite pretty in a soft islands lilt.

of course, in english, it just sounds like that ghastly bianca in eastenders. rickaaaaaaaaay....
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 15:04, Reply)

Maybe it was acceptable in the 80s...
When I was about 7 or 8, my dad used to dangle me by my ankles off of railway bridges - especially when a train was running underneath. Apparently he thought I enjoyed it; maybe I got some kind of thrill in a rollercoastery sort of fashion but I'm pretty sure that my shrieks were modulated more by abject animal terror than any sort of andrenaline junkieism. He also fed me some kind of medium-hot curry (I'm told it was a balti) when I was 2, putting me off spicy foods for a good 10 years or more. Not sure if that qualifies as bad parenting or not, but I seem to have come out relatively unscathed.

In actual fact I think I gave my dear mother more scares than most kids - managed to chop half a toe off by slamming it in a door and on a separate occasion smashed my face so hard on a climbing frame that one cheek swelled up to the size of a tennis ball. Anyone else got stories of bad childing while we're on the subject?
(Kendal, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 15:03, Reply)

Religious nutbag
On the rare occasion that I stayed at my (ex)boyfriends parents house, his religious nutbag mum insisted that we slept in separate rooms.

This anti-hanky panky plan might have made some sense if a shortage of beds had not meant that I had to share with his sister. I can only guess that she didn't know then that his sister liked a little lady-love and later woke me up by rummaging in my pants :-0

It wasn't many months later when I was woken up by religious nutbag mum, dragging me out of the house by my hair calling me a 'whore of babylon'...because me and said boyfriend had fallen alseep in front of the tv...with all our clothes on.

She even used to speak in tongues sometimes. Eek.
(groovchik, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 15:03, Reply)

7 or so years ago
I went on one of those WW1 battlefield trips with the school (mainly because my then-attractive history teacher *nods sympathetically to Rachelswipe* was in charge). So, we spent four days wandering around France and Belgium looking at graves and battlefields and the chavvy girls running round hotels in their pyjamas (the teachers were not amused, but the pervy French men were), and then we got an earlier ferry back than we'd expected to.

In those days very few even of the spoilt rich kids in my year had mobile phones, and while they all let their mates borrow their phones to tell their parents, I didn't get chance to for I was not one of the popular girls.

So, needless to say, we get back to school and my parents aren't there. An hour later, they are still not there. History Teacher can't go home because I've not been despatched (I'm sure he thought I did it on purpose), and after several frantic payphone calls home, we sit in a cafe and wait. There is a very, very uncomfortable silence.

Eventually my parents showed up, and where had they been?

20 miles away, watching Chicken Run at the cinema. Perhaps they thought they were doing me a favour.
( Maladicta, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:58, Reply)

Shudder
I was sent to Boarding school

For 9 years

I was 7

Trauma? By the bucket load....
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:54, Reply)

My Mum and Dad are terrible parents!
They ask me to play hide and seek and still I haven't been found, it's been 106 days now!

(Shh don't tell them but I'm hiding at the bottom of the sea)
(David Fishwick Minibus Sales - notmad.co.uk, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:45, Reply)

Not sure if this counts but ........
When I was about 5 or 6 my mother took me shopping in town but decided to drop me off at the cinema while she went round the shops. The film was 3/4 through but she convinced the usherette to let me in thinking I'd watch the 1st 3/4 afterwards. Trouble was I got confused and thought that as the film was over I should leave. I waited outside the cinema for over an hour thinking I'd been abandoned. Luckily she walked past and saw me crying.

I told you I had issues.
( girlinthehole, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:32, Reply)

Not parents directly
But my nan used to say 'only boring people get bored'

This was after leaving me in a car for a couple of hours when she went into a doctors. I was 6.
(Pavlov'sDog is all out of pavlova, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:29, Reply)

Helloooooo!
As a child in the early 80's, every Saturday my mum would always drag me with her to shopping centres to visit BHS, M&S and other such providers of clothing for the middle aged.

Now my mum (and all of her family) has a very strange sense of humour, and particularly liked the fact I was shy and thought she could 'work it out of me'

When were where in a suitably well populated part of the shopping centre she would reach behind me, grab my arm then wave it in the air whilst shouting 'Helloooooo!'

Obvious everyone would look round at me frantically waving my arm in the air. I would usually start to cry. When the people looked away, she'd do it again.

I think her ploy may have worked though, I never hear people say 'He's a little shy' these days, it's usually 'I wish he'd put his clothes back on and get off the mechanical bull'

Thanks mum xxxx
(Dr Death is not as funny as when I thought it up, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:28, Reply)

Has to go to Brad and Angelina ...
... for calling their daughter Shiloh.

Shiloh Pitt?!

Have they never heard of spoonerisms?
( Droog is too orangey for crows, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:27, Reply)

My better halfs parents.....
take the biscuit.

Her old man left when she was young and her mam and stepdad used her as a sexual plaything from the age of 3 to 13. That as well as the physical and emotional abuse to her and her brothers, the lack of food for them whilst the parents AND DOG ate every night goes some way to explaining why she doesnt ever send a mothers day card.

Yes, i know its not funny but you asked.....
(Aleister Crowleys Badger Nothing to see here, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:22, Reply)

International date line
I flew into Heathrow from Tokyo at about 3am at the age of 16...

...I walked out of the customs hall to the crowd of relatives eagerly looking for loved ones, but I couldn't see my mum anywhere. I looked and looked. She wasn't there.

So I phoned home, "Why aren't you here to meet me?"
"You don't come home until Tuesday"
"It IS Tuesday!" I cried.
"No it's not!" said Mum.

Turns out the international date line is a bugger to work out first time you cross it.

Mum reluctantly came to get me, I mananged to get by for 2 hours on the 60p I had in my pocket.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:16, Reply)

I found this on the Times website 5 seconds ago
and found it relevant and thought provoking...

www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/guest_contributors/article2267670.ece
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:10, Reply)

Kickstart challenge
As a daring young lad in the summer holidays my mornings were spent watching Kickstart challenge on BBC 1 (You remember, motorcross bikes on assault courses!).

SO, having a BMX and a large garden my Dad was stupid enough to help an 8 year old build a massive see-saw using a black and decker workmate and a 20ft scaffolding plank.

I cycled down the garden, up the see-saw and it worked! I cam back to earth on the other side dead proud of myself.

Repeat a few times.

Then my Uncle (Dad's brother) through a discussion I cannot imagine waits until I cycle past then steps on the other end of the plank.

As I'm cycling up I realise all is not well... I've passed the workmate in the middle so am about 3ft in the air but the plank isn't moving like before.... 10ft of plank left

8ft of plank, no movement but I'm climbing sharply...

6ft...

4ft, I now realised I'm about 8ft off the ground and running out of board, but it's not like I can stop on a 8 inch wide plank...

2ft, 1ft....

...my front wheel reaches the end of the plank and goes over the end. Me and my BMX fell like a sack of spuds from about 10ft up onto the not as soft as you'd like lawn below.
Lying there crying & bleeding in a tangled mess of limbs and BMX I couldn't understand what happened. My back was in agony and 22 years later I still suffer back pain which I always wonder if that was the cause.

My Dad had stern words with my Uncle and I was handed a pound coin. It seems they had a bet on whether me plus bike could lift my uncle in the air if he stood on the see-saw! Not sure who won but I got a quid.

So, for helping me build, letting me use and then betting on the outcome of a child on BMX on a massive seesaw I think my Dad displayed terrible parenting skills.

Still, I can see me doing similar one day.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:07, Reply)

When I was a little boy
Mum used to say if I was bad, she'd send me to boarding school.

At age 8, I was sent to boarding school.

I never did find out exactly what it was I did.
(><(((">, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:02, Reply)

An idiot name is the worst thing...
Jordan and Peter Andre...

"Princess Tiaamii"

Enough said there I think....
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 14:01, Reply)

I still hate my sister.
As a seven-year-old, I liked school, but I liked getting out of school even more. My sister was five at the time so my parents would pick us both up and walk us both home, but my brother walked home on his own, being older than us.
So, as usual, one day, when the bell rings, I go running around to the yard where we got picked up (without my skirt or knickers falling down due to not actually fitting me, or on one memorable occasion, both). No dad, no sister. I scan the crowds of parents leaving but nothing.
Fair enough, think I, my dad will just be a minute late and my sister's class won't have got out yet.
So I wait.
And wait.
Parents disperse and the stream of children running out from behind me grows thin. No dad. No sister. And being a soft child, I start to cry. What could have happened? Has my dad disappeared off the face of the earth? Did reality shift during story time and in actual fact I never had a dad to begin with? Am I ever going to go home and have my tea?
(I read far too many books as a child.)
A teacher comes out to ask why I'm still here. In between sobs, I explain, and she takes me inside and gives me a cup of juice and a tissue.
20 minutes later, my dad comes running into the school, red-faced and out of breath. What on earth could have happened? Did he get stuck in traffic somewhere? Was a relative ill?
No.
He'd been early, picked my sister up, walked home, given her and my brother their tea, and been quite pleased with himself until my sister asked 'Dad, where's indecisivephotogirl?'

Even after seven years of my life, my dad still managed to forget I existed.
Well over 10 years later, I'm still pissed off at this. He claims to not remember this, so I remind him of it at every suitable juncture.

(I should point out that my dad is actually lovely, just a bit...forgetful.)
(and now for someone completely different, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:58, Reply)

Ritual humiliation
If you ever thought your parents were embarissing you haven't lived.

My parents were Morris dancers. This of course caused great amusement to the other kids at school who decided I obviously must be one too.

That arguament that one kids Dad was a drunk and anothers mum a shoplifter meaning they must be too only got me into a fight.

Ironically the whole morris thing was fun, by the time I was 11 years old I'd been in more British pubs around the country than most people do in their whole lives. Live music, week long festivals at the seaside and travelling all over the country. It was great for me as a kid...

... but once a teenager it was my dirty secret.

For not keeping their shame hidden in public I brand them terrible parents.

Also I was a latch key kid from my 2nd day at junior school (aged 7), used to come home and use the key on a string round my neck to let myself in, get some coco pops and watch tv until mum got home later.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:53, Reply)

ick
me and my sister used to have rabbits when we were very very young. they were bought for us after weeks & weeks of whining and promises from us that we would feed them and clean the hutches out etc etc etc.
we forgot to feed them.
they died.
mum & dad made us put them in boxes and bury them in the garden.
traumatised much?
(Jim the Cat, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:50, Reply)

Ahem



An oldie but a goody.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:49, Reply)

Without question.
Surely, naming your kid a combination of drug references and something that sounds like 'urine' has to qualify a parent for some level of terrible: www.newbabynews.net/hospitals/stf33/public/stf33birthannouncement.pl?babyID=h33-440
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:44, Reply)

typical
My parents are nice kind well-adjusted people who took good care of me from when i was but a wee bulb and nurtured me into the lovely, polite, intelligent, nice, responsible happylittletulip I am now.

Consequently I am very ill-equipped to answer this QOTW, and I feel left out now. Boo.

It's ALL THEIR FAULT.

They are TERRIBLE PARENTS.

Hurrah!

Thanks Mum! Thanks Da - oh, fuck.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:39, Reply)

My dad's a joker;
One of my most distinct childhood memories comes from when I was about six or so. There I was, sitting on the toilet, merrily pooing away, when my dad bursts in. My dad then proceeds to push down on my head so I go down into the bowl, with my legs stuck up in the air, and flushes the toilet.

I can really vividly remember looking up at his grinning face whilst I pleaded away, him laughing all the while. He laughs when I remind him of this incident now, and freely admits doing it for his own personal amusement.

This is the same man who'd pick me up upside down, trapping my arms, and lower me down head first towards the toilet bowl, much to my screaming displeasure and his own amusement, though he claims not to remember that.
(scoob666 Ain't Nuthin' Ta F' Wit, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:25, Reply)

First born
Obviously being the first born my dad took a while to get used to having a child. One day he took me in my pram to the chemists on an errand and left the pram outside. (This was in the days before peodophiles of course). It wasn't till much later when he got home that my mother queried him on my whereabouts. Yup! left outside the chemists.

And they wonder why I have issues.
( girlinthehole, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:23, Reply)

Same grandad, but me this time
When I was around 10 or so we were mucking about with some fireworks in the garden, cue him telling me to hold one while he lit it as it's got a slow-burning fuse.

No, it didn't, it had a fuse with the same burn time as det-cord, hence the nice white burn scar I still have on one of my fingers
(sL1mB0y, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:11, Reply)

Not me, but my mum
When she was learning to drive, my grandad's idea of a driving lesson was drive him to pub, drink coke while he sank many pints of ale then have him get in the back of the mini-van, fall asleep and let her drive him home

*pop* my b3ta cherry is gone :)
(sL1mB0y, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:09, Reply)

Masterchef
My mum went away to visit some friends in Canada, leaving me and my sister to be looked after by my not-entirely-competent-in-the-childcare-department dad for a couple of weeks.

Cooking was his greatest challenge. I believe we subsisted for the entire fortnight on a diet of burnt fish fingers and oven chips. We didn't complain. But then he started getting cocky and decided that we needed dessert, too. So we got raspberry ripple ice cream, which we both loved. Top stuff!

We hadn't finished it all after the first night, so the remainder sat on the side in the kitchen until he belatedly remembered to stick it back in the freezer. Next day, we polished it off.

Oh, the humanity. He wasn't so good at handling kids at the best of times, but trying to cope with two puking, shitting, food-poisoned kids while my mother laughed her tits off over a long-distance phone line...I don't think he ever fully recovered.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:06, Reply)

Windows...
Windows 1.

In our house, the upstairs windows swung outwards door-fashion. In the interests of ‘safety’, because my dad didn’t want to take the chance of us ‘tumbling out’ (I don’t know either – call it ‘dad logic’)…….

HE COCKING WELL NAILED THEM ALL SHUT!

WTFFFF?

Windows 2

Come what may, however many times we got away with it during the week, Sunday night was bath night (We were a trampy lot then). My dad would chuck brotherflake and me into the bath together when we were little. We hated getting in, but then hated getting out after our wash. We liked to skid around the wet sides of the bath, which considering our size at the time seemed like the Cresta Run.

Dad: “Come on lads, get out of the bath now”

Us: “Naaaaaahh, Whoosh etc etc”

Dad: “Get out of the bath NOW, you pair of scrotes, or I’ll tan your arses”

Us: “Whoooosh, Weeeee (The sound, that is, not actual weeing)” etc

A couple of minutes passed. Then suddenly on the bathroom window:

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!!

Jesus McFuckybuckets! Brotherflake and I promptly shit ourselves, leap 6 feet into the air and tank it bollock-nekked downstairs so fast I’m surprised flames didn’t follow behind us a la roadrunner / back to the future etc.

My dad was sitting calmly in his lounge chair.

Us (collectively, between Sobs): “DAD, DAD, HEEEELLLPP” – Somebody or something was banging on the bathroom window – the baddies are trying to get in (we were very, very young remember)….HEEYYUULLP”


Dad: “Got you out of the bath though didn’t it?, you couple of cock-itches”

Us: “Mmmmf?”

It appears that as soon as we had crossed my dad’s ‘pissed off’ threshold, he went downstairs and outside into the dark night, grabbed an extended clothes line prop and repeatedly banged on the bathroom window, thus traumatising and mentally scarring us both for life, just to get us out of the bath.

I really shouldn’t wonder why I’m now so fucked up.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 16 Aug 2007, 13:01, Reply)

Not Parents, but eastern european great-aunts
When I was 17 I moved to Prague to live with my grandmother for a year, hoping to learn czech and do some bonding with my relatives. She lived in a huge house in a lovely leafy suburb with her three aged sisters. Being all teenaged and over-enthusiastic i made a real effort to be nice to everybody, running errands, doing all the washing up, walking dogs, taking nice long strolls around the cemetary with them and so on.

One day, my Dad called me and told me he'd be arriving the next day -
Me: ooh, what a nice surprise, is it a business trip?
Dad: no, i'm coming to the funeral.
Me: oh no, whose funeral? one of your friends?
Dad: erm, no, auntie Zoras...

Turns out the great-auntie on the middle floor had died a few days ago and had been lying in state right above my head. and nobody had bothered to tell me because they didn't want to upset me.

This sort of thing is apparently what made my Dad run off to London at 17.
(chesty, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 12:59, Reply)