Is it sad that I find it actually slightly comforting when I meet a person whose childhood was just as shitty as mine. Like little things. One of my coworkers has similar issues with her family, and she mentioned how she will never tell her family if she has money or how much money she makes.
I have to do that too.
Or when you have more convicted felons in your family than people with degrees.
Maybe it makes me feel normal, knowing there is someone out there that can actually empathize with me.
Holidays always bring up past memories of all the shitty things my parents inflicted on me.
Rewind about 20 years — that’s when my older brother became a prominent member of the criminal justice system. In the years since, he’s been in and out of correctional institutes.
I guess that’s why I ended up with a criminology degree.
I could literally write a doctoral dissertation about my brother’s career as a criminal.
Right now, in fact, he’s in a correctional institution in rural Georgia.
I could go on about my brother, but this post is about me…
I cannot tell you how many of my parents income tax returns went to pay for my brother’s attorney fees. In fact, my parents were so consumed with my brother’s ongoing legal issues that they seemed to forget I was there….
But remember, I was the good child. I didn’t need any attention from my parents.
A few years later, my brother was 17, and a huge fucking idiot. But we’ve already established that.
He thought it would be a good idea to hook up with a 14 year old. Now, they didn’t have sex. Should have. Because if they did, it would have been statutory rape and NOT child molestation.
And because my parents were just a bunch of ignorant rednecks, my brother’s lawyer told them to plead out and BAM! Three years in prison.
During those three years, I was in high school. And my mom thought it was an awesome idea to pick up a meth habit.
So, I would come home everyday to broke shit, holes in the drywall, holes in the ceiling, glass, potted plants, dishes… just shit.
The first person I ever got into a fist fight with was my mom.
My parents were yelling and screaming at like 3 am. Usually when they would fight, it’s because the drugs had dried up and they didn’t have any money to get any more. So my dad would pull money from our mortgage payment or my mom’s car note to pay for meth.
Suffice it to say, her car got repo’d and the house got foreclosed on.
But yeah, they were screaming at each other and I told them to shut up. It was a school night. My mom attacked me. I punched her in the face. Then called the cops.
Then I went to college. Every time I asked for anything, whether it was grocery money or moving to/from the dorms to apartments etc… it was always like I was an inconvenience or unwanted.
After I graduated, I moved back in with my folks, got a job, and promptly moved out.
I was working for this contractor near the Athens area and got canned on my 90th day. See, they had me doing the work of three people and were still not satisfied. Also the cherry on this sucky cake is that the business was a Christian business with Christian morals and Christian values.
I lost my faith then.
So I asked my dad could I move back in. He’d had a couple of coldbeers and agreed. The next day, he told me that mom wouldn’t let me.
Cue six month homeless adventure.
Day 4 of said homeless adventure, my dad fell off a scaffold at work and fractured his pelvis in three places and shattered his wrist. A month after that, my mom went into the hospital with an infection in her guts. She was admitted for three weeks.
Yeah, those are the things I’m really bitter about when it comes to my parents.
So, when I meet a person who had an greater or equally shitty childhood, I kind of find it refreshing.
That may make me a bad human being.