Remember The End Of The World?

[shereads]

When I was three or four, my best friend was a boy my age who lived in the apartment upstairs. We were playing in his room with some plastic horses from my Roy Rogers Ranch, and one of us - maybe me...maybe - decided that the rattan chair from Spain would make a much nicer barn if it had a door in it, so we unwound some of the rattan and made a hole about the size of a horse in the back of the chair.

A small horse. Plastic.

The next thing I remember, the little creep had blamed me for this and his mother was livid! She was all red in the face, and my former friend was pointing at me and crying, and i was crying and yelling that it was not my fault, and my mom had been transformed into one of the Furies. My mom is 5'1" but that day, she was enormous and had snakes for hair, like Medusa. I'm almost certain she hissed at me and had a forked tongue.

All of this evidently happened in the dining room at our apartment, because I remember being pursued around and around a table while we all screamed and hissed.

It was the worst moment of my entire life up to that point.

It was the end of the world.



Do you remember yours?

 

[dr_mabeuse]

I was caught shoplifting plastic dinosaurs when I was about 12 from a Kresge's. They met me on the other side of the register and marched me into the office and gave me the third degree. The store manager even reached for the phone and threatened to call the cops.

They finally called my dad at work, and when he got home he sat me down and gave me the old 'very disappointed' routine. I never got hit as a kid, but I would have preferred it. When you get hit it's all over pretty quick and you can feel self-righteous afterwards. Instead I had to drag around that guilt and shame for the rest of the summer.

No one understood how badly I needed those dinosaurs. Plastic dinosaurs weren;t very common in those days, not like they are now. I can still remember what they smelled like.

---dr.M.

 

[cloudy]

We moved from Santa Barbara to a tiny town in Tennessee the summer I turned 17. I begged and begged to be allowed to stay for my senior year, even had a friend's parents offer to let me live with them, but my parents wouldn't budge.

I hated the place we moved to, I hated my parents and I hated myself.

I'm still getting over it.

 

[shereads]

I was caught shoplifting plastic dinosaurs when I was about 12 from a Kresge's. They met me on the other side of the register and marched me into the office and gave me the third degree. The store manager even reached for the phone and threatened to call the cops.

They finally called my dad at work, and when he got home he sat me down and gave me the old 'very disappointed' routine. I never got hit as a kid, but I would have preferred it. When you get hit it's all over pretty quick and you can feel self-righteous afterwards. Instead I had to drag around that guilt and shame for the rest of the summer.

No one understood how badly I needed those dinosaurs. Plastic dinosaurs weren;t very common in those days, not like they are now. I can still remember what they smelled like.

---dr.M.

I didn't have any dinosaurs, either. Life is a bitch, isn't it?



Of course, dinosaurs would have needed a larger door than the horses did. So it's just as well.

 

[shereads]

We moved from Santa Barbara to a tiny town in Tennessee the summer I turned 17. I begged and begged to be allowed to stay for my senior year, even had a friend's parents offer to let me live with them, but my parents wouldn't budge.

I hated the place we moved to, I hated my parents and I hated myself.

I'm still getting over it.

Your world didn't end for the first time until you were seventeen? You must have been pretty well-behaved.

I've seen Santa Barbara, though, and I'd have been mad as hell if I lived there and someone made me move.

 

[lucky-E-leven]

I think I was 6 or 7

I got the 'I'm very disappointed in you.' from my Dad when I threw a rock at a car on a dare and actually hit the damn thing. The guy got out of the old beat up piece of shit and came to the door to tell my Dad. I had previously run in and was hiding behind the door of my bedroom of all things. Anyway, Dad let me know that I'd broken his trust in me and would have to work at building it back up.

It was just a lesson for me, but it was awful to see the disappointment in his face that night at supper and any time I asked to do something and was told I couldn't until I'd earned that trust back.

My Dad's approval was everything to me and while it was the end of the world there for a little while, he was good enough to be very diligent in telling me when I'd done things right here and there and that by doing so I had earned back some of his trust.

Building blocks.

~lucky

p.s. The real end of the world happened when my folks told my sister and I that they were divorcing, but now I can see what a positive life change it was.

 

[Xelebes]

I know I probably have written this event here before, especially when talking about rumours. Let me reiterate: rumours blow. Big time.

Now for those who have heard this before from me let's take a closer inspection of what was running through my head.

I was probably the most hated in Junior High, I hated it. Grade 7 was the peak of the greatest discontent amongst my classmates. A rumour spread that I said a racist comment and now not only were the grade 7s after me but the grade 8 and 9s were after me.

The first confrontation was the end of the world for me. I knew there was a tempest stirring in the waters and I knew I had to leave the school ASAP. I knew telling the teachers or the principal wasn't going to help as they were actually helpless. They could have considered calling the cops but they didn't think it was serious enough. It probably wasn't serious enough to call the cops either but hey, when you're are all alone being enveloped by a crowd, you vertainly wished there was someone who would stand by my side. Bell rand - grab my books and bags and I ran. I am not the swiftest person in the school but I was able to get halfway down the field. I look back and there they were pouring out of the school doors like a swarm of bees. Half of the whole school was determined to confront me and all I could do was let them get me. I couldn't get to a house and feverishly bang on a door or anything. I knew I was about to be consumed by them.

For those interested in what happens in a swarming - as that is what this is can contact me by PM. Right now, it wouldn't be worthwhile to go on. I'm only here to say what I thought was the end of the world.

 

[shereads]

Oh god. I'm so sorry.

 

[Darktouch]

The end of the world

The end of the world came late for me. My father and I were sitting in the basement celebrating the end of his 5 year waiting period till the scions of medicine pronounced him cured of his cancer of the bladder.
I remember so vividly how he looked me in the eye and said "Well boy. I beat it, I am a cancer survivor" and he was right there was no sign of cancer.
One week later the phone rang, he had been hunting and had fallen and wa in the hospital. After two agonizing days I heard from my mother again, no details but I had better get down to pennsylvania right away. I of course being the dutiful son hopped the next train out. I walked into the hospital room and saw him, pale and wan looking on the bed wearing a halo, a tortorouus device that was bolted into his skull for the thesurgery on his brain. The doctor and I entered the room bare seconds apart and I remember the chilling indifference in his voice "Stage 5, inoperable, 6 months max"
That moment my world ended, and was reborn for my father reached to me and for the first and only time in his life said "I love you, son"

 

[shereads]

 

[Darktouch]

lasts forever and no calories

 

[magichandslee]

Hello.

Mine is easy for me to remember. I was so thin and plain as a child.

All the other girls had breasts, they wore them like beacons. No boys ever even looked at me, at the dances during lunch hour, I sat far away against the wall and tried to hide.

I asked to be allowed to go to the library at lunch, my teachers refused, so I had to attend.

I wanted breasts! (I still do.)

My mother realized, I was crying and let it out, she always tried to hide me from the world.

She sighed, then went and bought me a padded bra. I was so proud, I had breasts! I walked to school, sure I would now fit in and be noticed.

I only got teased, laughed at and called names. It was so bad I left school in the middle of the day, ran all the way home crying. I was 14 years old. I really don't remember any time that was worse for me.

One does not go from an "0" cup to a "B" cup in one day, I learned as I got older. Today, I am an "A", and they are sensitive, reactive, and just fine!

Lee

{I will be happy if it kills you.}

I like that phrase...

 

[cantdog]

I'm afraid not, shereads.

It ain't a horse and I think I can't do it here.

This thread is already getting a bit painful.


cantdog


ps

 

[Xelebes]

Hello.

Mine is easy for me to remember. I was so thin and plain as a child.

All the other girls had breasts, they wore them like beacons. No boys ever even looked at me, at the dances during lunch hour, I sat far away against the wall and tried to hide.

I asked to be allowed to go to the library at lunch, my teachers refused, so I had to attend.

I wanted breasts! (I still do.)

My mother realized, I was crying and let it out, she always tried to hide me from the world.

She sighed, then went and bought me a padded bra. I was so proud, I had breasts! I walked to school, sure I would now fit in and be noticed.

I only got teased, laughed at and called names. It was so bad I left school in the middle of the day, ran all the way home crying. I was 14 years old. I really don't remember any time that was worse for me.

One does not go from an "0" cup to a "B" cup in one day, I learned as I got older. Today, I am an "A", and they are sensitive, reactive, and just fine!

Lee

{I will be happy if it kills you.}

I like that phrase...

I'm just gonna say this now but I am an avid of the small chests, especially A and AA.

 

[shereads]

I'm afraid not, shereads.

It ain't a horse and I think I can't do it here.

This thread is already getting a bit painful.


cantdog


ps

It is, isn't it.

If I can find that little bastard who blamed me for the hole in the rattan chair, I'm going to whack him in the face with a snow shovel.

This thread is his fault.

 

[KarenAM]

Let's see. I suppose the end of the world began when the doctor looked at the x-rays and said, "Nothing to worry about."

Then, a week later, after having shown the x-rays to his colleagues (who probably told him he was an incompotent), he announced I needed major surgery right away, and then basically accused my mother of neglecting me and letting this happen.

I think I was about 12.

The world ended regularly and often after that as I became a broken doll to my loving, well-meaning parents, who dragged me all over the place, from doctor to doctor, to get me "fixed". I wasn't really human anymore, just a number in a file to be poked and measured. No one really noticed as I slid into depression and isolation, no one except for a few friends who I still feel guilty for clinging to like I did. They deserved a better friend than I often was.

 

[Dirt Man]

I refuse to dwell on my endings, there are just too damn many of them. I prefer to think about all of the beginnings instead. And too thinking about beginnings is less tearful.

As Always
I Am the
Dirt Man

 

[rgraham666]

A whole pile for me.

The worst was the day the principal of my public school told my mom I couldn't be taught.

So nice to be nine years old and told you have no future.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

It was Frank Zappa who said that Americans spend the rest of their lives recovering from high school.

For those who think they were the most pathetic geeks in the world in high school, I recommend this site:

http://www.patheticgeekstories.com/

This artist solicits stories of childhood humiliation and trauma from readers and turns them into comic strips. There are none of the heavier stories of loss and pain, but for those day-to-day humiliations you think you'll never recover from, these make wonderfully cathartic reading.

Go to the archives and read about the boy who got up in front of the class to read his report and didn't know that his zipper was open and his Holly Hobby underpants were showing, or about the guy who wrote himself love letters from girls to impress his friends and then was caught.

---dr.M.

 

[destinie21]

My mother walked in on me having sex with a girl. She didn't know I was gay. She was shocked and swift as hell for a woman in stilletoes.

 

[raphy]

It was Frank Zappa who said that Americans spend the rest of their lives recovering from high school.

Unfortunately, it ain't just Americans...

 

[Liar]

High School? Bah. High School was easy peasy. 3:rd to 9:th, that was hell.

If you'd see me today, it is pretty hard to believe that in 4:th grade I was a pretty small kid. Short, thin as a stick, and a big, red hair, made me a natural low rank in the pecking order. Now, usually we were a bunch of misfit kids that hung out together, which kept us out of most trouble, but trouble was bound to happen, sooner or later.

So one day, I found myself cornered by four big, older, classical bully stereotype kids. They were only a year older, but that was one year too many at that age. There was not a teacher in sight, and they made it blatantly clear that I was about to get the crap kicked out of me. At that point, I only saw one way out, and even that one was a desperate option.

But it was the only option I could see. So I did a Dubya, and launched a pre-emptive strike. I took a full swing, broke one nose and my own thumb.

That was the exact moment when an adult, a janitor, as it were, finally made an appearance. The older kid ran straight to him, and sobbed a complete lie about how I'd just walked up and punched him. His friends nodded approvingly. We all went to the hospital together, and I didn't say a god damn word while scolded by my teacher, and later by my parents. I mean, what would I say? The evidence was pretty obvious: His nose, my hand.

Mom was actually crying, because she thought she had raised a violent son. But when I tried to explain what had happened, she lashed out at me more hystreric than I had ever seen her, calling me a liar. That's when it hit me. Having the right on your side doesn't mean shit, and not even my own ma and pa trusted me.

Years later, in High School, I got teamed up with the broken nose boy, and we became quite good friends. He confirmed the real story to my parents, and although it was water under so many bridges by then, it did give me a bit of smug satisfaction to see that they were a little bit ashamed of themselves.

#L

ps. That is, as far as I can remember, the only time I have ever hit someone for real. When getting in the middle of fights later, I tended to go for the 'crouch and run' tactics. Or if trapped, the 'crouch and bodyslam, then run'.

 

[shereads]

Golly. I'm glad this thread caught on.

I'm going to start a self-congratulatory bonfire in the back yard now and throw myself into it.

 

[lucky-E-leven]

Golly. I'm glad this thread caught on.

I'm going to start a self-congratulatory bonfire in the back yard now and throw myself into it.

Can I have your dog?



If you were a virgin we could all get naked and do some sort of sacrificial dance around the fire.

You're not a virgin, are you?

~lucky

p.s. I'll bring the fire extinguishers (I couldn't let you burn!)...but only if you promise to post a new poll soon. Been slacking lately.

 

[Virtual_Burlesque]

My Truncated Modesty

I was five years old, and we were leaving on our summer vacation to a lakeside cottage. My father was getting ready to load up the car, and I was being his caboose.

After clearing out all the junk from the trunk and jettisoning it into the garage, my father topped up the oil, before backing the car out of the garage.

For something to do, while Dad was working on the engine, I crawled into the trunk.

Not having heard from me for several minutes, my father got behind the wheel, and backed the car out of the garage, to park it conveniently beside the side door, where all the suitcases and other paraphernalia could be arranged and checked, before packing them away in the trunk.

You must know that the contractor who built the garage and the one who paved the driveway (apparently) were not speaking to each other. As a result, there was a two-inch drop from the lip of the garage onto the driveway.

As Dad started the car and put it into reverse, I grabbed the sides of the trunk, to steady myself. The rear wheels dropped those two inches, and the trunk lid slammed down of my fingers.

At first, I yelled!

Over the sound of the motor, from the front seat of the car, my father did not hear me. Sometimes I howled. Sometimes I was silent. If I yelled while they were near, my parents were too busy running in and out of the house carrying the luggage, to hear my voice muffed by the trunk lid.

Eventually, they realized that I had wandered off, again.

My mother was all for stopping, and searching me out, before I wandered too far away. She began telephoning the parents of my neighbourhood friends.

Luckily, my father decided to keep on loading the trunk. Just before he opened the lid, he noticed about a quarter of an inch of chubby pink finger tips sticking out from the foam gaskets between the trunk and its lid.

We later calculated that I must have been trapped inside the trunk for about half an hour.

Long before we reached the cottage, and I saw the lake, I had forgotten my experience, but to this day, I remain a bit of an exhibitionist. I prefer that people always notice exactly where I am at ––– and I am far more comfortable with no restrictions or constraints.