Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire What did you do to really Piss off Dad....

Brewery in the area put out 16oz bottles in the summer months. Dad would drink half, put the cap back on and put it back in the fridge to finish off after getting done with what ever yard project he was doing. I was 16 or 17 and got the bright idea of finishing off the beer and putting water in the bottle. He came in swigged it down and got so made he turned red and started my way. Mom was laughing so hard she was crying and he saw her and settled down.

I swiped 2 dimes off thr neighbors washing machine so I could buy a bag of Doritos. For that i got my ass whipped with one of those old fashioned fan belts that were made of little strips of rubber all riveted together. That was probably the worst one. It's certainly the most memorable.


I got a few such whippings, but never considered myself abused.

Lying was at the top of the list, but like some here, it didn't take much to get the old man flying into a violent, abusive rage. When I was around 4 he broke two of my fingers with a metal serving spoon for reaching across the dinner table to grab a french fry or something. Nice guy. Wee Muther kept the two of us home from early grammar school on a number of occasions because the angry welts left by his double-grommeted belt and buckle were so obvious from his vicious and occasionally prolonged beatings.

When I was 12 and living in Tokyo he knocked out a front tooth with his shod foot after laying me low with a right hand. This for smoking and lying about it. Soon after, following another beating, with blood running out of my nose and mouth, I looked at him dead in the eyes and quietly told him that I was done being abused and that the next time he raised his hand at me or my brother, I'd do my damndest to not only defend myself, but to kill him. He never beat us again. Good thing, because my threat was as serious as a heart attack.

I love my dad, despite his being an abusive, cruel bastard to me and my brother when we were young. If nothing else, I learned that actions can have consequences, and that a man is only as good as his word-- and any threats he poses. If you don't follow through on them even once, you just might get called on them. I've only told a few people that I'd kill them if they didn't do -------, but every time, I meant it.

Fun thread.

Pops only whipped me once. Caught me playing around in his tackle box after warning me several times that a whipping was next.

Won't near as bad the ass beatings my mother would hand out.

There were days I couldn't wait for Pop to get home from work and save my skinny azz from Mom.

Mom was the one with the trophy collection of broken wooden spoons for sure.

These comments are interesting, I never had a father, never have know who my father was, no one in my family ever told me, i was raised by my Grandparents, but i did have a stepfather, who was a drunk, who beat the crap out of me when ever he felt like it, i stayed away from my mother and him as much as i could, when i turned 19 yrs old my mother asked me to come to thanksgiving dinner, when i got there my stepfather was drunk, and abusive, I beat Schitt, out of him, mom stopped me from killing him, i never went back, mom called about 29 years later and said he died last night, i said what you want me to say ? i'm sorry? bury the S.O.B. later in life my mom and me became good friends, happy ending to a sad story. Rio7

The one that comes to mind (among many) was when I was about 10 or 11. My dad grew up on a farm and there was a lot of farmer left in the man that became a doctor. We had gardens all over town. Besides the one in the backyard, all 3 of us kids had to sign up for 4H and get a plot every year. When all of the 4H plots had been allocated, Dad would take any "acreage" left over and we would plant, water and weed all summer. Anyway, this particular year we had a bumper crop of onions. I have no idea how many bushels, but I remember that we had many tables piled with onions in our two stall garage and more piled on the floor. Each day, all of us kids were given a task list that was required to be finished by the time our parents got home from work. I was tasked with "cutting the tops off all of the onions". (I put that in quotes because that phrase was a point of contention the rest of my life). So, a friend and I got the biggest kitchen knives we could find and hacked away at the onions, severing the tops and throwing them in the garbage. After a while the tears started to flow as the garage filled with onion vapor, and I am guessing that it probably took us a couple of hours to finish. Then, task completed, we went on with our day. I remember getting home that evening shortly after my Dad got home from work and it was obvious that he was really pissed. Apparently his version of the instructions were that the tops were supposed to be cut off at a sufficient length so that the onions could be hung in batches to dry and used as needed. Well, that wasn't the version I heard and I will go to my grave remembering what I was told. It mattered not, as now we had bushels and bushels of onions that had to be used immediately or they would rot. I cannot remember if I got a few swats during the pre-sentencing hearing following the discovery phase of a very short trial, but I do remember that I peeled onions the rest of that night and the following days and nights until they were all used up. We made pickled onions, onion rings, salsa and anything else there was that contained onions and could be canned or frozen until every one of the thousands of onions was used up. To this day I cannot stand anything that contains onions, though I will force myself to eat onions in order to be polite if someone else has cooked a dish or a meal.

Anytime I had to hold the flashlight for him while he worked on stuff. I felt like a moron. Not great memories for me. Wish they would have had headlamps easily available then

Make noise while he was watching Hee Haw...guaranteed backhand to the head.

Bad grades, taking his tools, stealing his whiskey, wrecking his cars. My dad got mad a lot but I certainly deserved it!

Some of you guys had bastards for dads, but some of you did some pretty stupid shit.

A syringe of cold water in the ear when he was down with the flu produced stunning results.

My father lived and died with numbers.

He asked me what he was doing in the hospital.

I said, "By the time the identified your pneumonia pathogen, your heart was twice its size,.. and you are 90 years old."

He screamed at me, "90? what do you mean 90?"

He had told them 65 at hospital check in.

When I saw them raising the painkiller and lowering the Oxygen, I knew the hospital had decided on killing him.

Or the ice cream pail on his head.

Smart man, his dad.

I found at around age 6 that if you take a 15/16” end wrench and throw it like a boomerang it will knock a bunch of the fluffy dandelions down with each throw. Wouldn’t have hurt anything if I hadn’t left the wrench in the neighbor’s yard when I was done. Mr Rowan knocked on the door and held up the MAC wrench with dad’s initials electropenned right beside the big gouge from the lawnmower blade and calmly asked if it was his. He wasn’t real happy with the whole situation and I wasn’t either when he got done with his “explanation”.

Friend Pat, noted on the onions and thanks to you and others for sharing your tales of woe.

Just for clarification for the next time we feast, does your understandable abhorrence involve all onions, or only yellow or red varieties? Scallions, leeks and chives on the no-go list too, or only orbs?

RIO7, well played and good on you for standing up for yourself in the face of an impossible situation.

My dad was on my ass from the start.
I think he might have gotten nice occassionally around age 75.
Just the way his dad was.
Treat kids like chit and grandkids like gold.

Oh well.

im only half the azzhole my dad was.
Gotta admit, the meanest and most azzhole people Ive met in and out of work, fail to get me wound up.
Because I grew up w worse.


When they have a tirade and you just laugh and or tell em to fugg off...... it's pretty funny

What's the saying - Raise the kids and spoil the grandkids. Spoil the kids, you end up raising the grandkids...

Eh, was just the way the immigrants were I reckon.