I was reading an email from one of the missionaries my church supports. The missionary told a story about a mom who complained, “Why are other people’s kids smart, and my kid is stupid?” She had often said this in front of her kid.
She’s not the first or last parent to disparage their kids. My parents didn’t have high opinions of my siblings and I, either. I still chafe about the time I overheard Ma tell someone on the phone that she had “three retarded children.” I pointed to my youngest brother, who was born developmentally delayed, and said, “Ken is the only retarded child you have.” Ma briefly interrupted her conversation to slap me. How dare I get angry at yet another one of her insults.
Dad once spit on me because I couldn’t figure out a math problem. I was seven years old at the time. My parents hadn’t been divorced for very long. He was making one of what would be many of rare visits to see his kids. The old man got frustrated because I didn’t add my numbers right and left the apartment in a huff. Moments later, I felt something wet on my arm. Ma was taken aback when she recognized it as mucus.
According to both parents, my late youngest sister was a criminal and a liar in the making. She often lived up to their low opinions of her when she was a kid. My parents had a hard time believing it when she turned into a responsible adult. I have no doubt that Ma was unpleasantly surprised that I made as far as I did. Dad went to his grave still thinking that I was a fuck-up, an opinion he passed on to the two wives he had after he divorced Ma. As for my late youngest brother, neither parent had high hopes for him. However, I have to give Ma some credit because she did put him in special schools.
My older half-sisters fared no better. Dad disrespected them horribly, that is, when he wasn’t out and out claiming they were of no kin to him.
The joke is on them these days, as neither one of my parents can expect any respect from their surviving kids.
