I cannot imagine having meaner parents.

There I was, still at the table refusing to eat my rice salad, while my siblings were watching The Beverly Hillbillies. Then another taunt from my older sister. "Don't be such a baby, Tom. Eat it so you can watch TV."

"I AM NOT BEING A BABY," I screamed as I broke out in tears!

Then Mom pipes up, "Knock it off," and Dad adds "Both of you."

There it goes again; she starts it, and I get in trouble, too. All I could do was bawl.

I cannot imagine having less fair parents.

There I was, standing before Dad, while the neighbors who were always mean to us were telling him that I called them "Mr. and Mrs. Elephant" as they were getting into their car. My Dad did not buy my alibi that I said "Anderson" when they said, "we heard what you said," nor that it was not me when they said "you said it." It was time to come clean.

"We all said it," I appealed!

Then in typical, conspiratorial fashion my siblings said in unison, "Uh, uh!"

To honor their wishes that I be punished, Dad rolled up a newspaper and gave me three swats in front of them. After three loud thuds, Mr. and Mrs. Elephant . . . er, Anderson walked away seemingly pleased.

I hope Dad knows it did not hurt. I was only crying because of the embarrassment.

I cannot imagine having less concerned parents.

There I was at their bedroom door looking at Mom and Dad sleeping. Did Mom not remember the terrible nightmares I was having when she laid down with me? She seemed to have not one concern about that now, and Dad showed no concern either.

"Mom, I thought you were going to sleep with me," I said with the best sob I could muster.

"You were asleep for hours, son," she replied, like it had just been a ploy to comfort me.

"Can I sleep with you and Dad," I inquired.

"Sure, son," she said with hardly any enthusiasm, while Dad rolled over a bit without saying a word, as if he did not even care.

Today, I read of tales of parents starving, beating, and molesting their children, and I think they do not know how it was to be raised as I was raise. If they only had parents as mean, unfair, and unconcerned as mine were, they would certainly have a different perspective on life.

I mean it when I think, I wish those children had parents like mine. Then, they would know what being a child is really all about.

Learn more about this author, Tom Koecke.
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