As an adult, you might not be aware of this, but grownups can be quite harsh while dealing with kids.
Growing up, we’ve all dealt with some serious unpleasantries from adults such as teachers, our parents, or even our neighbors.
These instances can leave everlasting wounds that still ache years later. Let’s take a loot at times kids realized that adults are awful.
My mom would always inform my family that dinner was ready by yelling from the bottom of the stairs.
She always expected me to hear her, despite the fact that my bedroom was on the opposite side of the house while my door was closed and my TV was on.
One day she said to me, “Don’t yell from the top of the stairs, you need to ask me in person or else I can’t hear you. I’m not made of ears you know.”
I was in the third grade when I refused to make a Father’s Day card, so my teacher decided to send me to the principal’s office. The thing is, I have two moms, and no dad.
They told me that I had to make a card for an imaginary father, and I refused to because I thought it was stupid and pointless.
The school called my moms, they came to pick me up, and took me for ice cream. Not all adults are awful, but most are.
I attended a private school, and I got teased all the time. My friends and I reported it to the school’s admin, and no one did anything about it.
If we were lucky, they would occasionally lecture the entire class with no specifics or calling out.
When I was in the 5th or 6th grade, one of my many harassers decided to pinch my butt while we were in line for PE.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, but eventually, I turned around and screamed at him to knock it off. I got detention and was forced to apologize to him.
I was twelve years old when my family went out to Arby’s with another family. I ate so many cheese sticks, you don’t even want to know how many!
When we were done, we went back to the other family’s house and I spent the entire night hanging out with the son in their basement games and goofing about.
At 4 in the morning, we went home. I woke up and threw up. All of those cheese sticks came back up.
That night, my mother accused me of drinking with the son all night. To this day, I refuse to drink alcohol. I just hate the taste. Story
When I was seven or eight, we had sports day at my school, and I participated in pass the baton. I was having a lot of fun, trying my hardest to do well.
At the end, my class teacher told my mom, right in front of me, that I was way too slow. I took it really badly. I felt disappointed in myself, and it made me lose all confidence in sports.
When I was in elementary school, I got teased a lot because I was an easy target. Every day, during lunch time, these four boys would chase and harass me.
One day, while this was happening, a teacher who was assigned to keep order on the playground grabbed a hold of me and told me to stop running. As soon as I did, the boys began pushing and mocking me.
I began running again, so the teacher grabbed me by the arm and began paddling me. Back then, teachers were allowed to. She missed my butt and ended up paddling my back.
I cussed at her, and she sent me to the principal’s office. When I explained what happened, he shook his head. He then made he stand up and gave me three licks from his paddle.
When I was four, we had “Water Day” at my pre-school, which was a day full of water-based games and activities. I’d been excited for weeks.
Before we could play, we had to do some mandatory team building games. But there was this one girl who hated me for no good reason. We were put together. We were playing this game where we had to pass a solo cup filled with water down a line of kids as fast as we could.
So, when I got the cup, I held it out to her, and she just stared at me while I held the cup out to her for a solid 10 seconds, waiting for her to take it.
Because of this, our team lost. She then took the cup and splashed it on herself. Then she began screaming and crying, which still makes me so furious. The teacher came over and she said that I refused to give her the cup and then tossed it at her when we lost.
I had to sit in the music room all day while everyone else got to play in the water.
I was in preschool when my mom gave me this book full of math problems. She told me that if I got them all done by the end of the day, she would give me a reward.
I spent that entire day doing math problems. I’ve never been as into math as I was on that day.
But what reward did she give me? It was a hug. I remember feeling like Patrick from the Valentine’s episode of SpongeBob. Story
I was in kindergarten, and we had to do that thing where you have a grid of boxes, and in each box, there is a word. You then have to cut out each box and arrange the words in some order.
For a few months, I cut out each box just as they had shown me to do it. But one day, I figured that it was easier to cut out the rows and then to put them on top of each other so the boxes would line up before cutting them out.
My teacher saw me do this. I had to stay in at recess to cut them out the “right” way.
I was asked to “watch the rectory” on Friday nights so the priests could have a night off. I was 12 years old.
My job basically was to accept food that was brought by parishioners for the priests and find a place for it in their jam-packed double glass door fridge that was as wide as two refrigerators.
There were four priests at our tiny parish. I accepted fully cooked roasts, hams, casseroles, and cakes. I was told NOT to eat anything! A few months later I was made to clean the convent with a couple of the nuns as a punishment for talking too much in class.
There were 23 nuns who lived on-site and taught school. Their kitchen had a tiny refrigerator and when it was lunchtime, they opened a cupboard of expired canned goods.
We had incredibly old tomato soup for lunch with stale bread and milk made from powder. I asked them if they knew about the food over at the rectory and they said no…
Okay, in second grade we elected our own student government in the class. We had a mayor and a judge. It was pure popularity contest.
Anyway, the teacher let the Judge handle petty things like “he took my pencil,” or “he purposely hit me with the ball in four-square!” In gym class, I don’t remember exactly what happened but I either tripped or was bumped into the girl next to me and we both fell over.
It was an accident. I was like, “Sorry,” and helped her up. I thought that was the end of that, but the girl I had tripped over complained to the teacher. The teacher decided that the Judge could handle it.
Well, the girl I knocked over was best friends with the Judge, and no matter how I pleaded the case, the Judge told me to change my card, which was the punishment. I remember I lost some sort of privilege because of it that week.
When our teacher would yell at us if we asked to go to the bathroom at the beginning of class because we should’ve gone earlier, and then yell at us if we asked to go in the middle of class because we were interrupting.
Then yell at us if we wanted to go at the end because we were trying to ditch since the class was almost over.
My mom would ask my opinion on things constantly. I would say it didn’t matter to me, or whatever she thought was best, but she would force the issue until I finally answered.
Then she would scream at me about how I didn’t understand, or I was an idiot, or I never thought of her needs. I still panic a little when people ask for my opinion on something.
This was back before classrooms were super tech-savvy. One afternoon, the teacher was trying a new system and wanted the class to participate. She couldn’t get it to work and called the tech support guy. Well, this took a long time.
We were just sitting there quietly, waiting impatiently, and the time for recess came. The teacher didn’t let us go to recess because she couldn’t figure out the computer program. This happened 11 years go and I am still angry. Story
Turned in two papers in third grade that were not facing the right way. Got held in 10 minutes from recess because they won’t let you do that in college or in business, apparently. Never had an issue with it in college.
Worked a retail job with daily paperwork. They didn’t care what the paper looked like as long as they could read it and as long as it was done.
First Grade. Teacher tells the class to complete a worksheet and there is to be NO TALKING. We all start on the worksheet…and a boy behind me starts talking to me about something.
I turn and tell him to stop talking. Teacher called me out and made me go to the front and turn my card from green to yellow. Red is the next warning and means you’re going to the principal’s office. I was inconsolable.
I’d never gotten in trouble before. I stood under the slide the entire recess crying and then cried off and on the whole rest of the day silently. I just knew my parents were going to be so disappointed and would of course know before I got home.
When I got home and they didn’t know I’d had to turn my card, I told them. They asked me why I was talking, and I told them the story. Mom said, “Well, he shouldn’t have been talking, but let the teacher deal with him, you shouldn’t. It’s okay, it’s not the end of the world.” I was aghast!
“What?! It isn’t? I can still go back to school? It won’t be on my permanent record!? My life isn’t over and I won’t be labeled a ‘bad kid’ forever?!” I felt like I got my second chance at life.
Freshman high school, a few friends and I were sitting in the cafeteria during lunchtime on a table with no more space available. Suddenly two random older girls come out of nowhere and start saying that we took their spots. It was like the second day of the school and we had sat at the same table on day one.
Anyways, we refused to get off, so they called the security guard standing outside the cafeteria and they threatened us to find a diff table or get suspended. It was really my first ever BS experience and it got me really ticked off back then.
Back in elementary school I was somewhat misbehaved and let me tell you that annoying a bunch of power-tripping elementary school administrators will get you a lot of BS.
I was sent to the principal’s office for knocking over a cone during gym class. I was sent to the “guidance counselor,” who was basically used the same way as the principal’s office, for tearing a piece of paper.
Not me-specific, but there were lists posted on the wall of the school dictating which recess games kids in each grade could play. Octopus tag, for example, might only be allowed in second and third grade.
If you wanted to play a game that was not on the list, you were required to talk to the principal first.
How one would arrange such a meeting was never really clear to me or anyone else. I was scolded for playing pretend Star Wars during recess because it “encouraged aggressive behavior.”
I was asked if I needed a chew toy to help me concentrate on my school work. I wasn’t focusing on classwork because I found it too easy.
My nephew and I are similar in age and one day we were playing outside just having a good time. He falls on the ground, cuts his leg, and starts crying.
I run over to console him, and my mother runs out of the house, irate with me assuming I had hurt him. She pulls me inside the house by my hair, kicks me in the balls HARD, and throws me onto the floor.
Mind you I wasn’t even 10 years old yet. She makes me kneel on the hardwood floor for hours praying that I wouldn’t be such a bad child, asking for forgiveness.
Meanwhile, my nephew, still in tears, tries to tell her I didn’t do it, but she wouldn’t listen to him. If that’s not a ton of BS, I’m not really sure what is.
I never got in trouble in school. Then, third grade, I was constantly in trouble and I never knew why. Fourth grade back to never being in trouble.
I’m an only child and grew up speaking to adults and them speaking to me like they would anyone else.
So, when I spoke to this teacher, I talked to her like I would my parents. Turns out she thought it was disrespectful that I spoke to her as an equal and not an authority figure. To this day I’m still a bit salty about it. Bunch of BS.
I had a cousin who would bite anyone just for the fun of it. Her mom would tell everyone not to punish her because her three-year-old was just a child and didn’t understand what she was doing.
So, all of us kids would get bite marks on our arms or face and couldn’t do anything about it. Except for one day when I decided I had enough.
Now, I was the kind of child that never got into trouble, would play by myself for hours, and got along with pretty much everyone. The parents knew this and didn’t expect my reaction when baby devil teeth tried to go for my hand because I wouldn’t let her destroy my domino stack.
Without hesitation, I slapped her right on the mouth—it made a popping sound. It wasn’t too hard, just enough to surprise her. She cried a lot. Her mom didn’t say a word.
The other parents were cheering internally. The biting stopped after that moment. Some adults really suck at parenting.
My dad is really into computers and has been for a long time. He bought a ton of books about different programs, coding, etc.
When I used to get in trouble, he made me sit next to his desk and read those books to him out loud while he continued working on whatever he was working on.
One chapter for little stuff, and it went up to four if I really ticked him off.
Before me and my family were stable and had our own home, we lived with our aunt Betty. My aunt Betty was a nice lady and all, but she claimed to have visions from God, so that made me worry even when I was eight.
One night while I was sleeping, my sister put in a movie called Carrie, and my aunt Betty turned on the TV to see the menu select screen and assumed, with no evidence it was me.
She told my mom to punish me, and seeing as we didn’t have anywhere else to go, I ended up getting woken up with a butt-whooping.
On a different occasion, I was taking a nap outside on a couch swing and my aunt Betty flipped out of nowhere, saying that I pinned my sister down and licked her eye. Really strange, I know.
My sister was inside watching TV in the living room at that time, so she was at the opposite end of the house. Even with actual evidence that I didn’t do anything, I still got whooped and grounded because she had complete control.
That’s not all the junk I had to go through while living with aunt Betty, but that’s all the stuff that didn’t happen in church.
I remember one summer when I didn’t clean my room, so my mom said I wasn’t allowed in the house during daylight hours. I had to stay out in the backyard and only come in to use the bathroom or eat/drink.
I would keep coming in for drinks, and eventually, my mom got sick of it, so she started bringing me food every couple of hours and keeping a pitcher of Kool-Aid on ice on our picnic table.
It was BS because I was supposed to stay outside, but I wasn’t allowed to play with friends or anything. I also had to deal with my brother taunting me with his daily bike rides, trips to the party store for candy, and Nintendo playing.
This lasted for a couple of weeks once she realized that nobody wanted to babysit me under those conditions and that leaving me alone in the house would negate her punishment.
When I was 11 years old the boys in blue pulled a piece on me. It was when I was late for school because I missed the bus here in Los Angeles.
They stopped me, cuffed me, slammed me up on the hood, and one of them searched through my backpack while the other pointed his piece right at me.
They didn’t find anything, of course. I started crying because I was a good kid and didn’t understand, and they told me to shut up or they’d detain me for truancy.
This happened as I was about a block away, walking towards school. After it was clear that I didn’t do anything they put me in the back, drove the half block or so up to my middle school, and brought me into the office in cuffs.
Then I got a lecture about why truancy is bad and was sent to class. Probably not my first experience with any form of BS, but definitely the earliest memorable one.
I lived in a communist country in central Europe. When I was six years old, I played with some newspaper: there were photos of politicians and I drew on their faces, making horns and stuff. Just making fun of them.
When my father saw the newspaper, he said, “We can get put away for that!” I was wondering: “I am just a child and I am playing here, making fun: How come this could lead to detainment?” Thank God the country is not communistic anymore.
I remember when I was in third grade I was playing with the magnet letters on a whiteboard, just messing around not spelling anything.
A teacher came to me halfway through class after I had lost interest and told me that I had spelled a bad word on the board.
Cue an all-day Kafka festival where I was dragged around the school by different teachers while also not being told what I had spelled on the whiteboard.
To this day I have no idea what I did wrong. Screw you Mr. L, I thought you were cool.
In school, I guess somewhere around seventh grade, I got into some trouble and the teacher was going to slap me. My hands moved involuntary to shield it and apparently my nails scratched off on her palm.
Ended up being taken to the principal for scratching the teacher and she showed her “wound” to the principal and also my parents who were asked to visit for this absolute BS.
My mom left us when I was two, which was fine. The BS part was when she remarried to a man who had wealth, lawyered up, and came back for us kids.
Like, I didn’t even know this woman and all of a sudden I have to go live with her, out of state, and be torn away from my father? She got her way, too. But there’s a catch. There were four of us siblings and she only wanted two.
Years later, she told me she “chose me”‘ because her new husband thought I looked more biologically similar to him and thus people would think I was his “real child.”
So, off I went to be severely neglected for the next 12 years of my life. The new guy worked hard to try to eradicate my dad from my life completely.
Found out as a teen that he would open my cards, letters, and packages my dad would send me and remove cash, gifts, etc. and sometimes I wouldn’t even get the card.
Then he would say things like, your “dad” never writes you because he doesn’t care about you anymore. My mom divorced that guy when I was 16. 10 years too late but it is what it is.
To protect the privacy of those depicted, some names, locations, and identifying characteristics have been changed and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
I was out of there the minute I turned 18. I was SO excited to finally get a chance to make up for some lost time with my dad, but he had a sudden and completely unexpected heart attack and passed instantly.
I was 19. It was a Sunday and we always talked on Sundays. Ironically, both my mom and her second husband are alive and well that I know of.
You can’t choose the cards that are dealt to you. Sometimes no matter how hard you try to win or want to win, those around you keep getting better cards.
Meanwhile life keeps dealing you a 2,7. My whole childhood was just one big pile of BS, but I’m much happier now. I’m rich in dogs and books and art and surround myself with people who are just the best people.