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April 25, 2006
scary in-law moments
A real-life conversation about scary in-laws leads me to share my two scariest tales here.
Honorable mention
I was staying at Fucking Amy's parents' for the first time, and her little brother was in fine form. A nightmare child at school and at home, he had already been diagnosed with several mental illnesses, and their manifestations included incredible outbursts and fits of violence, including at me. Earlier in the week, he had put Draino in his mother's contact solution, so I counted myself lucky to just be punched in the eye. After I had iced my eye, Dad asked me if I'd walk the driveway with him to get the mail. I thought he would apologize, or maybe talk about the strains of raising such a child. I was wrong. He talked about their treatment plan.
"I don't know when he's going to realize that until he learns to accept Jesus Christ into his heart, he's going to have these problems."
"Jesus Christ!" I said.
"Exactly."
Okay, so I made that last line up.
Grand Jury Prize winner
While we'd been on vacation, Maddie had contracted a bizarre and terrifying disease. The doctors performed every imaginable test, including a spinal tap. We were in a hospital room and she was prone, naked, and with a syringe drawing fluid from her spinal column when her dad burst in and demanded to know why I was in there.
This is how we met.
Dad introduced himself to me. "I'm her father," he said, with peculiar emphasis that connoted contempt, but I'm not sure why. He spoke in italics a lot.
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" Maddie screamed. She was partial to all-caps, herself.
I stroked her hair. "Honey, be careful. Remember what the doctor said about mov-"
"Do you mind?" Dad snarled as though I were mounting her doggie-style.
"GET. THE. FUCK. OUT. WHERE DID I LOSE YOU?"
And so Dad and I moved to the waiting room, where he proceeded to grill me. After we'd discussed me, my job, my family, my car, my past, my present, my future, and several other topics I wasn't interested in, I brought up Maddie's very possibly terminal condition.
"Yep," he drawled sadly. "She's a special little gal, and—" he twisted toward me, using his right hand to pull his sports coat back and thus reveal his massive handgun—"I'd hate to see anything happen to her."
Message: sent.
Colon: evacuated.
I've shown you mine, so show me yours.
posted by john at 9:13 AM • permalink