[–] dancemonkey ago
For me it was finding out that all the magical things my dad had convinced me existed weren't real. He died when I was five so I was pretty young when he was telling me things like fairies or Father Christmas were real. He put a lot of effort into making me believe in Father Christmas. I was born around the time Santa Claus The Movie first came out, so for my entire life virtually I have watched that movie at Christmas. When I was small I was convinced it was basically a documentary. My dad played along with this to the nth degree- he and my mum tracked down a little blue wooden trike and trailer set when I was about three that looked just like the toys that the elves made. There was always a half drunk sherry and a half eaten mince pie on the special plate on Christmas morning- just things that make you think magic is real when you're a toddler. The thing that convinced me most that my dad was telling the truth was when THE REAL FATHER CHRISTMAS ACTUALLY KNEW MY NAME AND READ MY LETTER SO WAS DEFINITELY NOT MADE UP!!
My dad was in a group of businessmen who got together for networking and philanthropy. Every year they used to get someone to dress up as Father Christmas and sit in a grotto on the back of a trailer driving round the streets to visit kids in return for a donation to charity. This was basically the late 80's suburban British version of the coca cola truck- it was the sign that Christmas was definitely here. I had always been a bit suspicious of department store Santas but this one I was convinced was real. One year my dad had obviously had words with his mate, so when "Father Christmas" turned up at my house, and most of the kids got "Have you been a good girl/boy? And what do you want me to bring you?", my dad gave him the wink and I got "Ho, Ho, Ho... well this is definitely dancemonkey's house, so this must be dancemonkey! I see in your letter that you want a car for your Sindy doll..." DUDE HAD MY LETTER IN HIS HAND- THIS SHIT WAS REAL! I had the best Christmas ever, since my dad had obviously done a bait n' switch with the letter that went in the post box, but also had got all the stuff on my letter as well as passing it on to Santa. That little caper of my dad's led to me believing in Father Christmas for far longer than I should have. My mum eventually told me when I was about 10 and I was gutted. I don't think I was angry about the lying, just that something so convincing and magical wasn't real. I was quite a gullible little kid though. Just after Dad died my mum took us to Euro Disney in the first year it opened (my mum is Disney obsessed herself and a complete francophile so Euro Disney was basically The Mothership for her). I was utterly convinced the Star Tours ride actually went into space. I was confused and disappointed when I realised it stayed still and just moved about in time to the movie.
[–] biostitute 1 point 0 points 1 point (+1|-1) ago
"You live in a free country. If you work hard, you can be anything"
I will never be able to fly unassisted, or produce energy with my hand
[–] Fairle ago (edited ago)
My dad was a very serious, very strict and introverted man. He didn't have many friends or really care to indulge in anything "fun" or frivolous because he viewed it as improper. We never had sleepovers or sugary cereals or junk food or birthday parties growing up. Don't get me wrong, he was a caring and loving person...he was just very cold and stand offish about it. And more recently he's loosened up a lot, but this happened when he was still kinda...of a hardass.
One year he decided out of the blue he wanted to throw this huge super bowl party, and I was stoked because this meant a party with yelling and cheering and junk food...and general good party vibes. I could tell my dad was really pumped up for it too. He invited everyone we knew, all the family (we have a gigantic family), and he went completely overboard buying snacks and dips and so much junk we've never had in our house before. He even spent hours setting up our kitchen for easy buffett- like access. I mean he was never excited about anything.
Time came around...and not a single person showed up. Not one. No calls or anything. I remember seeing the kitchen all decorated and all the counters just covered with food. I walked into the living room where my dad sat in his recliner watching the Superbowl all alone with his beer. He didn't show it, but I could tell he was crushed. I did my best as a tiny daughter could do to cheer him up but that didn't do much good. My heart broke for him.
That is why to this day I have never...will never... plan a party.