The Worst Christmas
When I was 14 my single mom was struggling to afford to raise me and my 2 year old sister. Being the good guy I thought I was growing up to be I asked my father if I could move out with him to give my mom a break for a while. Dad accepted and I moved. Fast-forward to Christmas of ’91, I’m 15 living with my dad and his wife and her 2 kids.
We are going to travel from our house outside of San Francisco to his wife’s mom’s house in LA for Christmas. The date is 12/21. 12/22 my dad and I are going to fly to Texas just for the day to check out his new job. He was in construction for a national company so this was not abnormal.
So we leave, I’m thinking great here’s some me and dad time. Things haven’t gone that great. I’m 15, used to pretty much taking care of myself, I’ve gotten in some trouble and of course my dad isn’t accustomed to raising a teenager either. So, we’ve had our struggles. I’m thinking we’ll do some talking, maybe think on how to live better with one another.
We are picked up by 3 guys at the Dallas airport, transferred to an office location where dad and I are sat in an office with another gentleman. Said gentleman begins to explain that this is an inpatient rehabilitation center for kids, that I’ll be there a minimum of 6 months and that my dad will be leaving. Well needless to say I wasn’t having it.
As I lay on the floor, being held in a 4 point restraint, I watched my dad walk out the door without saying goodbye or answering my pleas asking why he was doing this to me.
The place was awful (you can look it up, used to be called Straight, Incorporated and Kids before that). My dad left me there 3 days before Christmas. It took my mom 4 months to get out of him where I was and then to get my uncle to come there and get me out. In that time I had no contact with anyone I’ve ever known.
So there, merry Christmas to me. Story credit: Reddit/shekkie