My Father White-Shamed Me Growing Up

Welcome to this blog, Medium Fans! I'm glad you decided to join us today. By a show of applause, who had parents who made fun of them, as children?

I don't mean good-natured teasing. Most of us know how to take a joke. I'm talking about a parent or parents who really made fun of you. Teased you about something you had no control over. Often related to your looks or personality.

Wow, that's a deafening applause. Jesus, what was WRONG with our parents?

I had one of those parents. I supposed it could have been worse, some of us have two of them. My mother was kind-hearted, supportive, and encouraging. My dad was sort of a mean prick, however.

It was always under the guise of trying to be funny. His definition of funny. You know the type of parent.

"Hey, I was just kidding around!"

"What, you can't take a joke?"

"You're going to have a hard life if you can't even handle a bit of teasing."

I'm sorry, but teasing small children, tweens, and teenagers isn't at all cool. If you're not even safe from bullying in your own home, how the fuck are you supposed to have any sort of emotional well-being outside of your home? The real world can be brutal.

We had four people in our immediate family. My Italian father, my Irish and Scottish mother, my younger brother, and me. My father was darker-complected as Italians often are, and my mother was very much fair-skinned, as you might expect.

Once I grew up to grade-school age, I started getting called "White-Boy", "Casper", and "Whetto" by my father. I took after my mother's skin tone while my younger brother looked more like my dad. I'm sure a few milkman jokes were thrown in there as well.

Well, I'd rather my dad be the milkman than some mean-spirited asshole.

He thought it was funny to bump into me in the hallway or kitchen, take a jump backward and yell, "A G-G-G-G GHOST!" Yeah, Casper the Friendly Ghost cartoons were not nearly as fun to watch from that point forward.

It didn't start and end with my complexion. Let's see, as my nose and ears grew, I was called "Pinocchio", "Nariz", and "Woody Woodpecker". "Dumbo" for the ears was also quite a charming and endearing nickname.

Then he'd move onto my teeth. I had a bit of a crooked situation going on in there. Yet another thing for him to target. He started saying they looked like a chainsaw chain and would even make a pulling motion, like he was starting a chainsaw up, complete with a loud "RRRRRRRRR" noise. But hey, he was just kidding.

I was told I was being too sensitive. I was also teased for crying frequently as an emotional child. He'd call me "Nellie" because of the character Nellie Olson on Little House on the Prairie. She'd wail and cry, which I didn't do. I didn't throw fits. I was just sad often when he was home. The nerve of me, right?

This almost makes me feel bad for calling our dad "Homer" when we were teenagers and The Simpsons became super popular. He hated that nickname. I think the similarities between Homer and my dad hit a bit too close to home.

But that's the funny thing about bullies. It's all fun and games when they're the ones dishing out the hurtful, insulting nicknames. Suddenly, when the tables are turned on them, they're not a fan of such things. It's quite hypocritical.

As I mentioned, my mother had no part in this. She's always been a classier person and a kind mother. Though I don't recall her telling him to cut the shit, she didn't participate in it.

He aimed his insults at her, as well. My mother has a bigger nose like he did. We really didn't have a chance with our genetics, in terms of having proportional noses. So she was "Lassie". When she'd have a perm, he'd call her "Poodle". Seems as though he was fixed on dogs.

My younger brother didn't get off lightly, either. He was shorter. So his nickname was "Billy Barty", named after the famous actor and little person. He also was called "nose", "Dobie", as in Doberman because he was aggressive and was told he was adopted. You know, as a joke.

Once he hit his teen years, my brother would reply, "Good. I'm glad I was adopted. That makes far more sense."

Ultimately, these nicknames don't bother us anymore. We grew up, moved out, made our own lives, and I vowed to never treat my own child that way. And I didn't. My kids have been encouraged, loved, and complimented. I refused to repeat the pattern of shitty behavior that we received from our father.

In a way, I pity him. As one of six children with a borderline abusive father, I'm certain he learned this cruel joking behavior from his own father. This seems to be a pattern with fathers more than mothers. Men tend to be a more cruel gender, speaking in generalities.

I'm glad that his words growing up don't bother me as they once did. I've seen him act out in public, teasing the wait staff in restaurants, thinking he's the most clever, funny guy in the world. It's just embarrassing and it's been my pleasure to shame him for being such an ass in public when he's done it.

He'll likely never change. He's a nice enough older fella compared to the 80s and 90s. I know that hearing stories like this makes him sound like an abusive, mean son of a gun.

Perhaps he was. He likely has low-self esteem and many regrets. I've forgiven him for the past. But I haven't forgotten.

I'm trying to think of a good Christmas present for him still this holiday season. He's hard to buy for. Perhaps a six-pack. Beer? No, a six-pack of counseling gift certificates. Something useful.

Maybe they'll have a "Buy-one-get-one-free" deal on them. I could probably use a few sessions myself. &:^)