"This was completely my fault, I have a bad habit of giving my wife a playful smack on the behind on a regular basis.
A few years back I was at the grocery store with my wife and 2 boys, 3 and 5. The 3-year old in the cart and the 5-year old walking. My wife heads down to the end of the store to pick up a couple of things while I wander down the aisle. This is where it all goes wrong. My 5 year old runs down the aisle to my wife and gives her a really hard smack to the behind. She yelps and turns around.
It was not my wife.
You can imagine how well that went over."
"My 8-year-old climbed up on the base platform for a mannequin at a department store then proceeded to look me in the eye. I was quivering with fear for what he would do next. I learned how warranted my fear was when his hand slowly presses against the boob on the mannequin and slowly a smirk paints itself onto his face. His exact words, 'I'm not supposed to touch this.'"
"We went on a cruise to Alaska, with my daughter who was 3 at the time. The boat was filled with large people.
We've been in the boat less than an hour, and I get into an elevator with my daughter and her eyes shoot wide open as she scans around the elevator. She tugs on my hand. 'Daddy!' I know what she's going to say. 'Not now sweetie.'
'Daddy!' 'Ask me when we get out, ok honey?' 'DADDY!'
By this point everyone is staring at her urging her to talk. So she yells out for everyone to hear 'Daddy! What are there sooooo many FAT people?' The remainder of the ride was awkward."
Kenneth William Caleno/Shutterstock.com
"A story about my older sister often ends up being told around the holidays by my even older cousins. As it goes, we were visiting family in rural Georgia for Christmas and my sister, who couldn't have been older than 4 or 5 at the time, had received two identical Barbie dolls, one from my Aunt and Uncle and one from 'Santa' (my parents). Well, what with the importance my sister placed on her ever-expanding Barbie collection, this simply wouldn't stand. So a couple days after Xmas, we're still in town enjoying ourselves, and my parents decide on a ride into town they'll stop by the Toys R Us with my sister and she'll get to pick out a new Barbie to exchange for one of the ones she got. So they get there, and it's moderately busy. Not packed or anything, but a lot of people apparently had the same idea as they had, and this one of the only legit toy stores for quite some ways. My parents, sister, our great uncle and one of our older cousins make their way to the doll aisle and there are a few other people browsing as well. My sister looks through the store's selection, and ever so quickly, the you-know-what hits the fan. Barely any Barbies are left. A few here and there that she already had, a few that she wasn't really interested in, but largely, the vast majority of the Barbies left over in this tiny podunk town were, yep, you guessed it, black. 'BLACK?!!! BLACK BARBIES?!?' My parents were pretty shocked, we're from a crazy liberal town way up in Michigan and things are extremely diverse here. 'WHO WANTS BLACK BARBIES?!! WHERE ARE THE WHITES???' At this point, everyone in the aisle is staring at this tiny, seemingly crazy racist child and my parents are scrambling to drop whatever is in their hands and cover her mouth. People are peeking in from other aisles, raised eyebrows are everywhere, and my cousin and great uncle are absolutely losing it. My parents make my sister put back the things she'd knocked down and told her they were leaving, with no new anything for her. All the while, she's half-crying, muttering about the lack of ''versity' in the store. My dad takes her by the hand and starts dragging her away, and at this point, she's going limp, trying to remain in the aisle to change my parent's minds. When she finally realizes it's too late, she starts screaming, 'BLACK PEOPLE!!! I HATE BLACK PEOPLE! I HATE BLACK PEOPLE I HATE THEM! WHO WANTS A BASKETBALL BARBIE ANYWAYS' I should mention that everyone who tells this story says there wasn't even a basketball Barbie to be seen. But who knows, maybe she saw one. Needless to say, at this point, my parents are all but sprinting out of the store, my dad holding my sister like a tiny racist football. That story still gets told on the regular, and my sister hates it. The great uncle who was present, however, and notorious in our family for drunken, racist remarks, made a point since then to let my sister know that she was his favorite among us kids, all the way up to his death."
"Wednesday before Thanksgiving I took my daughter to the grocery store because I'm an idiot. She's about 3 and wants a balloon because she's 3 and that's what they do. So I get one of the many Thanksgiving balloons they have and clip it to the cart. We go about our shopping (it was a circus the day before Thanksgiving). We're at the register and she somehow hit the balloon and it becomes untied from the clip(which also acts as a weight to weigh it down). It quickly ascends to the ceiling of the grocery store which was very high. The string was unreachable. I look down and she has those Puss N Boots 'Please get my balloon Daddy!' look. People in every lane saw it happen and I was right next to the belt which wasn't filled yet so I reluctantly, embarrassingly and probably unsanitarily climb onto the belt. My outstretched fingers can tickle the bottom of the ribbon. By now everyone is watching the spectacle. Eventually, I pick up the bar you put down to separate orders and kind of pull the string enough to have it lower enough for me to grab the string. There was applause. We paid for our groceries and got the heck out of there."
"I'm the child in this story, putting my dad in the awkward situation. To be fair though it's his own darn fault.
You see my father was a lowly Airman in the Air Force when I was first developing the ability to string together coherent (enough) words. My father also has a tendency to vent his frustrations in a rather profane manner. We've actually had one neighbor complain after things weren't going right in the garage causing an eruption of foul language from my dad that could probably be heard a few towns over.
Anyhow, my dad did not get along with one of the officers over his squadron. He would constantly come home complaining, saying 'Freaking Lieutenant this' and 'Freaking Lieutenant that.' MY two-year old brain assumed 'Freaking Lieutenant' was simply someone's name.
Fast forward a few months, and things have apparently still not settled down much between my dad and Mr. Freaking Lieutenant. Despite this, my father earned another stripe and made the rank of Senior Airman. The base NCO club hosted an event for the squadron and all family members were invited.
We go to the party and naturally, my dad introduces my mom and me to a bunch of people. Some 'important looking' guy comes up to us and starts chatting. Before my dad can introduce us, 3-year-old me blurts out 'Daddy, is this Freaking Lieutenant?'
Turns out, it was the freaking Lieutenant!"
"Took my 3-year-old son to Disneyland, where we saw his hero Buzz Lightyear. Coincidentally he had just told me he had to 'go potty,' and I knew I had a matter of seconds to get him to a bathroom because once a toddler tells you he has to go it means he is near bursting at the seams. I tried gently leading him away, but he started babbling about pushing Buzz's buttons so that he would start flying around. When he realized I was going to drag him the other direction, he started screaming, 'Buzz! I want to touch you! Let me touch you!' This got a lot of startled looks. I hoisted him up and started carrying him away under my arm. He immediately wet his pants all over both of us and continued wailing, 'Buzz! Let me touch you! I'll let you touch meeeee!' as dozens of tourists started in shock. Suffice to say I hid in the bathroom for a while."
"I'm an American living in the UK. I flew back to the US with my nearly 3-year old daughter in March. We ended up flying all over the US to see family because apparently, no one else knows how to buy a plane ticket. I digress. As the three-quarters full flight from Detroit into Cedar Rapids was about to take off, I look over at my daughter and she's got her shirt over her head. In my usual Mom voice, I ask her what she's doing. She proceeds to scream, 'I'M PLAYING WITH MY NIPPLES!!!!!!'
Did my child just yell that? Yep, she did. It was so ridiculous that I couldn't decide if I should laugh or admonish her. In the end, I just told her to pull her shirt down between giggles."
"When I was little my parents got divorced. Eventually, my mom expressed that she wanted to get remarried and explained to me what a wedding ring was and that if someone wasn't wearing a wedding ring probably wasn't married. At the time a really, really wanted a brother or sister and decided to take matters into my own hands (I was 5 or 6 at the time). So every time I saw a man without a wedding ring and I ran up to them and said, 'Hi my name is (giving my full name including my Hebrew name), I'm 5 years old, I'm Jewish, my parents are divorced, do want to date my mom?' Every. Single. Time. Needless to say, my mom regretted sharing this factoid with me. I also tried to do the same thing with my dad so one day we went out to eat and my dad was chatting with the waitress, I didn't like her for some reason and noticed she wasn't wearing a ring. So as she was leaving I whispered very loudly, 'Daddy, that lady is UGLY.'"
"I took my son to a Monster Truck Event (on a SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! - one of those) when he was about 8. My son is diabetic and at the time was on a strict eating schedule. Vendors are walking around selling hot dogs, soda, and diabetic kryptonite cotton candy.
We watched most of the event without even glancing at the vendors, but for some reason, our lack of snacks got the interest of a pack of drunk rednecks in the next section. Southern gentlemen that they were, saw an unaccompanied lady with a little kid at the monster truck rally and graciously purchased the biggest cloud of cotton candy I've ever seen and had the vendor bring it over to us.
I politely tried to decline it, but the snack vendor couldn't hear me over the roar of the trucks and the rednecks were smiling and raising their beers like they'd just done me the biggest favor. I look like a monster trying to tell the guy 'Look, he can't eat it, thank you, but no.' Finally, I end up screaming at the poor guy, 'HE'S DIABETIC! HE CAN'T HAVE THE CANDY!!' And push it back at him with a firm 'NO' sign.
At this point, the rednecks catch on that I'm not letting the kid have the candy and their drunken smiles turn to frowns, I get flipped off, and I look like the biggest witch in the world for sending back their gift."
"We were shopping in a mall and my son who was 4 or 5 at the time wanted to go into a lego store and look at what they had. We told him we could go in but he could not get anything he could only look. Like any kid, he found something and asked us to buy it and was not happy when we said no. He started crying so we left the store. The crying turned to screaming and outright tantrum in the mall. We picked him up as he was screaming and yelling which got the attention of everyone including the security guard who started to follow us. He continued to follow us and our hysterical child which to him must have looked like an abduction because he eventually stopped us to find out what was happening. I appreciate the fact that he was actually concerned and willing to approach what could have been a criminal act in order to stop it but it was without a doubt an awkward situation for us. My son is now 17 and still loves legos."
"Mother's Day. Out for lunch at a brewpub-restaurant with my wife, her mother, and our three-year-old kid.
Mother's Day is the worst day of the year to try to dine out because the whole planet is doing it and any restaurant is full of fidgeting children and moms who are dejected because they weren't taken to the Ritz-Carlton. Ours included. The place is heaving with people, the waiter is harassed and in the weeds, and everything is moving slowly.
At one point the waiter, who was doing the best he could under trying circumstances, forgot to bring a breadbasket or something and after he moved away my programmed-to-find-fault MIL muttered, 'He's not a very good waiter.'
The kid took note.
When the poor man finally brought our plates my son piped up: 'Did you know you're not a very good waiter?'
Earth, swallow me up. The guy didn't speak to us again throughout the meal. I left a big tip."
"Short story time. Last night we went out for ice cream at Dairy Queen. We sat at a table outside next to a group of 3 people who looked to be mid 50's work associates; two women and a man.
At this point, I think I should aside, and inform you that [child's name], like all small young people, loves farts. Thinks they're hilarious. Truly lights up when someone releases a stink bomb.
So, we're eating ice cream and the gentleman beside us lets one rip. Spectacularly loud and solid sounding, if only a short blast. But [child's name], always alert, notices and stands up and declares 'Guy Toot! Toot! GUY TOOOOT!'
We try and shush her, sit her down and proceed to talk about trains, ice cream, anything to distract her but she's having none of it. 'Momma, dadda, dat guy toot! Toot! hahaha hahaha! Toots momma! Toots!'
We try and shush her, feed her ice cream but no.
'Tooooooots! Toot! Toot! Toot! DAT GUY TOOT!'
She goes on like this for two minutes until she gets bored. We desperately try and not laugh. Everyone there goes on like nothing happened; like this man didn't fart really loudly and that this two-year-old isn't declaring loudly for the world to hear that this man farted by golly.
It was one of those instances where the behavioral actions of society seem pretty absurd.
Also, that man should totally have owned his fart. The jig was up, and he had no dignity left: [child's name] made sure of that.?"
"She was seventeen and I was six, it was summertime somewhere in the mid-nineties, and she was burdened with the time honored agony of being my babysitter while my parents worked.
Our eleven-year difference definitely led to strange sibling tensions, but nothing like the scene that unfolded one afternoon while getting sodas from the corner convenience store.
I think I had been on an Ernest Goes To Camp-kick, definitely one of those awful films with Jim Varney. As a result, I decided to imitate one of the ridiculous rubber faced expressions displayed by Ernest and proceeded to practice it over and over, along with the character's voice. This continued like a broken record the entire ride to the store.
When we get to the store, my teenaged sister, so full of flannel and angst, bopped me on the shoulder and suggested that I cut the Ernest performance out before we got inside. this didn't make sense to little me, so I asked why?!
'cuz you look like an idiot and I don't want to be seen with an idiot.' she snaps back like a good sister.
By this time we had gotten in line with our sodas. At this point, I did the only thing my six-year-old self could deem a reasonable response....
I took my right wrist, held it in a lame chicken position and started thumping it violently against my chest while making high pitched noises
'What the heck?!' my sister stares at me, horrified, her beady eyes sliding left and right to see if anyone she knew was there. HNnnk!!!
I advanced towards her, getting louder. She did the only sensible thing....Threw her drink down and bolted for the car out of humiliation.
I followed close behind, still thumping my hand against my chest and moaning. Only this time, as we streaked across the parking lot, I decided to wail in my best-handicapped voice: mama! dooooont leave meeeee!
Everyone in that store was watching is by this point. And as we dove into her car, the lady at the pump next to us screeched at my sister: 'You take your child with you! don't you dare abandon that special child!'
I got a welt from my sisters backhanding that took forever to fade, but it was so worth it for decades of hilarity that I still reap from her embarrassment."
"My daughter to my mother in a busy clothing store: 'Gramma, your teeth are such a pretty yellow!'
My daughter to me, grocery shopping: 'Momma, why that lady picking her butt? She got flakies' About the woman directly in front of us. I was mortified, but even more so when the lady responded, 'yes dear, when you get this fat you can't reach your crack.' My four year old dissolved into giggles.
One more: My daughter and father and I were in Meijer (like a Wally World but better..) and we were asking an older floor employee where something was. It was a very busy day. As we were talking my kid's sneezes, a huge big ole wet sneeze that catches all of our attention. Her entire hand and wrist are covered in snot and she's holding it out away from herself in awe. I say to my dad, 'I'll walk her to the bathroom, you go grab the... OHMYGAWD NOOO DON'T LICK THAT!' She decided to take care of the problem by trying to slurp it all back off thinking we stopped looking at her. I was disgusted and mortified, laughing while I guided her through half of this giant store with snot dropping from her face and hand, trying not to let her touch anything. She thinks it's funny to this day, though she's never been a booger eater before or since then. She was seven."
"My boyfriend always had an abnormally large vocabulary. He started reading very early and always loved words. At some point when he was a kid, he learned the word necrophilia. He did not, of course, truly understand it -- only to the extent that it had something to do with dead people. Flash forward to children's church at a rich Methodist church. The teacher asks what people did with Jesus' body, and what sorts of things that one does with dead bodies in general. He blurts out 'necrophilia' and it was all downhill from there."
"Not a parent, but my niece. She was 4 at the time. She has very fair skin and needs to basically be dipped in a vat of sunscreen before we go outside, and she lives very close to the beach.
We were getting ready to go to the beach, and her mom asked me to apply sunscreen to my niece before she got in her swimsuit. My niece knows the drill, so she was standing naked on her bed, waiting to be sunscreened. I applied the sunscreen, talking to her about what we were going to do at the beach, getting her arms/legs/back/torso.
Finally, I get to her face and she's getting pretty tired of standing still, so she was squirming a bit. I said, 'Let's make a deal. If you let me rub the sunscreen on your face, you can rub it on mine.'
'Is it a secret?' she asked. She was fixated on secrets at that time.
'Well, it doesn't have to be--' She looked disappointed. I was losing her. 'OK, sure. It's a secret. Can I put the sunscreen on now?'
It worked--she let me apply sunscreen to her face, I let her blob some on my nose, she got dressed and we left for the beach.
Later, she couldn't stop telling people at the beach about our 'little secret' (she kept calling it that) that we made while she was naked on her bed putting on lotion. I had to explain like 10 times that I didn't molest anyone. Luckily her mom has a great sense of humor."
"I spent a lot of time at my grandparents' house when I was a kid. My grandfather worked with a guy named Dave Pope, who was woefully incompetent to the point where my incredibly patient grandfather hated his guts. Every day, he'd come home complaining about Dave Pope and how he'd managed to screw something up yet again.
It got to the point where he vented so much, three-year-old me started to blame things on Dave Pope.
'Why did you put your stuffed animal in your bowl of spaghetti?'
'Dave Pope did it!'
One day Dave Pope came by the house when I was there to give something to my grandfather. And you guessed it, I blamed something on Dave Pope, right in front of Dave Pope himself."
"My kid was well behaved at the zoo, so we stood in line to purchase a stuffed animal at the gift shop. While making small talk with the cashier, I mentioned that my kid had been so well-behaved, and wanted to get her something special. At this point my toddler started screaming bloody murder while I was trying to complete the money transaction (it was taking too long to pull out money), so I apologized to the cashier and left the shop with my screaming spawn and without the toy."
"I was at Uni on a lot of steroids for Crohn's disease. The wonders of prednisolone had given me that 'moon face' effect.
For the first time in about three months, I'd managed to make it out of the house and onto the bus to get my boyfriend a birthday present. I am a very determined individual and wanted to do it myself.
Within two minutes of being on the bus, this little toddler - couldn't be more than two or three - is throwing me some serious shade. I do my best to give her what I intend to be a reassuring smile, but in hindsight it probably made me look even more grotesque. The child recoils in fear and screams, 'LOOK AT THAT LADY'S GIANT HEAD, MUMMY!!'
Parent is mortified; I try to play it down and say it's fine. I cried a lot when I got home that day, feeling very sorry for myself."