I grew up in New York City. By 8 years old, I was on my own after school; home alone with my sister two nights a week; cooking dinner in a gas oven by myself; and doing my own laundry.
The people in my mentions talking about how “Bean Dad” was just “teaching”...
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...his 9-year old a valuable life lesson by refusing to show her how to open a can have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about.
Bean Dad could have written a post about his day that said “taught my daughter how to use a can opener and then we did a puzzle together.”
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He *could have* walked his child through getting to the root of their actual problem - being hungry - and solving it.
He *could have* used his internet access to teach his child how to seek information to solve problems.
“Siri: how does a can opener work?”
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Instead, *HE* hijacked her actual problem - being hungry - and blocked all other avenues to solving it (“we will eat nothing else...”).
And then he spent six hours lording over her that he was in control; could easily help; and instead preferred she suffer.
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I was beyond independent as a kid. I was leaving school by myself and roaming my New York City neighborhood unsupervised by his daughter’s age.
My parents didn’t make me independent by being withholding assholes. That isn’t “teaching”. That’s abuse.
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So, any person dropping by to tell me about how this asshole’s borderline sadistic reveling in his young child’s prolonged misery as he withholds relief can just fuck right off.
If you do this, you are an abusive parent. If your parents did it, they were too.
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One of the saddest aftermaths of that Bean Dad asshole’s bullshit yesterday and my vomitus overshare afterwards:
The sheer volume of people raised by toxic parents who said they never had kids because they worried they couldn’t raise a child well.
Abuse has a long tail.
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If that is you and you are still at a stage of *deciding* whether or not to someday have kids, just know that you can indeed be a good and loving parent.
You inherited nothing. Toxicity isn’t written into your DNA.
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Parenting is ‘will’ more than ‘skill’.
If you have the will, you will find (or can learn) the skill.
I think being a product of some dysfunction can be, ironically, a strong foundation for becoming a loving parent.
I’ve had a couple Guinness so I am just the right level of disinhibited to lay out why I am white-hot with incandescent aggrievement about that dumb Bean Dad mother****** and the people defending him.
Buckle up. Turbulence may occur in flight.
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If nothing else, this will allow people to understand me better. Some will like me more; some will like me less. I do not remotely care which camp people fall into.
I had a fucked up childhood. It was an insidious kind of fucked up. Not physically abusive in a way that “counts”.
I spent weekends hostage to a depressed, alcoholic father in a small New York City apartment.
In summer, if the apartment windows were open when I came back from the schoolyard across the street and I could hear music playing too loud, it was going to be a long night.
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