Illustration for article titled Your Most Disastrous Summer Vacation
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No one is getting a summer vacation this year. If you think you are getting a summer vacation this year, you may have some fast and loose ideas about what covid-19 really is and how it spreads, and I suggest you reconsider.

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Because no one is getting a summer vacation this year, I think it would be nice to reflect on the most disastrous trips of our lifetimes during the months of June through August. I mean, you certainly wouldn’t want to relieve the time everyone in your family got food poisoning on a Disney cruise throughout the Bahamas, would you? It took a while for you to get back on a boat after that one, huh? No? Well, fine then—this week, I want to hear every excruciating detail of your summer vacation dreams turned nightmarish.

But first, let’s take a look at last week’s winners. These are some lovely moments you’ve had with your dad. It was so challenging to pick only a few.

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I’m not not crying, PenguinLust2:ElectricBoogigloo:

1982. I am 13. I am playing fast pitch softball, 3rd base. My dad has coached me in previous years, but this year I am on a team where my dad’s good friend was the coach, so all is well. I remember this like yesterday.

Normal game, we are kicking ass (our infield that year was AWESOME - went to a regional tournament where I rode in the back of coaches station wagon because my parents had to work), but the umps are trash. 18 year old assholes who are not paying any attention to shit.

So, I’m on defense and a runner on 2nd tries to steal third on a called strike (1st base empty, 1 out). “Jennie” (my catcher, coaches daughter and future head cheerleader) rockets a throw to me and I have this girl out by at least a foot. Not an inch, a foot.

The yelling starts. Coach comes running out yelling, my dad flies down from the bleachers to yell at the fence on the 3rd base side (we were home team so everyone was RIGHT there). I am also yelling at this dude. The usual “what kind of call was that”, “she was totally out”, you get the picture.

So these assholes start with the “we are going to eject all of you if you don’t quit, blah”. Dad and coach get a few more words in, but retreat.

I am still seething, and this dick is now standing behind me because there is a runner on third. “Chrissy” my shortstop is now calming me and we are about to get back to business.

And then I couldn’t take it. I turned around to this dude and said “Who gave you this job?”. Bang. Ejected. Dad, a color of purple I have never seen before and then he was on the field. Coach back out of the dugout. A tirade of curses that I had not heard before from both (and I had heard A LOT). Dad ejected and told to leave the field. Coach is allowed to stay.

Dad and I spend the 10 blocks in the car from the ballpark to the house talking about how OUT she was. At this time my mom is still at the ball park because she drove separately from work. She is with coaches wife watching the entire spectacle.

Dad started pounding Old Style grenades and we sat on the deck in silence. About an hour later mom, coach, his wife and Jennie showed up. They all walked in the back gate and looked at us. Dad said “She was so fucking out”.

Our parents all then proceeded to get wasted (they could walk home - they were 3 blocks from us), and Jennie and I walked to the pool.

My dad died on February 9th of this year. I miss him everyday.

And dad, she was fucking out.

Lucie_Goosie, once again I am crying:

When I was 12, I was diagnosed with depression. It came as the result of years of bullying by fellow classmates, and my inability to process their cruelty correctly. After weeks with a child psychologist, I was sent to a psychiatrist to begin my medical treatment. Let me preface this by saying that I was an innocent, maybe a bit nieve, 12 yr old girl. I had never tried alcohol, drugs, or had even considered doing either. I didn’t understand the effect psychiatric drugs may have on my mental state and/or motor functions. After a brief consultation, I was prescribed an SSRI and Ambien.

That night, I remember my mother boiling me a cup of camomile tea, drawing me a warm bath, and giving me my first small dose of Ambien. I took it, fearful of what might happen next. My mother had comforted me by telling me that I would feel tired and a bit drowsy, but that I would fall asleep quickly. After a worrisome 30 minutes, the medicine started to take hold. Instead of feeling tired, I felt panicked. My heart beat rapidly and loudly. When I closed my eyes I heard sounds similar to that of a rollercoaster. I was sure that any minute I would die. My screaming and crying prompted my father to run up the stairs and into my bedroom. He told me mother to call the doctor while he proceeded to try to calm me. First he placed me back in my bed and tucked the covers and sheets as tightly around me as possible. He held my petite body, brushing my hair back from my face and whispering how strong I was. He told me to close my eyes and pretend to be on the rollercoaster; moving up and down with the lunges and turns, holding my hands high in the air. He kissed my forehead, and held my hand. I fell asleep.

That story has never faded from my conscience. I’m now 34, married, and independent. However, it is still the first memory I draw upon when I’m scared, alone, and in my bed.

ItsSmallerOnTheOutside, this is so sweet. Everyone’s entries are completely destroying me!:

My father has always had the perfect eye for color & fashion soooooo when I became a teenager my mother deemed it would be him to help me pick out dresses for formal wear. She felt it would save us from arguments over what was appropriate. And it became our thing. Every single important dress in my life I have ever needed, he helped me pick out. Including my wedding dress as my mother had passed away long before than and it made me so grateful to have him there. It was as if she knew all along I needed him there.

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journey blue, you’ve got a great dad:

I actually have a single dad, who raised me and my two siblings after our useless and deeply disturbed mother left. I never felt like I had a lack of a parent, because my dad was an excellent mother and father who never gave a damn about gender roles and just wanted to see us happy and do well. Because of my dad, I just got my MS in Mechanical Engineering. I can plan a backpacking trip

I have a couple of memories of my dad in particular. One, we’re at a friend’s house. Her dad was my high school physics teacher. I had just been accepted into a program to spend a year before college in the Philippines as an exchange student. My friend and I were playing a game with her siblings on the floor, and I overheard her dad asking my dad if he was worried about me going off to the Philippines alone. It’s dangerous, he pointed out. Aren’t you worried about her getting hurt? “No,” my dad said, “My daughter is smart enough to navigate herself and if she gets herself into trouble, she can get herself out. Besides, she wanted to do this, and I’m not going to be the one to tell her what her limits are.” It was a real moment of pride, because my dad got that I was an adult and could make my own decisions, and more importantly, he respected that.

Second, when I started flirting with the guy I’ve now been with for four years. I took him over to my house with a group of friends. At one point, my dad leans over to me and very quietly says, “You have weird taste in men, but I’ll be supportive.” Then, for some reason, the topic of Nutella came up, and my now-boyfriend said he wasn’t very into it. My dad gasped as loudly as he could, stood up, and said “Get out of my house.” My boyfriend stared at him, and my dad said, “We don’t tolerate Nutella heathens in this house.” Since we started dating, my dad occasionally gives my boyfriend mini jars of Nutella as a joke.

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Roast your family in the comments below.

Senior Writer, Jezebel. And now for something completely different: My debut book, LARGER THAN LIFE: A History of Boy Bands, is out July 21.

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