My worst parent - Built-up fury lasted 35 years
In the course of a career in the classroom, there are several contenders for this accolade. I recall the angry, the unreasonable and the just plain nasty parent. But there can only be one "worst".
George was the father of Little George, and this Georgian dynasty ruined my professional life in my first year of teaching.
George was, quite simply, a nutter and Little George was a chip off the old block. George had probably had a hard life; he certainly gave me one. No respecter of personal space, George would stand very close and breathe various noxious fumes over me while he ranted about the victimisation that Little George had suffered at my hands.
Little George, in turn, was a grade-A wind-up merchant and knew that Dad would come down like a tonne of bricks (same weight as George Senior, but probably brighter) on anyone whom he disliked or had crossed him. In this respect, he used his dad like a guided missile.
My mistake was to tell Little George to stop drilling the head of another child with his pencil. This turned me into a sworn enemy of the Georges, and the senior clan member was out to "mark my card" (in the way that Hitler marked Poland's).
So George was in confrontational mode (a default state) and issued various threats of facial rearrangement to yours truly. He did this on a weekly basis as his boy trumped various false charges.
Not wishing to rock the boat, I kept all this to myself and suffered in silence. Even today, some 35 years on, I bear a terrible and irrational malice towards the singer who bears the name Boy George.
The writer is a primary teacher in Kent. Send your worst parent stories to firstname.lastname@example.org and you could earn #163;50 in MS vouchers.