Episode 43 – Breed ‘Em Mean, Raise ‘Em Righteous..

Ah, the miracle of parenthood. Some teach kindness. Others pass down recipes, tools or slightly wonky heirlooms from the good room. And then there’s Bully – generational trauma’s most enthusiastic courier service.

Forget lullabies and love. In Bully’s household, the bedtime story sounds like: ‘Once upon a time, your aunt was born and she’s been a terrible disappointment ever since’. Heartwarming, really. Disney could never beat it.

Now, let’s talk results. A fresh crop of Mini-Bullies has been carefully cultivated, each one more blinkered than the last. Raised not on love or critical thinking but on whispered insults and carefully rationed praise, dished out only when someone properly hates me. It’s like watching a cult form but with less charisma and worse fashion sense.

And the wildest part? They don’t even know me. Not really. They know of me, through a lens smeared with fear, bitterness and a dash of rural fantasy. Apparently, I’m some kind of freeloading, manipulative villain who ruined everything… by asking for a car. Or daring to exist. It’s never clear. The plot holes in this family saga could swallow a quad bike.

But here’s the thing: Bully didn’t just teach his kids to dislike me, he taught them that family means loyalty only if you’re on his side. That questioning him is betrayal. That silence is safer than truth. Classic stuff, really, straight from the ancient scrolls of ‘How to Ruin a Family and Still Think You’re the Hero’.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he hands out engraved shovels at Christmas. ‘Here, kids, use this to bury any empathy you might accidentally develop’.

Meanwhile, I’m still here. Not exiled, not bitter (well… maybe slightly toasted), but trying to live with some measure of honesty. I don’t hate the next generation. I pity them. Because being taught to hate someone you’ve never had a real conversation with? That’s not power. That’s poverty of the soul.

They deserve better. Even if they don’t know it yet.

And if they never figure it out? I’ll be at my turf fire with a cup of tea and a wicked sense of humor, still not invited to the BBQ but at peace with it.

Because at least I never taught anyone how to hate.

Lesson of the day:

‘Hate is a heavy thing to inherit, especially when it’s wrapped as loyalty’. Teaching the next generation to dislike someone based on old wounds or warped truths isn’t strength. It’s fear disguised as legacy.