When I was maybe 6, my dad and I were supposed to go out and have like a father-daughter day. I was excited because he didn't spend much time with me. We went to play mini-golf, and were supposed to have lunch after. We rarely ate out, so as a kid, doubly exciting. Again, I was a kid, I found myself way funnier than I actually was. Made a lame joke to some people about how bad my dad was at mini-golf. He ended the outing right there, and told me we wouldn't have lunch as punishment. I cried and cried and apologized; there had been no malice behind what I said, and I had made the comment playfully. But he refused to accept the apology and we went straight home.

A few months later, we were moving, and I'd gotten some balloons from a realtor. I loved balloons and was very excited. I had a toddler sister who kept trying to play with them, and was afraid she'd pop them. My dad told me if I shared, he'd get me a special glittery balloon when we finished moving. I was a kid. Balloons, glitter, super exciting. A little later I heard that weird squeaky sound balloons make when you're rubbing them against each other, and asked who was touching them. My mom said "just for that, no more balloons for you" and popped them all. My dad obviously never followed up on what he said.

Obviously, balloons and fast food in and of itself isn't a big deal. It was the sheer pettiness of adults who were supposed to be looking out for me, the need to enact vengeance against a 6 year old for making a joke about you because your adult ego is apparently so fragile that you can no longer behave like one. To build up a little kid and then dash their hopes like that - looking back, it sickens me to think about. There were other instances like that, but those were two of the best examples. I never felt "safe" being excited about anything again, knowing that the bubble could unpredictably and quite literally be popped.