What’s the most hurtful thing your family has ever done to you?

The Ejection and New Allegiance

My Jewish mother kicked me out of the house for coming home with an inappropriate tattoo, so as revenge, I burned her house down. I came home one night to my Jewish family, brandishing a new Nazi tattoo draped across my chest.

As soon as my mom saw it, she told me I was no longer welcome in this house. I was obviously stunned to hear this, so I got in her face.

“You’re kicking me out? No the F you’re not!”

That’s when my dad stormed in. When he noticed my tattoo, he struck me using his palm. He put so much force that I fell over and my chest crashed into the edge of a chair.

I stood up and yelled, “You want me to go? Fine, but mark my words, I’ll be back!”

I went upstairs, packed my things, smashed the mirror in the bathroom out of drunken rage, and walked out. The last thing I said to my mother was, “You’ll pay for this with your life!”.

Now I suppose I should explain why I got the tattoo. You see, I never wanted to follow the Jewish faith. It was so traditional and boring between the holidays and religious schooling and always going to the Shabbat service.

The worst part was the rabbi. His services were long and tedious, but my parents forced me to stay. Now that I’m 18, I could mark how I want to live my life.

Well, after getting kicked, I called up one of my buddies who put me on to the tattoo. He had this group I found on Facebook, and they had ideas that went against the norm, which I liked.

They didn’t have any restricting rules and taught me that certain people are just better. When I joined this Facebook group, they initiated me and said that I should get the matching tattoo that all members had, which was what I got.

That day felt like freedom for the first time in my life. I wasn’t bound by the suffocating traditions and rules my parents shoved down my throat. I felt like I was finally taking control of my own path.

The Facebook group gave me a sense of belonging that I had never had before. They didn’t see me as a disappointment or a failure like my parents did. They saw me as one of them and treated me like a brother.

I crashed on my friend’s couch that night. He understood what I was going through. He’d been kicked out of his house too, for different reasons, but we shared that bond.

We spent hours talking about the group. Then he asked me if I wanted to go out for the night to celebrate, and I was confused. I had gotten kicked out of my parents’ house.

He said that we needed to go out to celebrate the fact that I stood up for what was right. He said we could call up a couple of the members to go out with us. He said they’d be proud of me.

We went out that night, and it was fun, but I couldn’t help but feel the betrayal from my parents sting me. These guys had become my new family.

They had a vision for the world that made sense: a world where the strongest ruled. My parents always taught me that everyone was equal and that we had to care for others, but the group showed me otherwise.

Why should I care about people who didn’t care about me? Why should I sacrifice my happiness for the sake of tradition?

The more I talked with the group, the more I started to see my parents for what they really were: weak. They clung to their traditions because they were scared of the world and the truth.

They hid behind their religion because they couldn’t face reality. Well, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t going to be like them.