How Does The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read Improve Parenting?

Mom and Dad have given me all their love. They've decorated a princess bedroom for me, where unlimited Barbie dolls await me there. Since I love bathing a lot, they've also sunk in a huge amount of money just to custom-make a bathtub for me. They keep telling my younger sister, Olivia Grant, to protect me forever. But when Olivia and I are taking a bath together, she accidentally chokes on the bathwater. That's when Mom goes nuts. She strangles me violently while roaring at me, "We thought you'd learn to love your sister as long as we treated you well! Who would've thought that you're an ingrate who tried to drown her?" I can only shake my head in alarm. But Mom quickly shoves me into the washing machine. "You like bathing that much, don't you? Well, you can bathe to your heart's content!" After that, Mom and Dad take Olivia out to play. What they fail to notice is that they've accidentally turned on the washing machine. Water soon fills the chamber, and yet I can't climb out of the washing machine at all. As I feel myself tumbling around with the dirty laundry, I can only open my eyes with great difficulty as I look at my parents, who have returned home once again. I don't want to take a bath anymore. Can Mom and Dad please stop getting mad at me?

a really good book for you. I hope you like it becuase it tells you a good story. Please read it.

My mom is terrified of being laughed at by others the most. Whenever the holidays are here, she will keep repeating one sentence to me—"Don't go around embarrassing me." When my relatives gather around and chat with each other, I accidentally knock a fruit platter over. Mom drags me over and slaps me on the spot. At the holiday feast, I grab extra pieces of steak for myself. Mom responds by kicking my chair over. When it's time for the holiday gifts to be distributed, my aunt, Gabriella Hall, has miscalculated the number of children present among the family. So, she has prepared one less gift for the occasion. Mom doesn't hesitate to kick me out of the apartment, leaving me shivering in the cold corridor in just my indoor clothes. The icy winds chill me to the bone. I keep slamming my palms on the front door while screaming and crying my apologies at Mom, and yet she remains unmoved and silent. Instead, she turns to face Aunt Gabriella with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm really sorry. I didn't raise my daughter well. It's only fair that you ridicule me." What Mom doesn't know is that I get triggered whenever I hear the word "ridicule" thanks to her so-called parenting lessons. Whenever I hear that word, I want nothing more than to hurt myself uncontrollably. So when I hear the word "ridicule" coming out of Mom's mouth through the front door, I turn on my heel quietly and begin making my way toward the bridge next to the neighborhood that's plunged into darkness. The moment I jump from the bridge, the only thought I have is, "Mom, no one will ridicule you because of me this time."

When I picked up the final course of my antidepressants and was about to leave, I ran into my biological parents, who were at the hospital to give a lecture. Five years had passed since we'd last seen each other, yet my father recognized me at a glance. Disbelief flickered across his face. "Your illness... still isn't better?" I said nothing and continued walking toward my room. "How did your life end up like this?" My father looked at me with obvious anguish, his eyes reddening. "Julian, your mother and brother miss you. Come home with me." I stopped in my tracks and slowly rolled up the sleeves I wore year-round, no matter the season. "That's your home," I said quietly. "It stopped being mine a long time ago." Hundreds of scars crisscrossed both of my arms. Countless emergency rescues. Countless nights spent fighting through unbearable pain. Long ago, all of it had worn away every trace of love and resentment I once felt toward my parents. Now, I was finally leaving the illness behind, and I had a new family. For the rest of my life, all I wanted was to live well.

I'm the only son of my parents, who are the richest people in the country. Yet, they decide to raise me while giving me as little money as possible. In order to toughen me up, they decide to only give me five thousand dollars per year. "Two thousand dollars is for college tuition, and the remaining three thousand dollars is for your living costs and accommodation. If you want to stay at home, you'll need to pay rent—500 dollars a day. If you don't have the money, you can write an IOU." But I end up getting robbed that night, leaving me penniless. In order to be able to continue my college studies, I can only ask my parents for money. Of course, they turn me down immediately. "You actually learned how to lie just to swindle more money from us, eh? Since you refuse to learn your lesson, your allowance for next year will be cut in half." My parents refuse to listen to my explanation and insist on kicking me out. So, I can only work three jobs per day, allowing me to save up two thousand dollars. But the moment I save the money in my account, it gets frozen instantly. That's when my parents begin mocking me. "And here you are, claiming that you didn't lie to us! Where did you get the tuition fees from, then? We shall confiscate the money as a form of punishment. You can use the rest of your money for your studies." Amid my despair, I see the live comments streaking before my eyes. "The male lead's parents want him to realize that it isn't easy living out there. When they hired the thugs to rob him blind, their hearts ached so much for him that they cried." "I hope that the male lead can grow up as soon as possible. That way, the misunderstanding will get resolved, and the family of three can continue living happily ever after." But this time, the comments can no longer console me. I place the house keys on the porch quietly before turning on my heel and walking away. I don't want these parents of mine anymore.

Dad was terrified of being laughed at. Every holiday, he only ever said one thing. “Do not embarrass me.” The relatives were sitting around chatting when I accidentally knocked over a fruit platter on the table. He grabbed me right there and slapped me across the face. At dinner, I reached for a second helping of pot roast, and he kicked my chair out from under me. Later, when it was time to hand out gift cards, Uncle Ray miscounted and came up one short. Without a word, Dad shoved me out into the hallway in nothing but a thin shirt. The cold cut straight through me. I pounded on the door while I cried and apologized. He did not make a sound. He turned to Uncle Ray with an apologetic smile and said, “Sorry about that. I guess I have not taught this kid any manners.” He did not know that his lessons had already conditioned me to flinch at the phrase “laughed at.” Every time I heard it, I froze and felt myself shut down. When I heard him say it again through the closed door, I turned in silence and walked toward the dark bridge at the edge of the neighborhood. I did not know what I planned to do. I only knew I wanted the noise in my head to stop. I reached the railing and stared at the water below. One thought crossed my mind. “Dad, this time, no one will ever laugh at you because of me again.”