Read the “bitterly disappointed” Dad’s accidentally viral email to his deadbeat adult children here
Who's saying what
A dysfunctional family just like yours is experiencing the perils of memedom as Nick Crews, an ex-navy seal and father of three “disappointing” adult children decided to pen every problem (well, probably not every) he has with his offspring in a scathing eight-paragraph email – and now the world wide web has been privy to his longstanding parental gripes, capital letters and all.
The 67-year-old Brit bewailed what he saw to be the below par achievements of his two daughters – Emily, 40, a psychologist and his unnamed 38-year-old single mother-of-two, a retail assistant with a degree in marine studies – and his son, Fred, a 35-year-old taxi office employee in an intended-for-the-family-only letter, saying they had failed to take advantage of the private education and opportunities provided to them by Mum and Dad, and their collective inability to provide stable home lives for five of Crews’ seven grandchildren has made him and his wife, Sarah, “weak... so many of these events are copulation-driven, and these lovely little people [have been] so woefully let down by you, their parents.”
The letter stemmed from watching his wife being ear-bashed one-too-many times on the phone by their children – whose lives he describes as “crashes from one cock-up to the next” – and was thus inspired to etch his ire, once and for all: “With last evening’s crop of whinges and tidings of more rotten news for which you seem to treat your mother as a cess-pit, I feel it is time for me to come off my perch. It is obvious that none of you has the faintest notion of the bitter disappointment each of you has in your own way dished out to us.”
So how did everyone manage to gain access to the familial contempt? Well, Emily, the only one of Crews’ children still speaking to him, is writing a book, and to garner publicity she thought it would be a good idea to leak the letter. Talk about an inside job!
What’s more, the letter has received countless virtual pat-on-the-backs for Crews’ no-BS warts-and-all rip from similarly disenchanted parental bloggers everywhere. The only problem is, I imagine, that a letter such as this loses its clout once it goes viral.
Anyway, you can enjoy the full contents below, and thank your lucky stars that airings of dissatisfaction in your family are done verbally (or if they are scripted, that you don’t have a book-sales cropping sister):
“Dear All Three
With last evening's crop of whinges and tidings of more rotten news for which you seem to treat your mother like a cess-pit, I feel it is time to come off my perch.
It is obvious that none of you has the faintest notion of the bitter disappointment each of you has in your own way dished out to us. We are seeing the miserable death throes of the fourth of your collective marriages at the same time we see the advent of a fifth.
We are constantly regaled with chapter and verse of the happy, successful lives of the families of our friends and relatives and being asked of news of our own children and grandchildren. I wonder if you realise how we feel — we have nothing to say which reflects any credit on you or us. We don't ask for your sympathy or understanding — Mum and I have been used to taking our own misfortunes on the chin, and making our own effort to bash our little paths through life without being a burden to others. Having done our best — probably misguidedly — to provide for our children, we naturally hoped to see them in turn take up their own banners and provide happy and stable homes for their own children.
Fulfilling careers based on your educations would have helped — but as yet none of you is what I would confidently term properly self-supporting. Which of you, with or without a spouse, can support your families, finance your home and provide a pension for your old age? Each of you is well able to earn a comfortable living and provide for your children, yet each of you has contrived to avoid even moderate achievement. Far from your children being able to rely on your provision, they are faced with needing to survive their introduction to life with you as parents.
So we witness the introduction to this life of six beautiful children — soon to be seven — none of whose parents have had the maturity and sound judgment to make a reasonable fist at making essential threshold decisions. None of these decisions were made with any pretence to ask for our advice.
In each case we have been expected to acquiesce with mostly hasty, but always in our view, badly judged decisions. None of you has done yourself, or given to us, the basic courtesy to ask us what we think while there was still time finally to think things through. The predictable result has been a decade of deep unhappiness over the fates of our grandchildren. If it wasn't for them, Mum and I would not be too concerned, as each of you consciously, and with eyes wide open, crashes from one cock-up to the next. It makes us weak that so many of these events are copulation-driven, and then helplessly to see these lovely little people being so woefully let down by you, their parents.
I can now tell you that I for one, and I sense Mum feels the same, have had enough of being forced to live through the never-ending bad dream of our children's underachievement and domestic ineptitudes. I want to hear no more from any of you until, if you feel inclined, you have a success or an achievement or a REALISTIC plan for the support and happiness of your children to tell me about. I don't want to see your mother burdened any more with your miserable woes - it's not as if any of the advice she strives to give you has ever been listened to with good grace - far less acted upon. So I ask you to spare her further unhappiness. If you think I have been unfair in what I have said, by all means try to persuade me to change my mind. But you won't do it by simply whingeing and saying you don't like it. You'll have to come up with meaty reasons to demolish my points and build a case for yourself. If that isn't possible, or you simply can't be bothered, then I rest my case.
I am bitterly, bitterly disappointed.
Lead image via Shutterstock.