My Busy Dad Never Spends Time with Us and Treats Mom Iike a Servant — My Brother and I Taught Him a Lesson

In our house, Dad was the king, always wrapped up in his work, and Mom was his servant, running the household while we, the kids, were almost invisible. That is, until the day my brother and I decided to shake things up and open Dad’s eyes to the way we were living. We had no idea how much it would change everything.

Ever felt like you didn’t exist in your own home? Like the person who’s supposed to be your role model barely notices you? That’s been my reality for as long as I can remember. I’m Irene, and this is the story of how my brother Josh and I taught our workaholic dad a lesson he never saw coming.

It was another ordinary Tuesday night. I was at the kitchen table, wrestling with math homework, while Josh was sprawled out on the living room floor, lost in his comic book. The clock ticked closer to 6 p.m., and right on time, Dad came through the door.

He looked like he always did—briefcase in hand, tie half-loosened, barely giving us a second glance. “Hey,” he muttered in our direction before immediately shouting, “Mariam! Where’s my dinner?”

Mom rushed out of the laundry room, juggling a basket full of clothes. “Just finishing up the laundry, Carl. Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, clearly worn out.

Dad grumbled, kicking off his shoes and heading straight for the PlayStation. Within seconds, the sound of racing cars filled the living room, drowning out everything else. No “How was your day?” No “How are the kids?” Just him and his game.

Josh caught my eye from across the room, rolling his eyes, and I nodded in agreement. This was our normal, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Ten minutes, Carl!” Mom called out again, but he didn’t respond—he was too busy with his game.

I turned back to my homework, sighing. This was the Thompson household: Dad the king, Mom the servant, and Josh and I, the ghosts.

The next day, it got worse. I was setting the table when I heard Dad’s familiar complaint. “Mariam, why are these magazines so dusty? Do you ever clean in here?”

Peeking around the corner, I saw Dad holding up one of his car magazines, frowning like the world had wronged him. Mom stood there, looking drained and tired.

“Carl, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Working?” he scoffed, cutting her off. “I work too, but at least I expect to come home to a clean house.”

That did it for me. My blood was boiling. Mom worked just as hard as he did, but she also took care of the house, cooked all the meals, and raised us. Dad? He worked, ate, played video games, and went to bed. And yet, here he was, complaining.

“We need to do something,” I told Josh that night in the kitchen.

“About what?” he asked, grabbing a snack.

“About Dad. He treats Mom like garbage, and he acts like we don’t even exist. It’s time he understands what it feels like to be ignored.”

Josh’s eyes lit up with mischief. “I’m all in. What’s the plan?”

We hatched our scheme quickly, knowing we had to act fast. It was time for Dad to experience his own behavior. The next day, we convinced Mom to take a well-deserved spa day. She was hesitant, but eventually agreed.

As 6 p.m. approached, Josh and I got into character. We raided Dad’s closet, slipping into his shirts and ties. The clothes were too big for us, but that only added to the effect we were going for.

“Ready?” I asked Josh as we heard Dad’s car pull into the driveway.

He nodded, straightening the tie that was almost falling off his neck. “Let’s do this.”

We took our places—Josh on the couch with a magazine, and me standing by the door. My heart raced as Dad unlocked the door and walked in.

He froze, eyes wide, taking in the sight of his kids wearing his clothes. “What’s going on here?” he asked, clearly confused.

“I need my dinner,” I said in his usual demanding tone.

Josh didn’t even look up from his magazine. “And don’t forget to clean the PlayStation when you’re done.”

Dad blinked, his eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, what are you two doing?”

I waved him off. “I’m busy. Don’t bother me with questions.”

“Yeah,” Josh chimed in. “Go ask Mom. Isn’t that what you always do?”

Dad stood there, completely stunned, as Josh and I continued our act. I grabbed the PlayStation controller and started playing, while Josh flipped through the magazine without a care in the world.

“Seriously, what is this?” Dad’s frustration was starting to show.

I gave him a sarcastic look. “Oh, sorry, were you talking to me? I’m kinda busy here.”

“Just like you always are,” Josh added, not missing a beat.

There was a long pause. You could almost see the realization settling in as Dad looked at us. His face softened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Is this really how you see me?”

I took a deep breath, dropping the act. “Yes, Dad. This is exactly how you’ve been treating us and Mom. You’re always too busy for us, and you treat Mom like she’s just here to serve you.”

Josh nodded, his voice steady. “She works just as hard as you do, but she does everything at home, too. All you do is complain.”

Dad’s shoulders slumped, guilt washing over him. Before he could say anything, Mom came through the door. Her eyes widened when she saw us all standing there.

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking between us and Dad.

Dad looked at her, tears in his eyes. “I… I think I’ve been a terrible husband and father. I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, he walked into the kitchen, and we watched in stunned silence as he started rummaging through the cupboards. “Making dinner! Flatbread, anyone?” he called out, surprising all of us.

We sat down at the table, still in shock. Dad emerged from the kitchen with a steaming pot and served us, apologizing with every scoop.

“I’ve been neglecting all of you, and I see that now,” he said, his voice sincere. “I’m going to do better. I promise.”

As we ate together, Dad asked us about school, about our day—things he hadn’t done in years. It felt strange, but in a good way.

Josh and I exchanged glances, both of us in disbelief. Maybe this had worked after all.

After dinner, Dad smiled at us—really smiled. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For waking me up. I needed that.”

“We’re just glad you listened,” I replied, feeling a warmth in my chest I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Josh grinned. “And now that you’re paying attention, maybe you’ll join us for some PlayStation?”

Dad laughed, a sound I realized I had missed. “Deal. But first, let’s clean up. Together.”

As we cleaned up, it felt like something had shifted. For the first time in years, we weren’t just going through the motions. We were a family again. It wouldn’t be perfect overnight, but it was a start. And that was enough.