As the thread title, really. Here's one to kick things off: Without going into great detail about my complicated family history, I have a strained relationship with my father. An inveterate gambler, boozer and womaniser, he was also a skilled con man. We're talking charming vulnerable women of a certain age, raking in thousands sometimes ... which he'd then blow, being a gambler! Anyway, he wasn't all bad, but one particular trick he pulled nearly pushed me over the edge. In short, he made me believe his life was in danger if he didn't repay a certain gambling debt very quickly. He tried to sting me for quite a considerable sum, but it backfired when he accidentally let something slip which set alarm bells ringing and eventually led me to discover he was bluffing to get back at me for something cruel I'd done to him after he was effectively thrown out of our family. Well, I was so enraged at having been tricked by my own father (I think I was 20 at the time), that I set out on a course of action that could've had the most awful consequences. I left the house one evening knowing he'd be in only one of two pubs. And I was on my way there to kill him. Sounds dramatic now, but I was stoked and ready to finish him. As it turned out, I went to the wrong pub - and after I'd left it, my resolve thankfully crumbled. On my walk home - about 4 miles - I felt like crap, really wretched. It was the only time in my life when inside, it was like I could hear the devil laughing at me (I'm being metaphorical here, you understand?); like he was saying, 'See? I got you!' The day before this happened, I'd been ribbing a lorry driver I used to work with about him being a born-again Christian. Despite my merciless mocking, he didn't retaliate - and I felt good about myself for jeering him. What a berk I was back then! Anyway, the day after this horrible episode, I saw this guy again as usual, and he noticed I was down. I didn't want to talk about it, so he just said, 'Would you like me to pray for you?' Well, after my brush with 'the devil' the previous evening, I thought to myself that it couldn't hurt ... naturally assuming he'd go off to his little parish church later that day, get on his knees and mumble a few platitudes to God on my behalf. Only, he didn't. He got off the back of the lorry, put his hand on my shoulder, shut his eyes ... and started praying aloud!!! I felt really awkward, but said nothing, hoping it would stop soon! Then, something happened that made my blood run cold: mid-sentence, he began talking in a language I'd never heard and couldn't describe as being like any other language I knew of. That moment, I just assumed this was the much-discussed 'talking in tongues'. Then, again mid-sentence, he broke back into English. I asked him how he did it, and he looked at me blank, like I was winding him up again. He refused to believe that anything had happened, quite convinced that I was making it all up. Which leads me to my life-changing moment. From that moment to this day, I've never again mocked a man's religious convictions. That experience shook me of my arrogance; and strangely, it gave me the courage to deal with my father in a much less drastic way. Anyway, over to you lot.