I remember when I was about ten years old, about two months before my parents divorced, I was on the school bus going home one afternoon.
I was a quiet, shy kid with usual ten year old kid worrries and problems. Things like, What the hell is this long division crap, Is Nicholas finally going to catch me and beat me up tomorrow, What does "I've been to paradise but I've never been to me" mean anyway? But most of all, most of the day actually, I would be saying little prayers to God.

"Please make them not fight tonight."
"Please don't make them fight again tonight."

It was always about something, mostly money is the form it took though.

We lived in a new subdivision way out on the outskirts of a rather small country town, so it wasn't hard for my father to get the bus driver's attention from his car and get him to pull over. Dad was all excited and in a good mood when I got in the car. "How was your day son?" and the like. What have you.
While getting into to the car, I took a furtive glance over the back seat to see If he had bought the sleeping bag that Mum had asked him to. It was Friday and I was to go on my first scout trip the next day. There was no sign of it. As we were nearing our street, I couldn't handle the suspense so I built up the courage to ask him (in my usual wimpy way that I always addressed him).
"Dad, I was wondering if you had managed to find the time to buy that sleeping bag for me today, 'cause that camp thing is tomorrow and all."
Slapping his forehead, or the steering wheel (I don't remember which), he exclaims, "AAwww son! I'm sorry, I totally forgot."

Once in the house, I go up to my room to play Atari. After a while, Mum comes in the room and asks me if my father got the sleeping bag today. Before I get to answer Dad bursts in with the sleeping bag that he had bought the day before. He stops laughing when he sees my tears.
He never did see why his joke wasn't funny.