Sunday, July 27, 2008

Another 'FIRST'

I was nine years-old, my sister was eight, and my little brother was three when we were grating on my father's nerves by jumping around in our bedroom. We also had a friend from across the street over; she was about twelve at the time. He and my mom had company. They were playing cards downstairs and all of the children were sent upstairs to play in the room above them.

I can't even tell you how many times we were warned to stop stomping. But it seemed the more times my dad told us to stop, the more empowered we felt when we stomped harder. My dad is like Homie the Clown. And as you all know, Homie don't play that. This was my first brush with a creative ass whooping...if I can even call it that.

The last time he marched up the steps, he had his black, leather belt in his hand; one end wound around his closed fist, while the other end dangled. Time freaking froze. My dad was a pro when it came to his belt game. I did not want another whooping. I was always first, since I was the oldest, and I felt like I always got it worse. With a voice deeper then James Earl Jones, my dad told us sit on the floor with our backs against the wall. He told us to remove our shoes and socks, and hold our legs straight out with our toes pointed toward the ceiling. Then he commenced to whipping our feet.

Do you know how hard it is to move in this position? We were stuck like chuck and up shit's creek without a boat or paddle.

I also remember a time when I had to wash dishes and everyone that knows me, knows I HATE to wash dishes. Well, my dad came in to get water and happened to get a glass that I half-ass washed. Oh LAWD! He was going to beat me. At least that's what I thought. But he didn't. He took every dish, out of every cabinet in the kitchen, piled them on top of the kitchen counter and table, and made me wash them all. He then told me, "if I find one dirty dish when you are done, I'm gone beat yo' ass." You would have thought I was doing a scientific experiment by the way I was examining each dish after I washed it. But it did the trick.

I think things like these are missing from child rearing today; Good ole fashion beatings, instilling fear in our children, and last but not least, DADS!!!

What type of creative punishments/whoopings have you ever had? And what else do you think is missing with the current generations when it comes to raising children?


Unknown said...

LOL! My Dad had a mean game too. And my older brother always seemed to get me in trouble. Forget that I am 5 yrs. younger. I got the belt because I didn't stop him from doing the dirt! (Yeah help me understand that logic...)

His belt of choice? The back in the day policeman leather belt. True leather thick to keep the pants & gun belt up. I am pretty sure that's abuse!

The worse? My brother was probably 11 or 12 & found his flick stash. Now I am just sitting in the room. I don't know what is on the screen or what those people are doing, but he was suppose to watching me while they were at work. I guess he got into it too much b/c he missed Daddy walking through the front door. I got it because I didn't tell him to turn it off.

You know he never told Moms? I told her about it a couple of years ago. She was shocked.

Anonymous said...

Great blog...hmmm I hear you about instilling fear in our kids and dads in the on the creative whoopings I don't recall any...a whopping is a whooping to me lol.

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