You're In Big Trouble, Mister!

Did you ever get smacked or hit or spanked as a kid?  I didn't.  I feel like I should have.  But I didn't.  My sister didn't either.....except one time (and I'll tell you about that in a few minutes).  Corporal punishment just didn't happen while I was growing up.  Not when I left my bike outside overnight, not when I got picked up by the cops BEFORE going out to egg a friend's house, not even when I was 14 and my dad found my stash of booze hidden in my closet (still hurts that he poured my Wild Turkey down the drain right in front of me).  Those are the highlights for sure because the stories behind them are more memorable than the result, and there were multiple other opportunities for my mom and dad to beat on me, but not once was I hit.  Will I hit my kids?  Nope.  Won't need to.

Growing up there were always kids getting spankings for numerous reasons, deserved and not.  It wasn't that big of a deal.  I saw it, I heard about it, I didn't want it but sometimes it seemed much easier than what I was going through for the same offenses.  My mom would talk and talk (and talk) to me about what I did, why I shouldn't do it, who I hurt or would have hurt by doing it, etc.  Boring.  I even asked her to spank me one time when I was little just to be done hearing about how shitty I was.  I was done with it.  My dad, on the other hand, had his own ways.

Remember, I was never hit.....but that doesn't mean I wasn't scared shitless of getting hit at any moment for screwing up.  My dad had a way of letting me know verbally and by use of volume what I did was wrong and I sure as hell better not do it again.  Never make the same mistake twice.  If he had to tell me once it was because I didn't know better.  I never wanted to know better, but I always did.  Kids would play soccer in the living rooms of their houses not caring if they broke anything, or at least not worrying about it if they did.  Why was that?  My dad would beat the shit out of me.....at least that's what I thought.  My mom never said, "When your dad gets home he's going to beat the shit out of you."  Why would I think it then?

There's a respect that grows out of fear when it comes to parents.  My dad is an awesome guy.  I love him.  He can weird as hell, but he's awesome.  He was always awesome.  He made me know I was loved.  But he also made me know that my actions reflect on him as a parent.  He didn't care for the normal upbringing stuff like making my lunch, giving me baths when I was very small, or even tying my shoes.  Teaching me to hit, throw, kick, ride a bike (2.5 years old bitches!) and change the oil....that was his thing.  If he taught it to me, or even talked to me about it in the first place, it meant something to him.  If it meant something to him it HAD to be important for me.  That's where I got that fear I think.  Your dad can be the coolest guy a boy knows when he's growing up.  I didn't want to look bad to him.  What if he didn't want me around?  What if he didn't want to teach me anything else?  Had to keep him happy.  Had to keep him teaching me.  And if he taught it to me once, I was to learn it.  If I didn't.....well I don't have to tell you what would happen.

(the time my sister got hit was epic. she called my dad an asshole at the dinner table when she was 16. he was sitting directly across from her with mom and me on either side. she had been a bitch all day and he had heard enough. he reached across and smacked her, POW, right in the kissa. she started crying, screamed something, and ran to her room. he didn't look up from his food until the door closed to her room. my mom and i high-fived across the table because she was due. my dad didn't say a thing. he only sat there, reached across the table, took her plate and started eating HER food. we all ate great that night!)