Remember the Toothpaste

I can’t quite tell you what I was thinking. All I know is that it began with a tube of Crest … and ended with the worst whupping of my life.

For some reason, I thought it’d be a good idea to play Picasso with toothpaste and use a bathroom wall as my canvass. Let’s call it childhood boredom. Maybe I should have read a book, gone back to playing Super Nintendo or anything else besides plastering the plaster with plaque-fighting paste.

The one thing I didn’t do? I didn’t remove my work from the wall before my mom got home. Bad idea, I know. She walked in and made an unfortunate beeline for the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of my personal Sistine Chapel and didn’t think much of it. She did, though, believe it was my brother’s handy work, though. See, I was certified as a Goodie Two-Shoes. Ryan will tell you himself that he could have passed as Dennis The Menace’s black clone.

Mom assumed he was the wannabe Michelangelo of Crest, not I. I probably wouldn’t have gotten in much trouble, but she looked steamed. Thus, I didn’t speak up. Ryan didn’t snitch. So she blamed him, although he denied it with conviction, which meant he was snitching. Mom didn’t believe him. She became so infuriated with his lying that she pulled out “The Belt,” — you know, the thick brown leather strap that often woke you up from your nightmares — and proceeded to blast his backside.

I … sat by idle … wincing with each stroke. I can’t remember how many licks she put on him. I just knew that her stroke of anger petrified me. Still, my thoughts were clear and somewhat rational: Let her finish and calm down. Then, I’d tell her the truth (y’all know I have a conscience *smh*).

This does not do my father's "special" belt justice.

This does not do my father's "special" belt justice.

When I did, I got a whupping, too. But nothing like Ryan’s. I apologized, but it meant little to him. My slow-to-come confession caused him pain and tears.

And see, Ryan knew about vengeance. Not only did he know about it, he was ghostriding the whip revenge bandwagon — without license or proper instruction —  by age 5.

A few weeks later, we had a scheduled weekend with our father AND newly minted stepmother. With them, we often spent Sunday afternoons at Klamm Park watching my father play softball. We’d hang with the other kids or sit in the stands with our stepmom. We did the latter on this day.

At some point, Ryan’s 20/20 vision eyed one of my dad’s ex-girlfriends. His loose lips pointed the ex out to my stepmom in some egregious manner. To this day, I do not know what Ryan said. He doesn’t remember, either. I do know that whatever he said so enraged my stepmom that she told our father between innings, but failed to point out who said what, a major no-no for my hind side.

After the game, my father warned us of what was to come. One of his teammates asked him what his evening looked like. His answer? “I’m going to whup some ass,” declared my father, a man who hadn’t laid a hand on any of his children before.

He said he was going to satisfy our stepmom’s unrelenting rage get down to the bottom of the dilemma and figure out who said what. Ryan, knowing what he had done, said nothing. When we got home, my father’s words were few.

“Who did it,” he asked?

I said “not me.” My conniving little brother refused to confess, and repeated after me. Dad upped the ante.

“Pull down your pants … underwear, too,” he said. “I’m going to get this belt and we’re going to go stroke by stroke until I get an answer,” he said.

He returned, soon-to-be legendary strap in tow. Dad’s brown bomber made mom’s look like a shoelace. He again asked: “Who did it?” and I replied “not me.” … Stroke. I think I started crying at the same moment the leather hit my skin. His crushing, precise stroke made mom’s feel like a lovetap from your schoolyard crush.

Same question to Ryan. He denied, yet again. Stroke. … Then, with no query and answer, there was a third stroke. (My stepbrother Nick was getting a “just cause” whupping for his Dry Cleaners’ list of transgressions. Some of y’all know about them.)

He may have gone overboard, but you can't hate on Joe Jackson for whooping his boys into shape. Can you?

He may have gone overboard, but you can't hate on Joe Jackson for whupping his boys into shape. Can you?

This “Q&A/just cause” whupping went on for 10 good strokes before Ryan caved. Dad gave me a half-hearted apology, told me to go upstairs and he commenced to blasting my brothers for another 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, I started the lengthy healing process. I won’t even go so far as to explain the battle wounds. Let’s just say that he’d have done Joe Jackson proud that day. When Ryan came upstairs and all of our tears dried, I asked him why he left me hanging?

His response: “Remember the toothpaste.”

I’m not even sure he knew what the Alamo was.

Neither of our parents remember the story or either whupping. But we both get a great laugh out of the story at least once a year. This isn’t where our dislike of each other began, but it’s one of its unmistakable peaks. The lesson learned: Toothpaste isn’t paint. Confession is good for the soul your backside, especially before the parental units lose their cool.

This story sets up tomorrow’s letter. So TMCY faithful, what’s your worst whupping or punishment? What did you do to deserve it?

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88 responses to “Remember the Toothpaste

  1. That story made me laugh. I rarely got spankings when I was a kid and I never got hit by a belt.

    The one time I remember actually getting hit by my mom I did deserve it. We had a creek behind our house which I was not supposed to play around. Of course, I decided to play near it and of course I fell in. I had the bright idea to come back inside the house and attempt to hide my wet/dirty clothes and put on my pajamas (in the middle of the day). Yeah so that didn’t turn out so well for me….

    For the record I’m not against parents hitting their children but I do think that too many take it a bit too far.

    • If I have kids, I’ll probably beat the mess out of whip them, but I hope that I can remember to do it when I’m not angry. Whipping kids when you’re angry = bad news bears.

    • @tam: I wanna know how old you were just so I can see where your rationale came from … if it was realistic or not. lol.

      But yeah, putting the pajamas on in the middle of the day. hilarity …

      • @Damon: I was 8. For some reason hiding my wet clothes at the bottom of the laundry basket and putting on pajamas seemed like a smart idea. I even had the nerve to tell my mom “I’m tired” when she asked me why I had on pajamas in the middle of the day.

        • Lovely Paradox

          I even had the nerve to tell my mom “I’m tired” when she asked me why I had on pajamas in the middle of the day.

          Now that’s funny! 😆

  2. LOL. That’s awesome.

    Only spanking I remember was my last one…I was the middleman for the exchange of a VHS tape of “adult entertainment.” My retard friend played it at his little sister’s sleep over party. He provided me an out but I had no idea and confessed to passing the tape to him. It was all pretty funny to me until I saw how upset my Mom got about it(the porn).

    • Oh, the chilhood adult entertainment stories. I’m sure I could conjure up a few of them, too … But yeah, playing it at his SISTER’s sleep over wasn’t a good move.

      That just seems like a massive fail waiting to happen …

  3. I haven’t had many whoopings but the worst was when I got real smart with my mom one night…like really gave her major ‘tude and thought I was getting away with it when I walked away, attempted to get undressed and go take a shower before bed. All of a sudden out of no where she entered the bathroom like a mad woman and had that infamous leather belt in her hand. She pulled me out of the shower and spanked me while I was wet and naked…..*shivers*….and said over and over again ‘you thought you was gettin’ away with that huh!?’….

    Another time when I was younger, she spanked me with a leather belt and I was moving around so rapidly that the buckle accidentally hit me in the lip and when she realized I was hurt she stopped and made sure I was ok….I milked that for the next 30 minutes and made her feel like she was an abuser….lol!

    I’m not an advocate for beatings either but a nice good spanking never hurt me and I think I grew up to be a rather decent human being 🙂

  4. I truly don’t remember what I did, but the mistake I made was running.

    I ran down the hall and into my room and under the bed to the far wall. Great move, until I realized that while my mom couldn’t reach me under the bed, the gap between the wall and the bed was just big enough for her to lunge across and go in on my tail from up above. I had no where to go and literally had to take it crushed up in the corner against the wall. I was probably 6.

    That ties with the time my mom and I got into a physical fight when I was like 15… she took me out in one move (maybe she wrestled in high school?) and I was smooth on my back with her hands around my neck. I seriously thought I was going to die. I remember pushing my foot against the wall for leverage to get from under her and feeling the wall give under the pressure of my foot. I REALLY knew I was going to die that day.

    • @ASmith

      Yeah, the biggest mistake you can EVER make is running…

      • @jlbd: Absolutely. Then she was mad that a)I did whatever I did b)I ran (so she had to come after me) and c)I had the audacity to get wedged in a corner so she couldn’t quite get that full extension and follow-through that makes for quality whuppins. LOL.

        I learned my lesson — I took all my whippin’s after that head-on.

    • yeah, I don’t ever remember running … Running just seemed like a way to momentarily prevent the inevitable … and with more time the inevitable always seemed to get worse.

      It was always better to get it over with ASAP. lol.

  5. Is it something that all of my worse whooping came from my mom or somehome involved her?

    When I was seven, we are at my aunt’s house waiting to go to Six Flags. All the kids we’re waiting in the car, while the adults loaded the car. I decided it would be a great idea to put the car in gear. I got four seperate whoopings. MY aunt beat me. Then after the amusement park, my pop’s mother beat me. Then later on that night my mom’s mother beat me then my mom beat me.

    Another time, I got suspended in school for fighting. I was in 7th Grade and by the time, I was much bigger than my mom. She beat me like a man in the street. I think that day she instilled in me that there are women who can prolly kick my arse right now.

    The last beating I got was after freshman yr of college. I was 19, I just came home from living a year on my own. I was 6ft 300lbs division 1 defensive linemen and I thought I didnt have to listen to any rules. I was ordering movies on pay per view and she got mad at me. I paid her no mind. She proceeded to toss me around like a rag doll

    • Dag, I always admire the dude who got whuppings beyond high school. My last one came the summer before my freshman year of high school.

      Then the sick punishments set in … and I think I caught about 15 straight rights to chest over time. But no belts. I don’t know what I’d do if my mom’s tried to whup me post-high school. Prolly run … lol

    • She tossed you like a rag doll…dang! That had to hurt your pride!

  6. Morning, y’all.

    @damon: That story was hilarious. Hopefully, it’s something you can look back on and laugh and you’re not still traumatized by it.

    I didn’t get many whippings because of things I did. My siblings & cousins usually got us ALL a whipping. I’m not going to lie though, there were times that I’d prefer having a whipping than being given some other punishment.

    The worst one I remember wasn’t even a whipping. Like @jlbd, I got mouthy with my mom. I think I was 13 or 14. I said some things that SHOULD NOT have been thought let alone come out of my mouth. She slapped the sh*t out of me. I mean my glasses flew across the room, my face was red & I had a hand print on my cheek for at least an hour. I learned my lesson though and it never happened again. Although this sounds awful, I was truly disrespectful in that moment and mouthing off like a grown, know it all woman.

    My husband and I have discussed this before and we agree that we will try our best not to spank/whip. If we decide it is necessary, it will be used as a last resort AND not in the ‘heat of the moment’.

    • I know a couple that handles discipline so that whichever parent is the one that uncovers the wrongdoing is not the one that doles out punishment, to try to lessen the “heat of the moment” punishments. I always thought that was a good idea.

      Now if both parents are pissed, I guess the kids are just screwed. LOL.

    • I don’t think my mother or father ever hit me with an open hand to the face… I think my dad popped the back of my head from time to time … but that open hand to face thing, I still think it’s one of the worst thing you can do to a person …

      I never hit either one of my brothers in the face, ever. That was my personal rule, because yeah, they tagged me a few times …

      • My mom slapped me in the face (not real hard) one time when I got smart with her and our dog started barking at her and commencing to jumping on her. She turned around and smacked him too….lmao!

        • Dag, she was angry, huh? lol. Smacking dogs …

          • lol, she didn’t appreciate him puffing up his chest to her while he should have just been minding his business and doing doggy stuff….but naaawwwww, he had to get up in the mix and try to defend my honor…lmao!

        • My mom slapped the mess out of me one time… I got more whippings, but never slapped. She only had to do that to me one time.

      • My mom never slapped me but she had a mean thump. The few times I was brave (stupid) enough to say something smart to her she would thump me in the middle of my forehead.

    • And yeah, there’s no trauma whatsoever. I promise you, it’s the most laughable story …. especially considering that none of our parents — mom, stepmom or dad — recalls what happened. But we all have vivid memories of that day/night.

    • “I mean my glasses flew across the room, my face was red & I had a hand print on my cheek for at least an hour.”

      LMAO. I did NOT need this visual in the morning. lol

    • Lovely Paradox

      My parents had a rule. Only my dad was to administer punishment and the punishment had to be clearly related to an offense. The kid was also supposed to understand why they were getting their arse kicked.

      The story I wrote below is the only time, my dad hit me out of emotional and/or something. And I think that’s the theory I will be implementing too. One parent is the disciplinarian… or at least the parent who is the least aggravated should be…

      If my mom was allowed to hit us? We would have been injured or something, that woman could grab anything and throw it at you… Lol!

  7. Real question for y’all: It seems like most girls don’t have the same whupping tales that guys do. There are some who got handled like guys did. But girls seem to get off a little easier (see: Joe Jackson’s daughters).

    Why is that?

    • Cause boys can “take it” and girls can’t. (That’s the incorrect assumption some parents make, I think)

      AND… most girls (unlike myself) can be made to feel pretty bad with the right look or a few words. I had a bad problem with needing to be SHOWN… talking didn’t always work with my hard-headed self.

    • I think the answer to that is similar to what ASmith said. Girls are slightly more delicate. Their biological makeup is not as physically strong as a boy’s and you don’t want to risk hitting a girl too hard anywhere. Boys are supposedly tougher but that’s not always true: Michael Jackson….anyone? I think Joe Jackson gave out them azz whoopins just like any other parent but Micheal was a sensitive boy and couldn’t take it. It literally traumatized him for life. Notice none of the other Jackson brothers really talk that badly about Joe’s whoopins….

    • When I was growing up my sister was the one that took more heat to the butt than I. She was the strong willed child and I was the compliant one. Her and mom fought like cats and dogs until she got out of high school. Of course, I got side punishment a couple times while the ‘rents sorted out who did what.

      • I think the worst punishment ever was punishment I received because I didn’t prevent one of my brothers from doing something bad …

        I had the mentality of “they’re gonna do dumb ish even if I tell them not to…” But my dad didn’t care. I think this is what I resented more than anything else because I couldn’t stop them from doing what they wanted to do.

      • Lovely Paradox

        Travis,

        I was a lot like your sister. Very strong willed and opinionated and just a rebel in general. My younger sisters didn’t even get (many)whuppings , they just lived off the legends of my whuppings. Lol!

        If I have a kid like me (which I know I will), it’s going to be real interesting. 😆

  8. Thanks for sharing your ass whooping story. I would share mine but it’s much to long to leave as a comment. I’ll tell you when I write a blog about it; I still want to destroy my father’s soul for it…and I’m a couple months shy of 30 yrs old and that whooping was a good 20 yrs ago LOL

    • Yeah, I think this story is circa 1987 or 88. So it has some years on it. What’s weird is I didn’t resent my father for it. But I never forgot that one … few other whuppings are that memorable ….

      Only two: There’s one I briefly told in another post when he whupped me for singing R. Kelly in the mirror and forgetting to do the dishes … and the other one involved me not doing some chore, but being deep in some REM sleep and I think he got in about five strokes before I woke up and realized what was going down …

      Make sure you remind me when you post your story so i can read it …

  9. excuse my typos; I was feeding the “succubus” while typing LOL

  10. I don’t remember a good a&& whooping story- we got whooped so much. lol. since there was four of us, sometimes everybody would get a whooping because we’d fight constantly.

    I do remember the time I got slapped. See, I was one of those kids with the mouth.. I always had to have the last word. Not on purpose, it was just a fire deep inside me.

    I was washing dishes and me and my mama were into it.. we stayed into it when I was a teenager. Anywho, she was yelling and I said under my breath (almost cricket like).. you are such a B*tch.

    I don’t know how she heard it… my face wasn’t even facing hers… anywho, I heard her coming up on me like a lioness and she hauled off and slapped me. Mind you, since i was washing dishes, my hands were in the water and I couldn’t eevn get them up fast enough to defend my face. I can still feel that sting. lol

  11. @Damon: I think I got more whippings than my brother. My mother was the arse-kicker in the house. My dad never laid a hand nor belt on my brother and I. And I got quite a few. For this reason, two stories follow.

    My worst whipping: I was walking home from school and I really, really, really had to use the bathroom. I forgot my key, so I banged on the front door, but no one answered. So I banged on the basement door; still no answer. So I went to the back of the house and banged on that (screen) door, and broke the glass. My dad finally heard that one and opened the door. I just ran in and went to the bathroom. I did all my homework, cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen before my mom got home, hoping to soften her up. It didn’t work. I had to hold on to the rails of my daybed while she went to work on me.

  12. My brother’s whipping: Because he didn’t get in trouble as much as I did, I decided to get him back. I woke up one Saturday morning, fixed my bowl of cereal and went downstairs to watch my morning cartoons. Before I went downstairs, though, I locked the basement door. So once my cartoons were off, I came back upstairs and banged on the door. No one answered. So I went out the door downstairs, in just my nightgown, to get back in the house. At this time my mother was pulling in from going to the grocery store. She asked me what I was doing outside with no shoes on. I told her my brother locked me in the basement. I know it’s wrong, but I still get a good laugh out of this when I think of it.

    • Dag, you were good for locking stuff, huh? lol … and window busting … who knew? Not you … smh …

      I can see you doing something conniving, though. You give off that sneaky vibe from time to time … lol

      • I’m really not a window-buster. I just had to pee really bad. When you gotta go, you gotta go.

        And I’ll admit to being a conniver. I grew up with boys and I used to get them all in trouble because they wouldn’t let me do anything. If they’d let me play, they could have avoided some time with the belt. That’s all I’m saying :p

  13. My mom whopped my arse with one of those old school wooden Dr. Scholl’s sandals.
    She was doing my hair and I said something smart. (I was always talking ish, even as a youngster–lol)
    Next thing I know I was getting straight tore up.
    My Mom (RIP) went hard in the paint…LMAO.

    • LOL @ hard in the paint. Yes, yes… that is a good way to describe my mom… she goes hard in the paint.

    • lol! Not the wooden Dr. Scholl sandal! My mother enjoyed using that as a spanking tool as well!

      • My mom definitely used some of my own toys to whip me. Now if that ain’t a foul, I don’t know what is.

      • Good to know I’m not alone…lol
        My Mom used to find whatever was handy…a comb, brush, hanger, Dr. Scholl sandal. You catch my drift…lol

  14. Damn dude, me and you would have fought if we were brothers.

    You don’t have to take the blame for my mistakes, but you can’t let me go down for yours. I”m giving you the ass whipping of your life as soon as mom leaves the house again. Seriously, that was an egregious violation of the brother code.

    • At that age, my brother didn’t stand a chance unless he started using illegal tactics like biting. He got back by annoying the hell outta me and yeah, the second half of this story …

      It was a violation on my part, though. *shrugs* I was like 8 or 9. stuff happens.

  15. The worst whipping/s I received, were the ones I didn’t receive.

  16. This is the perfect day for this post … just found out that it’s Joe Jackson’s birthday … lol ..

  17. Ahhh! Damon you had me LOLing at work- too hard! Who knew that spankings were the gift, that just keeps on giving!

    I don’t know if this was my worst spanking, it usually didn’t have to get all the way to a spanking for me to learn my lesson. But this event sticks out the most…because now I understand why we got thrashed so tough.

    Let’s call the year 1991…it must have been June, because I believe it was my parent’s anniversary. They had the infamous sock in the door- which was our signal to STAY OUT. There were 4 of us, all born between ’80 and ’85, so every act was a tag team effort. I don’t remember how long my parents tried to ignore us, but at some point we decided we were hungry….hungry for hamburgers and french fries. Why didn’t we make p&j sandwiches? Why didn’t we make ham & cheese? Why didn’t we just wait for my parents to stop doing the do?
    Well the answer is simple- we were hungry, and hunger impairs your judgement.

    Shortly after, the stove was on fire, smoke clouded the kitchen, the smoke detector was beeping furiously. Lesson 1: don’t throw water on a grease fire. My parents race down the stairs in their robes…heated!!!! They put out the flames and lined us up. Mommy was assigning the licks and Daddy was giving them. She was so mad, she wouldn’t even look at us. She just stood there, looking out of the door assigning licks based on her theory of who was the most guilty. My middle brother went first. He was a soldier! He got so many spankings, he wasn’t even scared. He just wanted to get it out of the way. But me…procrastinating….OMGing all over the place….trying to buy time to work out a plan to not make it hurt as much. By george! I’ll go to the restroom and put on a couple of extra pairs of pants…I thought. And because of my brillant plan, I got tagged raw hide. DUMB!

    Yeah, my siblings and I laugh off of that frequently, especially now that we are adults, and understand the importance of the sock in the door…. and looking back, yeah we deserved every lick!

    • BWAHAHAHA This had me ROFL ’bout as much as Damon’s post.

      Yes, hunger ALWAYS impairs good judgement — each and every time.

    • @indy500: Dude, we never burned the house down … and I’m mad y’all threw water at a grease fire … hilarity, well, considering that y’all are all safe now. …

      But yeah, my stepbrother and I once tried the “let’s put on three layers so this whupping won’t hurt” trick … and it worked out better than could have imagined.

      Our parents laughed at us so much when they got home that they didn’t whip us at all. Nope, they just put us on punishment, and stuck to it strong for a good month …

      • When I was younger I used to wish that I would have just gotten a beating instead of punishment. At least with a beating, you get it, it hurts, you cry but it’s over. Punishment sucks! No TV and Phone for a month was the absolute worst. It was like my world ended.

    • Lovely Paradox

      That was HILARIOUS!!! Oh my god, I am laughing too hard.

      😆

  18. Guys, seriously…I have to quit reading this for the day.

    I’m literally laughing out loud in my office and playing it off like I’m sneezing. My co-workers probably think I got Swine (H1N1) Flu by now or something! These ass whooping stories are hilarious especially Damon’s pops quote “I’m going to go home and whoop some ass tonight!”

    The only one I can contribute is: My family had just moved to KC from Georgia (approx 1992). well we had a large unfinished basement (which along w/ snow, was a new experience for us) and my sister and I had an affinity for roller skating. Well my older sister and I were skating around the basement, trying backwards moves and practicing for some of the contest they had at Skateland in Grandview, especially “Red Light, Green Light.” I was calling out the commands and as I yelled green light my sister began to dart towards me and w/ my abrupt red light, the slick surface proved to much and my sister went careening right through the basement wall!!! We begin to discuss how my sister would tell my mom of what happened. Once I convinced her that honesty was the policy, we headed upstairs w/ the bad news. The following is a transcript:

    Sister: “Are you sure”
    Me: “Yes, it is only right”
    Sister: “Okay. Mom……MATTHEW pushed me through the wall…”
    Me: “MATTHEW PUSHED THROUGH THE WALL?!?!?”

    after that its kind of a blur, I think my mom’s belt removed itself from the closet and came flying into the living room, if memory serves me correct. After 10 years of pleading my innocence my mom has finally conceded that she probably made a mistake.

    • @oates: Yeah, I have one of those stupefying “hole in the wall” stories, too … over the course of writing this entire blog, I’ve come to realize I’ve experienced and done some fairly ridiculous stuff … but in all actuality, it’s normal.

      We’ve all done a lot of this mess, I suppose.

  19. this stories are hilarious. made my day go by easier.

    i have one to contribute. it’s not my worst beating. actually, i don’t even know what this qualifies as, because not a hand, belt, shoe, wire hanger, etc., was laid on me. on a tuesday in the 7th grade, my pops decided he wanted the whole family to go to church. i didn’t have any particular interest in going — i actually wanted to stay home and finish homework. my pops didn’t take a liking to this train of thought, and, well, we were going anyways. i remember stomping downstairs with a frown on my face, and then i heard footsteps charging from upstairs. i looked back and saw a big thick a&& Bible (not in English, mind you; it was a large print, French one, easily 1000+ pages) at lightning speed coming towards my head.
    …when i came to, i had a drink of water, and sat my a&& in the car, ready for Thursday service…Lord Jesus…

    there is no mercy when it comes to disciplining children in my family. i’ve seen my cousins get hit with bricks (YES, CONCRETE), hangers, gallons of milk, hymnals (during church, mind you), bottles…great stories indeed.

    one family reunion in long island, my little cousin had the bright idea of running in the street without looking. he’d been hit by a car before, but nooo, that didn’t deter him. after his mom chased him in the house, we heard his cries of pain from 3 flights up from the backyard. didn’t see him for the rest of the night lol.

    • My co-workers have to think I’m crazy from these outburst. Tears are streaming down my face, trying to contain the laughter….I’m done, i’m done! I wasn’t ready for the attack with the bible…. I think I need some air.

    • “hymnals (during church, mind you)”

      Somehow, this seems funnier than being hit by a French Bible. I don’t know how or why … I laughed at both of them … but they hymnal during service brought a tear to my eye …

  20. *i mean, “ready for Tuesday service.”

  21. The funniest eyewitness to whooping I ever had was when my older sister got in trouble with my grandma and she tried to run down the stairs to get away. My grandma took an extension cord and literally caught ahold of my sister like it was a lasso and caught her up before she could hit the bottom of the stairs. After she got caught up in the extension cord lasso my grandma removed it from her and started whoopin’ that azz with the electric cord….Man, I really felt for her that day…

  22. I didn’t get in trouble too often as a child, my brother on the other hand was the trouble maker. He would get in trouble with our mom mostly. She didn’t use a belt usually, instead she had a huge wooden paddle. It’s still in her drawer to this day. Smh

    A whooping I do recall was from my grandfather. My brother and I were visiting my dad who lived with them at the time. I think I was about 5. We decided to play hide and seek. I could hear my brother coming to find me, so in my panic, I crawled underneath my grandparent’s car in the garage.

    Of course my brother never thought to look under there and eventually I came out. My grandparents saw how dirty I had gotten from being on the garage floor, and asked where I had hid. Not being a good liar, they figured it out. My grandpa went into a fury and said that it was dangerous and what had happened if they ran over me. Out came his trusty leather belt and down came the jeans. I felt like it went on forever until my grandma finally told him that was enough. Had to put on my pajamas and I wasn’t allowed to come out of the room for the rest of the day.

  23. My parents fled a war. The lost everything. My parents came to seattle with a family and 20 dollars.

    They had a lot of pent up aggression and anger despite being pretty good buddhists.

    My backside still echoes the pain I felt on many an occassion.

    By the way I never heard mention of a sister. My Sister, in her brilliance, ran when it came to spankings. She never got them as much as I did so when she first did it I was appalled and shocked-the idea never dawned on me. She escaped the butt kicking because my dad started laughing as she booked it through the neighborhood. I tried it once…..it doesn’t work for boys.

  24. In third grade I went to a private school, actually a Catholic school where the teachers were all nuns. Well my buddy and I, Matt Flores decided to mock our teacher and talk back. She gave us both a punish of 1000 lines to write, I will not talk back in class nor mock my teacher..or something to that degree. The catch was that I had to get it signed by my parents. My father worked the night shift so I always had a good excuse not to tell him too much because he was always sleep in the daytime and his whuppings weren’t really whuppings just workouts for him. So I had to get the punishment signed by my mother. Well I came up with the Einstein idea of signing the punishment my self. So I did some investigating around the house to try and find my mothers signature somewhere. I found it, on a check stub…..now the problem is, in 3rd you don’t know how to write in cursive and you write on that brown paper with the one inch lines…my dumb ass prints my mothers name(First,Middle, and Last) on the punishment and return it at the beginning of class the following morning. I give it to the teacher and she says nothing. I’m thinking I got away and this is the best idea ever. Well when I got home my mother was waiting and I was instructed to alleviate my school uniform into something comfortable which was my underwear. My mother had my father’s correctional officers belt which was a half inch black leather belt with his last name imprinting in it….she commenced to giving me ONE OF the worst whuppings I ever got….that whupping was followed by some of the best sleep I ever had.

  25. Lovely Paradox

    Ha! How I can’t stand the goodie-two-shoes! 🙂

    The whuppings that hurt the most are the ones you don’t deserve and/or you get because someone is in a bad mood.

    But those who humiliate you when you a “rep” to worry about are thee worst. When I was 8, I thought I was all that and a bag of chips… I told my folks that I was hanging out at a friend’s house down the block (they knew her and her parents)… Little did they know, there was a “secret santa” party going on that afternoon. And rumor had it that my “secret santa” was my lovely neighborhood crush… There was no way I was going to miss that party. Thank God for lax parents because my friend’s folks had some very lackadaisical parenting rules and didn’t even care about our whereabouts (at 8!! *smh*)… Anyways, we got our behinds to the party organized by my crush older brothers… The party fell prey to CPT and instead of starting at 3pm like it was supposed to, it started at 5pm!!! In my little head, I was rationalizing that I was there already and I should just stay for the course… deal with the consequences later…

    Long story short, my 8-year old behind got home at 8pm… My parents had been looking all over the place for me. My snicthin’ neighbors who were not cool enough to be invited to the party told my dad there was a party and that I was probably there. Snitchin’ arseholes!!! 🙂

    My dad usually admnisters punishment with no anger or emotion (reason why he’s the only one allowed to punish us and not my mother :))… but this day?? This day, that man hit me across the face real hard!!! Everybody in the neighborhood knew I received a whupping… so much for my gangsta!

    The next day at church, when my “cool” friends with whom I was at the party asked me about my swollen eye? Why did I tell them that I fell of the bunk bed? Sh!t, I had a rep to keep!!! 🙂

    Now that I think about it, that day was bananas. It was the first time I saw my parents disagree about something in front of us. When my mom got home and saw my swollen eye, she went into a fit about how my dad should be more careful ( I have a cousin whose mom destroyed her eye in a beatdown)….

    Whoa! I had forgotten all about this story… Thanks for bringing up *interesting* memories!

  26. Oh, are we telling best whuppin’ stories? My parents would STILL beat my ass if I had the temerity to bring this up again.

    In my neighborhood it was almost all black folks, my family (Tibetan), and few hippies. The hippies remodeled an old dirt floor garage into a pottery studio. They locked the studio up with a Master lock that was latched onto the door handle and an eye bolt.

    I was a curious (this lead to many beatings) and small child. I squeezed through the space between the door and the frame. When I came in I saw that the walls were covered in small shelves, from the floor to the cieling, and they were filled with mason jars. I don’t know why, most were empty, but there they were. The light streamed in from the windows and hit them just right-rainbows scattered about. I had a sublime moment. This moment lead me to get the bright idea to break all the mason jars. I broke them all. I threw rocks, knocked down shelves, and when the ground was littered with broken glass-the light hit it and made rainbows light up everywhere-like colorful moths dancing about. Then, after a moment, I realized what I did.

    I ran away.

    Then I knew I would get blamed (I was the bad kid of neighborhood. Not the mean one, just the one that got into trouble all the time) and so I went home in a huff, “You know what Dad? I saw ____ and he was coming out of Patties pottery studio. I heard lots of crashes.”

    Now mind you, this kid was, well, retarded in the scientific version of that word.

    I can only say I didn’t know what I was doing, I just didn’t want to get whupped.

    I heard that boys howls all the way across the alley. I even had the audacity to nod my head like it was ‘just’ punishment.

    Then the found out. I don’t know how. The neighbor spanked me, the retarded boys parents spanked me, and then my mom hit me with a wooden spoon, and my dad spanked me with a belt.

    This beating went on, mostly on, and off for at least a few days.

    Man. That was tough.

    • Lovely Paradox

      Guru D,

      You’ve slayed me with this story. Oh my!!

      I need to check your blog to see if you’ve explored that artistic side of yours because the idea of breaking the mason jars was brilliant…. (you were a very smart child weren’t you?!!) 😆

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