small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: sweatin the small stuff...part two

Friday, January 19

sweatin the small stuff...part two

Personally I think I had a great childhood where my parents both loved me and gave me everything they could. But I’ll tell you what, when I crossed the line which I did often I got the black beaten off me. As a matter of fact you don’t know what an ass whipping was until you met the bad end of my father’s belt.

And here’s how the ass kicking structure worked in my neighborhood. If you got out of line at a friend’s house, their parents had your parent’s by-your-leave to beat you. Than after they beat you they’d pick up that bigass old school rotary phone and call your parents to tell em what you did and that brought on another beating. Then let’s just say that grandma came by for a visit. After hugging and kissing you on the cheek, she’d hear from your mother about you showing your ass up the street and she’d beat you.

And the thing about the grandparents was that it was like they had a special beat-down pass or some shit. Because not only would they wait for you to come over and then beat you, but they’d beat you in church, in the car, sipping tea on the porch, whilst you spent the night they beat you. But no one had the beat-down skills like my father.

See he was a career cop and he used his cop skills to enliven his beatings. My mother who is a tiny woman would call my father at work and tell em what we did then she’d say wait till your father gets home. This crazy bastard would get home after working the dog-shift and wake us up, and that’s if we slept at all due to worrying ourselves into pissing the bed waiting on him to get home.

Then he’d either beat us one by one whilst making the others wait their turn or if he was tired, he’d line us up and do that three stooges thing where he’d beat us all at the same time. Anyway I’m just saying that I believe in spanking a kid and as far as I’m concerned there’s not enough spankings anymore.

Look at me, I turned out ok even though from reading this a muthafucker might think I was obsessed with spankings and shit. But it’s like my father told us all some time before he died. The way I beat you kids growing up would probably get me put in jail. But ain’t none of you ever been in jail or strung out on drugs. And he was right.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Apparently, Greg, we have some things in common. My dad was a career cop, too, and the neighbours in my town had the same policy, "Screw up in their house, take their punishment" and your parents WILL be informed of it. Happily, I was the youngest of 4, the only girl with three older brothers. I was the smart one, too, apparently, I saw the boys screw up but good and I learned from *their* mistakes and never had to meet that corporal side of things...but had I screwed up? Oh yeah.

Anyway, my brothers and I are now a scientist, a school teacher, a career soldier and a writer respectively. We turned out just fine.

9:50 PM  

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