By CC THE TRAINED MONKEY
I was in the grocery store the other day and there was this kid who was pitching a fit because his mother wouldn’t buy him a package of liverwurst. The thing is, the kid didn’t even like liverwurst, he just liked the packaging. His mom knew this, which is why she said she wasn’t going to buy it for him. He responded to this egregious affront by slapping her in the face. I froze, waiting for her counter-response. After a moment of deliberation she responded with the “no response” response and simply wheeled on. I confess I was surprised, and it got me thinking about how discipline has changed over the years.
In my day, had I attempted to slap my mother in the face, the punishment would have been death. First she would have killed me, then my father would have killed me again when we got home, just in case I was only mostly, but not completely, dead.
For every other form of misbehavior however, spanking was pretty much the punishment de jour. A few times we got it with the belt and boy, we sure did feel sorry for ourselves … until we saw our neighbors get it with a lilac bush switch, then we thought we had it pretty darn good. And what was even worse was that they had to pick the switch they were going to get whipped with! They usually picked the thinnest one, thinking it would hurt the least. Wrong. The thin ones hurt the most. I remember staring out the kitchen window and watching in horror as my friend would cut his switch. With my hands pressed upon the glass I’d scream at him, “Noooo! Pick the fat one, dummy! Pick the fat one!”
Sometimes I’d see our other neighbors, two boys, running down the sidewalk with their mother hot on their heels and armed with a wooden spoon. They thought they were pretty funny. I thought they were pretty stupid because their dad was a cop and he carried a gun. Why would you even wanna take that chance?
Sometimes just the threat of punishment was enough to keep you in line, but it had to be really clever and evocative. I’m not sure whose parents coined it, but two thumbs way up to the inventors of “skin you alive,” as in, “If I ever catch you doing that again, I will skin you alive.” That was really effective for those of us whose dads hunted because we knew what that looked like. A skinned elk hanging in the garage was a common sight during hunting season. It wasn’t a big stretch to visualize your carcass up there in place of the animal’s.
I still remember the day my mother walked into my room and said, “Get in the car.” She didn’t say why, or where we were going, which led me to the obvious conclusion – she had found out that I was the one who stole the piece of chocolate cake and now I was going be taken out into the woods, tied to a tree and skinned alive. It seemed a cruel ending to my young life, but it’s not like I hadn’t been warned.
Turns out we were only headed to the airport to pick up her friend — but it sure did put the fear of death into me and I never stole another piece of cake after that … without leaving solid physical evidence behind that could easily be traced back to my little sister.
Things have changed a lot since then, though. Nowadays, people are into “positive redirection,” whatever that is, and “time out.” Time out. Pfff, please. That NEVER would have worked on me but hey, it’s always good to try new things. Except, just the other day I went to my friend’s house to play with her one-year-old and she was in a total panic. “I just heard that time outs are bad!” she cried. “Somebody said they’re the worst thing you can do to your child. Oh my god, what am I going to do now?!”
I said to her what I’m going to say to all of you now, so listen up. It doesn’t matter whether you spank your kids, or threaten them, or put them in a time out. In the end they’re still going to throw you into some creepy, depressing ol’ old folks home that has one communal tv with no cable access, pink walls and smells like urine. Let that thought be the light that guides you in your disciplinary decision.
Missing Missoula
CC The Trained Monkey
Click here to see CC’s blog archive.
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BIO: Carol Chrest is a bitter old spinster living in Los Angeles. When she’s not working ridiculous hours at her cruddy day job, she writes screenplays. She drinks. Back to CC’s Bloghomepage.
And don’t forget the ever popular “Wait til your father gets home!”. I bit my sister on the leg once, over some marbles that came in the cereal box. Unfortunately I did it early in the day, so I got the “father” card played all day. By 5:00 I was a quivering puddle of goo, and was begging to be punished. I guess it worked, I never bit my sister again, although I did come up with creative new ways to torture her.
I have never understood the Time Out. Time out from what? Bad behavior? No big deal, I can easily catch up on that in just a few minutes. In fact, Time Out is a good time to plan your next bad behavior. And even if it doesn’t work it sure has to make the parent feel better than just walking away muttering, “I can’t kill her, I had my tubes tied…”
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I witnessed a similar in-store incident the other day, but it was a well-deserved kick over stupid cookies that sucked. Parental abuse is not just a California craze.
Child rearing had another meaning back then. And what about the latitude our teachers were given? Corporal punishment was general punishment. Of course students could fight back with out the fear of arrest too, so I guess it’s all relative. I was telling my 13 year-old about “how it used to be” in school. She thought I was making it up…
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I loved Spare the Rod and enjoyed the above comments just as much! I am a retired teacher turned grandmother who substituted in Middle School all last week and decided maybe I would get more satisfaction and certainly earn more money working at Herberger’s on Black Friday!
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I remember the dreaded counting….never wanting my Mom to ever ever get to the number 3. I have seen the number three reached with my two older sisters and knew being the only boy that my outcome would be more severe and “death” would be on my doorstep.
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Oh my god, I totally remember when teachers were allowed to punish us. My third grade teacher smacked me upside the head one time during a crafts project FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER… that I’m willing to admit. I went home and told my mother and she said, “Well, you must have been doing something wrong.” That’s why we behaved; there were no safe harbors for us. Except Grandma, of course.
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My eighth grade teacher–Mr. Shepard–used to have a paddle that he’d use on kids who misbehaved. And if a paddle isn’t bad enough…his had holes in it…I guess to make the impact even greater–go figure! HA! You talk about an effective deterrent. He never had a reason/opportunity to use it on me…but if he had, and my folks found out….their wrath would have made his paddling seem like a walk in the park!
Oh, and BTW, Mr.Shepard is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet in your life! He and his wife have raised beautiful boys–who now have kids of their own. But if Missoula is invaded by zombies (see one of CC’s previous blog posts), Mr. Shepard will be one of the first guys I choose for my team. He has a paddle–and he knows how to use it!!!
And yes you’re right, it was definitely a different time in history. But I would assert that some of us turned out all right…and if it worked for us, maybe it wasn’t all bad huh???
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Mr. Shepard was a real educator, and he disciplined the rich kids, poor kids …it didn’t matter who, so some of the spoiled jerks were very surprised when he came bouncing around the corner, steely grey eyes at a mere slit.. and all hell broke lose.
The only graduation my folks went to was the eigth grade… and only because Mr. Shepard was very proud I made it through to highschool, so they weren’t going to let on that Mr. Shepard would have shamed them for not showing up, after their reasons why I did so poorly in school….Walking up to the stage, scared out of my wits that I would trip or pass out, and then be shamed bt my step father.. Mr. Shepard shook my hand and said “well Shawn you made it… congradulations” The only one I heard, and yes went on to the Military, then a couple years of College….it was then I found out from other sources, that my harshest critic, my Stepfather….never graduated from High School himself.
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Carol, I too had Tom Shepard, however I had the distict displeasure of being on the recieving end of the paddle with holes in it. Mick Seitz and I had been throwing snowballs at the school. Not at people, the school. A building made of brick. Apparently this was not acceptable behavior, when Mr. Shepard caught us, we were brought in and given three swats each with the “paddle.” Talk about a board of education. I talked to Tom about this a while back and he said if that were to happen today I would be awarded millions and he would be terminated.
But Tom was nothing compared to Mr. Cole, the music teacher who had the attention of hundreds of middle school kids. It wasn’t just his cowboy dominance, his bull whip brought a little respect to the room. I never saw anyone hit by the bull whip, but Jim knew how to use it and gave us a demonstration on the first day of class. Imagine a middle school choir director keeping 250 kids on task today.
And our kids think we make this stuff up.
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Randy–I TOTALLY Remember Jim Cole’s “bigger than life” persona…and his bull whip. He was one SCARY dude! But when I think of how many students he inspired….and how well he prepared them for high school choir…and LIFE in general, I’m able to forgive his “iron hand”. My guess is that Mr. Narum and other choral directors/teachers around Missoula were grateful for Jim Cole’s ability to maintain order and actually TEACH kids music! Fun remembering Randy!
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My older girls attended Target Range School with Mr. Bud Beagle at the helm. Our motto in our home was if you can live with strict guidelines and expectations in school/life situations, you can pretty much handle anything! And if you had difficulty handling some strict rules at school, you’d be in double trouble at home! Hats off to the Bud Beagles, Jim Coles, and Tom Shepards!
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Ah yes, Jim Cole. . . I was in the regular school choir, and the one that was called “All City Choir” with Mr. Cole at the helm of both. Yes, he scared the livin’ daylights out of us — but he had no difficulties whatsoever with maintaining control. And yes, in spite of the “tough guy” persona, he did inspire a love of music in me. I went on to sing in several of Hellgate’s choirs, all led by Neil Dahlstrom (a most amazing man!)
I also fondly recall my 6th grade teacher, one Mr. Fister, who changed careers in his mid-50s to become a middle school teacher. Say what?! Who would CHOOSE this career in their mid-50s?! He used “interesting” techniques to keep the classroom goof-offs in check. His favorite was tossing his car keys – hard – at the culprit, usually hitting the side of the head dead-on. Have to admit I hated those few brief weeks when I sat directly in front of one of the frequent recipients — way too close for comfort!
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Thanks Randy, I had blocked most of that!
I remember Mr. Cole walking into the gym and dumping a bag of garbage out on the floor. He’d walked the playground and picked it all up before music class. He stood there and glared for a minute, followed by a booming 10 minute lecture. Then dead silence as he looked each one of us in the eye. You could have heard a pin drop. La la la la la laaaaaaa. I think we all became sopranos that day. The only act of defiance I can remember in his class was a group of us altering the words to “One Tin Soldier”. Weird Al would’ve been proud. His baton was much more feared than his bull whip.
I think Mr. Shepard’s jaw clenching was scarier than his paddle… I also remember a student who was peeing on the other boys in the shower after gym class, a certain unnamed teacher stormed in and drug him down the hall to the principal’s office naked!
Wow, this is like group therapy!
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Funny stuff, as usual Carol. LOVE the Princess Bride reference!!
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I heard “skin you alive” more times than I can count! OMG, you are a complete laugh riot. I so enjoy your articles, keep them coming.
Once when I was 12 yrs old, my mom, decided it was time for a “beating,” as apparently I had commited an infraction. For the life of me I cannot remember what this particular inappropriate thing was … however, mom reached into the kitchen drawer and seized the wooden spoon. Yes, my mother’s favorite implements were either the wooden spoon or the plastic spatula … once, the can of Mr. Muscle she had in her hand … but I digress. She held the wooden spoon up and shook it at me in a threatening manner. I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Only 1 to 1/2 an inch of handle and the top of the spoon were showing above her fist. Apparently the dishwasher (which we finally had with our latest apartment) had caused the spoon to shrink. Ah, shrinkage factor with wooden utensils, who’d thought it. I avoided the beat down when my mother asked me what was so funny. All I could do was point to the spoon sadly displayed in her white knuckled grip … she burst out laughing as well.
Speaking of spankings, if you prefer the polite term. In 2nd grade, Ms. Fisher had to have a new paddle fashioned because she broke the old white, trimline paddle on my butt one day. So, the janitor made her a new “battleship” type paddle. It was nearly coffin shaped with a handle wrapped in gray duct tape, and it was an inch thick. It was, in fact, unbreakable…as she tested it quite thoroughly on my backside.
I’m thankful I am an aunt and do not have children of my own. My cats, dogs, and horses are handful enough.
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