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I am posting about my personal experiences as a child and that of a parent.
- I have an expectation that comments will respectful.
- While I do not intent to flag comments, any person who attacks or has malicious statements will muted and possibly unfollowed.
- All opinions, including my own, are subjective so be objective about another person's point of view.
As I've stated earlier, I am aware how controversial this topic is. Most people only see the black & white of it and rarely the gray areas. I'm going to start off by saying that I do condone corporal punishment solely based on my experiences and attitude as a child, and how I incorporated what I learned from my youth into parenthood.
'John, go deal with your children.'
Mom never had a problem spanking us. She didn't often use the belt, but more like whatever was in her possession at the time: pot, giant wood spoon wall decorations, broom, book...
More often than not, she would say, "Wait 'til your father comes home," and after commuting and working a long day, he'd come home to my stressed-out mother and beat the offending child.
That's just the way it was.
In truth, if we were going to get hit, I preferred my father's belt over my mother's furious pounding. I suspect she was taking her rage and frustration out on me and when she hit, she was out of control whereas dad was...measured.
As a young adult, before I had kids of my own, my father and I often sat at the kitchen table having great conversations. One night he'd had a bit too much to drink and out of nowhere started talking about the mistakes he made being a father. You see, his own mother died when he was three. His father died when he was 11. His grandmother and stepmother raised him. He had no real male figure to guide him. Add the fact that he was only 21 when he became a father. He was just a kid, right? What the hell did he know about parenting?
He admitted that he took parenting advice from some of his Army buddies. They all agreed: Spare the rod, spoil the child. They were parents so they must know what they're talking about. So that's what he did.
Dad admitted the few memories of his own father were bad ones. In fact, called him an asshole piece of shit.
I told him truthfully: I was never mad about my punishment. I never hated him because of it.
In my perspective, I suffered the consequences of my actions. Cause and Effect. There were times when I got hit for something I didn't do, often taking ownership of my siblings' infractions, but that was a means to a way. I was pretty tyrannical because most of the time I played "parent" and didn't have the freedom to just go out and play. One might say there was a little resentment there.
But I digress.
Lessons I'd learned from corporal punishment
There were healthy lessons in my experiences under a heavy hand.
Dad didn't beat us for the sake of beating us. There was always a reason and a lesson to be learned from it. While some people may be offended by the following, please note that everything I know about love I learned from my dad. Everything I know about being fair, having an open mind, accepting people as they are came from my dad. I would never vilify him, but what I'm about to share may seem harsh. I don't see it that way.
The truth might hurt, but lying hurts more.
My family was kind of poor and one thing that busted the budget was the fact that I needed glasses. I wasn't used to wearing them full time so I had a nice carry case and only put my glasses on when I needed to see distance items like the chalk board.
Well, it was spring time and we were going to Girl Scout Camp. I'd brought my brand new glasses with me...and lost them at camp. For fear of being punished, I didn't tell my parents...and my grades suffered for it. On occasion, my parents asked me about my glasses but I told them I only needed them for the board. I didn't admit that I had lost them. But then one day about a month later, my father wanted to see my glasses. The jig was up and I was in a position where I had to tell him they were long gone.
He was furious! Expensive new glasses. Lost within a week of getting them. Didn't tell anyone for a month.
He doled out the only harshest punishment he could think of.
"Go get my belt." So I did.
"You're grounded for 30 days and gonna get a belt for every day you lied."
And that was it. I understood that it wasn't losing an expensive item that got me in trouble. It was the fact that I didn't fess up. I accepted my punishment and got 30 lashings.
Yeah, that shit hurt but by the time he was done, I was numb and he was crying. I don't even remember if I got all 30, but when he was finally done he didn't say a word and went back downstairs.
I was black and blue from the bottom of my back to the backs of my knees, but I didn't hate him for it. To me, it was just.
That was when I truly understood that lying hurt - a lot. And blatant omission of the truth also meant lying. In my head, it was a way to physically associate the pain of lying - and being lied to. Kind of like sticking a screwdriver into an electric outlet and getting zapped. I only had to do it once before I learned it was a bad thing.
About 20 days into being grounded and it was hot outside. I kept occupied in my room while everyone was outside swimming and playing.
Dad called upstairs. "Meredith, I think you've been grounded long enough. Get your suit on and go out and play."
I didn't want to because I still had visible bruises on my legs. I knew if I wore my swimsuit then everyone would see them. I didn't want dad to see them.
"It's okay, dad. I'm reading."
He insisted and there was no arguing...and I really did want to go swimming. Our attic bedroom, which I shared with my two sisters, was very hot.
Covered up as best as I could with a towel, I headed out the door. Dad stopped me. His eyes wide and jaw dropped a little.
"I did that to you."
It wasn't a question. I think he was talking more to himself. I tried to cover up and hide the ugly truth from him but I couldn't.
I told him it was okay and that they didn't hurt.
"No. That's not okay. It's never gonna happen again."
That was the last time my father took a belt to me.
I fessed up
Then there was that time when I was in the storage shed where dad kept all his tools. I was trying to get something in the loft but in order to do so, I had to navigate the tall, heavy ladder. I did a bang up job of it...and broke the light fixture in the process. As I stared at the broken glass, I just knew I was going to get a beating. So I cleaned up the glass and took a moment to gird my loins before heading into the house to face my father.
"Dad? I accidentally broke the light in the shed. I was trying to move the ladder and hit it. I cleaned up the glass. I'm sorry."
His bushy eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at me. I wondered how many belts I was going to get for it.
To my surprise he asked me if I was okay and if I had cut myself on the glass.
When he got up I knew this was it. sigh But he surprised me again. "Well, let's go see what kind of damage you did."
I know I stood there for a moment. "Should I get the belt?" Yeah, dumbass - why don't you volunteer for an ass-whoopin'?.
His response was crystal clear. "I can't punish you if you tell the truth. If you lied about it and I found out... Do you understand?"
Got it, dad. Telling the truth might be uncomfortable, but lying really sucks.
How far could I go without getting hit?
Being spanked, belted, and occasionally whacked upside the head, I learned pretty early on what would set my parents off. In my house we had rules and laws. Rules could be bent sometimes, but if you broke a house law, BOOM.
LAWS: A child shall not...
- embarrass one's family in public - EVER.
- disrespect one's parents or the elderly.
- start fights. (But we were also taught if anyone started a fight with us, we had their permission to finish it.)
- lie, cheat, or steal.
Be on your best behavior. Be polite. Be courteous and helpful. Follow directions.
Those are reasonable expectations from your child. But if we didn't live up to those laws, you can believe there was hell to pay.
Kids will always push the boundaries. I did. My kids did.
We weren't hit for every infraction but we also geared our behavior to avoid the belt...most of the time.
Corporal punishment on my kids
We are all shaped by our experiences with the free will to choose what and what not to do. Being the mother of three boys has its challenges. Before I became pregnant, I just knew what motherhood was all about. I swore I would never hit my kids. Then they were old enough to get into everything and say 'NO' to me.
Something in my brain clicked. These kids have to know what the consequences are. But I didn't haul off and hit them like a crazy woman. I had ground rules.
- I will never spank when I'm out of control and too angry.
- I will not use anything other than my hand.
No help from the husband
My husband at the time was, at best, a part time dad. He worked, slept, and was often too busy screwing other people to help raise the boys or support me in any way. His time with the boys was always fun time and to hell with sleep schedules, nighttime snacks, or general rough-housing inside.
But keeping my father in mind, I self-imposed a rule to punish at the moment and not wait until their father came home because, quite honestly, I think that is unfair.
If you miss your family because you've been at work all day, and all's quiet when you come home, why should you have to be the bad guy? My mother was good for that. I was not going to be like my mother.
Dealing with 3 different personalities
My kids are completely different so their punishment was not the same across the board.
Did spanking really work with my kids?
This is debatable. Being that they are completely different personalities, I've got mixed results.
Spanking was effective on my oldest child, but I can count how many times he was actually spanked by me on one hand. At the time I had suspicions that he might be on the autism scale...much like me, but internet wasn't prevalent and everyone thought I was crazy for trying to say something was wrong with him.
That's a whole other topic.
Anyway - my point is - it only took one whack on the butt for him to realize doing X meant Y would happen. It sunk into his head very easily because it was black and white, and that's how he processes things - with very defined lines.
My youngest child was always a natural pleaser. I never really had problems with him. In fact, if I was angry or upset about something, he was there like a cat wanting me to scratch his back or rub his feet. A regular deferment genius, I tell ya!
But my middle child... Oh yes... My middle child... He crossed those very defined lines that I established with my oldest and got a whack and sent to his room. But then he'd proceed to piss on his brother's bed because he was mad. It took a while to get it through my head that spanking didn't work on him. He upped the ante on how bad he could be. I never resorted to the belt because I imagine he's probably piss on MY bed or set the curtains on fire. Naw, not really...but maybe?
The most effective punishment for him was obviously not spanking. I've actually had to take his computer apart and he earned the parts back one at a time... with good behavior. Sometimes that took a really, really long time
But here's my deal. I do believe spanking is an appropriate tool in a parent's arsenal because it's a very visceral lesson in cause and effect for toddlers. They understand OUCH. But if you spank when you're angry then there is a risk of being out of control, flirting with outright abuse.
We turned out all right
Some perspectives may view my childhood experiences as abuse. I've never seen it that way. I'm not broken. In fact, I would say that I'm a stronger person because I took the punishment and used a positive mindset to steer my life.
I don't hold any grudges against my parents and I would never say that I'm a 'victim' of my childhood because I got belted...even when I was black and blue.
My kids are grown now and they're all right too. In fact, I'd say they were more well-adjusted than a lot of their friends because I held firm and sometimes had to give them a whack with a steady hand and set boundaries. They learned about consequences. It was my duty raising them to understand that sometimes shit goes bad; sometimes it hurts. You have to take the lesson and make adjustments or stay on the hamster wheel and keep getting in trouble.
I'm pleased to say that my kids can talk to me about anything...and boy, have they! From girls, to drinking and smoking pot, problems with their job, a friend, or just calling to say they love me.
And you know what? We all survived each other and venture into this world armed with lessons that may have been beat into us, but we can tackle any obstacle. And we're all okay.
Three generations of my family taking a traditional group photo.
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Meredith Loughran blogs at ScribblingBandits.com | Follow her on Twitter & SnapChat or LinkedIn