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Unlock the door! ...I just want to ..talk.

Discussion in 'General Discussion' started by toytoy88, Apr 8, 2010.

  1. Nettie

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    Times change. What was acceptable when a lot of us were growing up isn't nearly as acceptable now. Granted, I don't have kids, I have a niece & a nephew. I thought nothing about when they were young, giving them a swat on the butt when they wouldn't listen to stop doing something, etc. It's how I was raised. Now if you do that, someone is going to scream child abuse.

    Now, I only remember a couple of times I actually got "the belt" growing up. I'm sure that the fear of <insert diety> was put into my head at such a young age, I can't recall. And my mom won't tell me. I do know that she had the "killer snap", where she'd snap her fingers twice, then point at you. That meant, "If you don't stop that right now, you're going to get your ass beat." Now, where I learned this, I have no idea. I can't remember ever going against the killer snap. I just stopped whatever I was doing (whining for candy in the store, talking back, whatever kids do to annoy their parents) when it happened.

    One of the few times I remember getting the belt was sort of unjustified. My sister always spent her money as soon as she got her allowance, and would "borrow" from me, sometimes with permission & sometimes she'd just go into my room & take it. Our allowances were left on our dressers, we could put it in our piggy banks, spend, whatever. She happened to not be home when mom left her allowance on the dresser. The week prior, she "borrowed" a dollar from me, saying she would pay me back the next week (wish I would have kept track. Bitch probably still owes me about $500). So I went into her room & took a dollar out of her allowance.

    She ran crying about being "short" on her allowance... I tried to explain, but my dad was having none of it. In his mind, I "stole" from my sister. So I got the belt. Deserved? Not really. Should I have waited until she got home & asked her for my dollar? Yes. Taught me a big lesson though. Even if it's technically mine, don't take it back without asking. That's probably why half my shit is still at my SO's even though I moved out a year ago.
     
  2. MoreCowbell

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    I'm 95% sure I'm on your side of this debate Phil, but to play devil's advocate: what if you didn't?

    I mean, what if you just didn't do the pushups? Didn't run the laps? Etc.?

    There's a limit to how far one can actually punish a child using non-violent means. At the end of the day, you are required to give them shelter, food, water, and let them go to school. Yes, you can take away their Playstation and shit. But what about when you run out of things to take away?

    At the risk of making parenthood sound a bit too much like international relations, isn't any punishment ultimately guaranteed by the threat of violence?
     
  3. Suttree

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    I was beaten once growing up. Just once. Like most of you, I can't remember what it was for, but I can guarantee I was being a little shit. I was about seven years old, and had somehow managed to really piss off my father. Instead of pulling out the belt or any other handy device children are normally beat with, my father, a carpenter, decided to chew on his rage and go out to the shop and fashion his own paddle. He planed it down from an oak board, cut it to shape, and drilled holes in it (for aerodynamic purposes, of course).

    Meanwhile, there I was, sitting alone in my room waiting for the beat down that I knew was about to ensue. The knob spun and the door shot open into my room, filling me with all kinds of terror as he lumbered in. And then I saw the paddle. And it was....awesome. Its handle was grooved for good hand-contour like a sword, and the drilled holes made it look mean. Hell, he even took the time to write down a few impromptu witticisms on it: A sore mind is followed by a sore ass. or Bust a deal, have a feel. From the minute I saw it, the fear took a back seat and all I could think about was how much fun it would be to run around playing with it.

    So there I was. He pointed over to my desk and told me to bend over it. I complied. I placed my hands on the desk and waited. The first blow came down with a stinging whap on my ass. I remained silent. Whap, whap, whap, about three more came down in rapid successions. My ass cheeks were stinging and felt like they were on fire, but I never made a sound. When he finished, I calmly turned around and studied the wonderful device he had made.

    ".....Can I play with that?" I asked.

    That about took it out of him, I think. He was broken. I don't remember him even saying anything, he just kind of wandered out of the room. This is not a testament to how much of a bad ass I am, but to how awesome that paddle looked to a small boy. My ass was black and blue for the next few days, but I had a great time playing with that paddle after I pulled it down from the top of the fridge.

    Moral of the story: If you're going to beat your kids, don't use something that is more intriguing than frightening to them.
     
  4. shegirl

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    Ugh. Can we please not turn this into one of "those" threads. If you want a thread dedicated to appropriate levels of punishment for a child then suggest one.

    I'm older so yes naturally I was spanked. Not normally by my parents but my Grandmother. She was a hard ass because she worked at a jail, she was the intake sergeant and she took no shit from anyone. She wore her hair smoothed back into a very tight ponytail, she even looked bad ass.

    I was a good kid except when it came to dinner time. I was and kind of still am a very picky eater. I hated all vegetables except corn. Every single one. I'd cry at the dinner table gag, sputter and carry on. I knew every trick in the book to aide in getting rid of whatever vial green thing had invaded my plate. When everyone else was done eating I had 15 minutes to clean my plate. I would then be moved to the bar in the kitchen, right next to where not only the wooden spoon hung on the wall but also the string of lollipops, of which one I'd get when I'd done the deed. I don't think I got many of them, rather the spoon across my ass. She had it down, all it took was on good smack. I still wouldn't eat them.

    She'd then tell me she was going to call the ambulance to come take me to the hospital because there must be something wrong with me. I even clearly remember being handcuffed (one hand) to the bar and being told I would stay that way until I finished. I don't remember what happened but I'm willing to bet I gagged down that awful crap.

    Other than that I only remember getting slapped once by my Dad. I'd stayed home from school sick, he worked nights and had just woken. There were dishes that needed to be done. I told me to do them, I said no. I was home sick after all. He told me again using "that" tone so I compiled but not before flipping him off...well to his back, so I thought. He caught the reflection on the glass door of the china cabinet. He got up, told me he saw what I'd just done and I froze. He walked to the kitchen and slapped me not hard enough to leave any marks but a pretty good open handed solid slap.

    I swear to God I thought for months he had eyes in the back of his head until he finally told me how he'd seen me flip him the bird. I was like 12-13 I think.

    My Mom not so much, the one time I remember her trying to beat me it was just stupid all over the place. She'd done laundry and I guess one of her peeves was single socks. As we stood talking I watched her pull a single sock out last with no mate in sight so I laughed. She then turned on me, WITH A SOCK! She swung so hard she ended up hyperextending her elbow. What the fuck kind of damage would a sock do in the first place I don't know but she must have been blinded by her single sock rage.

    She's kind of a hothead. I don't know where I get it.
     
  5. Beefy Phil

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    Your insolence demands a spanking.
     
  6. lolmonster

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    I have 3 brothers. We fought constantly growing up. My mother would always use a wooden spoon to smack us. Whenever you heard the kitchen drawer opening, you knew it was time to get your last few punches in before you got broken up. If you proceeded to fight, she would call my father. We would then be scared all day until he came home and gave us some smacking. Sometimes though, if we were being real shits, when my mother called, he would leave work and come home to deal with it. That's when you knew you were in for it.

    My father never used the belt, he would only hit with the hand. In fact, if he was on a business call, and one of us was being too loud, all it took was a raise of the hand and you were quiet.

    As for the physical activity idea: I mentioned this to my room mate, and he brought up the point that it could lead to aversion of that kind of activity. He gave the example that when he used to fight with his brother, his mother would make them hug after. He said, for a while, this made hugging anyone uncomfortable and not enjoyable. So perhaps this could transfer over to making your kids do physical exercise, and could lead them to not wanting to do physical activities without being forced. I'm not a psychologist, but it would be interesting to see a study done.
     
  7. satan rae

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    When I was growing up my Dad was always the calm one, trying to smooth things over and find sensible resolutions while my Mother thrived on being angry and confrontation. My parents fought constantly from as far back as I can remember and always over the same thing, money. My Mom would try and pull me into their fights and my Dad fought to keep me out of them which sadly, when I was small (5-6) I took as him trying to hide things from me instead of just trying to let me be a kid.

    My Dad worked shift work so more often then not he would have to leave for work in the middle of an argument which left me to deal with the time-bomb that was my Mother. I would try my hardest to be good in the hopes she wouldnt find a reason to be angry with me but it was pointless, once she was in a "mood" nothing would ever be good enough. Most times she would just scream and/or throw things with the threat of violence thrown in, and then other times she would beat me senseless from head to toe.
    I never once "learned my lesson" from these incidents because the reasoning behind them was never constant, sometimes if I left toys out it was no big deal then other times it was as if I had burned the house down. I didn't have any real structure growing up and sadly I envied my friends with parents that knew enough about them to be mad about real reasons.

    I realized as I got older that she was nothing more then a manipulative shrew with some mental illness thrown in for some good measure. It wouldn't matter who was around her she would find a way to fight with them. My Dad finally left her when I was 15 and he wasn't in the position to take me with him so I was stuck with my Mom. Within a week she was having the same arguments with me, almost word for word, that she had with my Father growing up and I realized right then that she would never change.
    Living with her ended pretty badly when she trashed my room for no apparent reason and we got in a huge fight that ended with me punching her out. She tried to have me charged and arrested but nothing ever came of it and I haven't spoken to her since (over ten years) which couldnt make me happier.
     
  8. M4A1

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    I got my ass beat. I, like many others, deserved every one of them. The one that stands out the most was the last one.
    Both of my parents hail from Southern New Mexico. My dad grew up on a farm, and mom on a ranch/farm. They are both huge.

    I was about 13ish. my parents had been divorced for years at this time. My dad had called and told me to tell my mom that the child support check would be a few days late, he was waiting to get paid. I had forgotten to relay this to her. I came home from practice, and they were arguing about the money. He asked me if I had told her, and I hadn't.

    A man that large shouldn't be able to move that fast. 6-7, 280 pounds of former NMSU defensive lineman came across that living room and hauled my 6ft ass up in the air with one hand and proceeded to whip my ass. I remember that it didn't hurt that back, but the shock of it scared me half to death.

    If I ever have kids, I am only planning to swatting them as a last resort. Hopefully they'll learn enough respect as youngsters to not need too many.
     
  9. cdite

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    For the record I too will slap my daughter if I ever wake up for work and walk into this conversation.
     
  10. scotchcrotch

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    I was beaten when I was little, I deserved it.

    Now my wife and I are adopting, and we have to sign a contract stating we will not lay a hand on our kids or we may lose custody.


    No comment.
     
  11. Aetius

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    Everyone knows it's stupid to hit a dog, because it's less effective than positive reinforcement and in most cases the dog will reach a point where it bites. But beating your kids with a leather implement is just common sense. Ya'll are a bunch of fucking retards.

    Focus: I was spanked on rare occasions and in one incident my dad lost his temper and delivered a right hook to my jaw. In his defense I was being a little shit, but jesus did that punch do nothing but make me lose my mind with rage. At that point he would have had to knock me unconscious to get me to stop.
     
  12. Racer-X

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    Like some of the other people in this thread, my parents did not believe in sparing the rod. I was hit with most everything in the house: belt, wooden spoon, paddle, bare hand, yardstick. Basically anything that was convenient.

    My parents did two things that I especially appreciate now that I'm a little bit older and wiser.

    If I really pissed off my parents they would always send me to my room so they could cool off and not punish me when they were really mad.

    When I needed to be punished but wasn't getting spanked, they would send me to time out in the bathroom. They didn't send me to my room because I had toys and stuff in there and I couldn't claim that I needed to go to the bathroom to get a break because I was already in there.

    The first one I now recognize is just good parenting and the second is pretty clever.
     
  13. Brevin

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    My old man is an alcoholic, and my childhood was filled with broken promises, playing one child off against the other / mother, lies, and beatings - half of what I deserved half was alcohol fuelled. I am a middle child, and the smallest in my family, so naturally I had something to prove.

    My brother was always huge for his age (currently at 23 he stands at 6'6" 120kgs - roughly 275lbs for you yanks) but i continuously tried to take him on. He, like my father is a liar, and I would forever get sick of my shit going missing and turning up in his possesion claming he had the exact same one. One day when i was about 11ish, I snapped, was sick of trying to take him on and getting my ass whooped so I smacked him in the head with a broken broomstick that was in the trash and he ended up with lumps the size of tennis balls on his head.

    Of course my father found out about it, and instead of getting the usual belt - or wooden spoon by my mother, he confronted me face to face about it when he got back from the pub. He was shitfaced, and I told him why I did it, and when he told me I was in the wrong, I called him a "fucking old cunt" who was "always taking everyone else's side." In a quick and solid movement he dropped me with a fist the size of a soccer ball, and instantly I lost the little respect I had for him, as well as my conscieness (sp?)

    In the following ten years that came, he ranged from being my best friend to my worst enemy within a matter of drinks,. Often playing me off against my mother when they would fight and always reminding me of that moment and that I would be never big enough to take him on. He came home from work (read: Pub) this December just gone, shitfaced, and was angry with me that his internet wasn't working. (ISP Problem, nothing to do with me) and he lost his shit. Threatening me, throwing my computer, server, brand new oakleys around and I drew the final straw when he threatened to drag my girlfriend outside by her hair and leave her on the street. I wound back and knocked him out, one hit, and he collasped. I was then pushed off him by my brother who was enjoying every minute of of the damage getting done to my stuff and fell through the window in the lounge and nearly lost my arm (extensive ligament, tenden, nerve damage)

    Haven't spoken to him since, and am mighty glad for it.
     
  14. Spoz

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    I was what most would call a problem child. I drove my parents insane, and I'm pretty sure I was only about 12 when I was first brought home by the police. I got my share of beatings, though none of them were bad enough to scare me straight.

    One threat my dad reserved for special occasions was the "Atomic Wedgie". Yes, he had a sense of humour. The atomic wedgie, he described, is characterised by being lifted into the air by ones underpants and carried to ones room for time-out. In between the living areas and the bedrooms was a flight of stairs.

    I personally never got to feel the atomic wedgie, but my brother once did and I had the pleasure of watching. It was beautiful and rare, like a solar eclipse, and the threat of one became infinitely more powerful after witnessing the spectacle with my own eyes.
     
  15. fleafly

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    I was the youngest of 5 kids. I rarely got in trouble and was only spanked once when I was very little. I don't know if it was because I was the youngest and learned from my older siblings’ mistakes or because I was the youngest and my parents lost all their will to punish me.

    My dad's philosophy was, I make a mistake I deal with the consequences, he wasn't going to clean up my mess. I have one this really stands out. It was the last day of my junior year and I ran up to the local gas station to get something to drink before some friends came over. As I was walking out of the gas station I saw them pulling up in their car. We talked for a couple minutes and went to head back to my place. Since I was a bad ass in my 1984 Dodge Aries I cranked the wheel and put the peddle to the floor. My car spun around 180 degrees and I was headed straight for the gas pumps. Thoughts of every movie I had ever seen flashed through my head. Gas spraying and a gigantic explosion. I slammed on the breaks and my car hit the gas pump. I sat there in a state of shock for what seemed like forever. Then I noticed a whooshing sound. Again the thoughts of gas pouring out of the pump and a gigantic explosion went through my head.

    I stepped out of the car to see that the whooshing sound wasn't gas leaking out of the pump but rather the air leaking out of my tire. My friends are hanging out of there car laughing their asses off. I had no idea what to do so I told them to go get my dad since I lived 3 blocks away. As I'm waiting for the old man I look in the gas station window to see the attendant standing mouth agape in disbelief of what just happened. My dad and my friends pulled up. The old man steps out of the car, looks over the scene, turns to me and says: "Good job." He then proceeds to get back in the car and leave me to deal with it.

    I eventually got my head about me, pulled my car back and changed the tire. But if that doesn't sum up the old mans attitude then nothing will accurately describe it.
     
  16. fertuska

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    The best memory is me sitting up high in a tree and grandma waving a broom yelling at me: "I told you not to climb trees, you'll fall and hurt yourself! Come down NOW!" I knew she was gonna hit me with that broom so I climbed even higher, out of her reach. Grandma fail. I sat there until my mom came home, laughed at both of us, told me to come down and just scolded me for not listening to grandma.

    All the spankings I got I deserved. The kitchen was on the 1st floor of the house, and my sister and I shared a room upstairs. We were always fighting, mom was always yelling at us to stop. When we didn't, she'd pull out the wooden spoon very loudly, slam the drawer even louder, and start going up the stairs. Very slowly and very loudly. That always made me and my sister stop fighting, run away in opposite directions and hide. When my mom found us, we'd get the spanking. And the first one who got hit would sometimes help her find the other one. Was great when I was helping angry mom find my sis, not so great the other times.

    One time I was fighting with my sister. I forget over what, but it must've involved Polly Pockets, because my dad came storming in, and decided to punish me by stepping on my Polly Pocket. Except he didn't know which one was mine and stepped on my sister's. Cue in my sister's wailing cries and my trying to look even more distressed (so he doesn't realize he stepped on hers and leaves mine undamaged). Yeah. He figured it out and stepped on mine too.
     
  17. falconjets

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    Looking back it's a bit of a miracle I turned out alright.
    My parents worked a lot, as in coming home before 8 was a surprise, and after my brother went to college after my freshman year of high school I was home alone regularly. I don't ever remember any epic beatings, I'm sure I got spanked a few times but for some reason I still had this great fear of my parents. They're not intimidating people in any way, my dad's only 5'8" and my mom has been shorter than me since about 6th grade.
    The only story that really sticks out is the day I decided it would be a good idea to steal shoes from a store in the mall. The dumbest part about this story is that I had worked all morning shoveling snow and had made 100 dollars, but I didn't want to see 70 of it gone right away to shoes, so I hatched an elaborate plan. It failed. The worst part about it was that my best friend and his mom were at the mall with me (his mom was on her own with one of his sisters while we were roaming) and she had to come to the store to get them to let me go. I sat at home for four hours after his mom had called mine waiting for my parents to get home, but didn't get hit. The madre just made me go to the store with her the next day and apologize.

    The anticipation of seeing them and the embarrassment of having to see them and explain what happened was by far the worst part. Did much more than any beating could, I just remember wanting to fast forward five years so I would be able to say that the incident was in the past and not have to relive it anymore. Now i just laugh at my stupidity.
     
  18. IAmWillIAm

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    If it prevents my kids from turning into this little shit, you better believe it.
     
    #38 IAmWillIAm, Apr 8, 2010
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 27, 2015
  19. FuckerTax

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    I mainly decided to post because I haven't heard of anyone having to "pick their own switch." While, I never had to do this I have heard of a few people that have had to. My ex for example, grew up in the fucking sticks. She used to tell me about when she was little, fuck, probably all the way through middle school, whenever she would get in trouble her dad would go make her "pick her switch." It's where she would have to go pick a stick off a tree for him to hit her with it. I can't remember the details of it but I remember it had to be a skinnier stick that I assume would hurt more than a solid one. If the right stick wasn't chosen there was some kind of worse consequence (although I can't imagine how it could get much worse.) I always thought that was so fucked up. A lot of you have talked about the psychological games played in your punishment... I can't imagine having to go pick the stick you're going to get beat with.

    Anyway, there's something I've always wondered and I don't know if it has happened to anyone else. But, I remember getting spanked when I was little, it was always Dad and he would have to be really pissed. I never got a paddle, or belt, or anything, just his bare hand. Anyway, it seemed that just about every time he would spank me he would check my ass (I guess to see how red it was,) I never figured out if he was checking to see if he hit hard enough or hit too hard judging by the hand print. That's my spanking contribution.
     
  20. Beefy Phil

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    Assholes raise children like that. Assholes deserve children like that. He shlopped his dickmilk into her sexhole. Now they get to deal with it.