When I was growing up, my dad's form of discipline was his belt - which he always wore. I was a pretty good kid for two reasons *ONE* I didn't want to disappoint my parents and more importantly *TWO* fear of the belt. I'm sure some of you out there understand that last reason.
Here's an embarrassing story about just how much these fears were seated within my head.
****************
So I was hanging out with my dad while he was talking with a friend of his out by the fence one day. I can't remember what the issue was, but for some reason I started to throw a little hissy fit about something. My dad told me to stop whining or go in the house.
Well, I kept pouting and sniveling and being a little bastard. My dad reached up and took a leaf from our sycamore tree. Not a branch...not a twig...not even a few leaves. Just one, big, soft, floppy leaf. And then proceeded to beat my little tiny butt with it. You wouldn't believe how hard I was crying, and screaming about how it hurt...
After about 4 or 5 swats with the leaf of deadly terror, he stopped, grabbed me by the arm, and told me to stop crying, and look at him. Which of course I did with only minimal sniffling and wiping of snot from my nose. Dad then proceeded to show me what he was beating me with and asked me if it really hurt or not. I thought about saying yes, but I would have felt dumber than I already did.
Looking back I laugh at how silly I was, and how deep the fear of disappointing my parents ran. It would be nice if kids nowadays had that fear and respect.
I miss my dad, Jimmy.
Pete "Blind-dog" Jones (1939 - 1999)
2 comments:
I love this tribute. It's so sweet and funny.
ah yes, the leaf. Do you remember the soft foam? My favorite was hitting his own hand behind your butt - never actually touching you. And yes, you acted like you were receiving a beating. He loved you so much. I miss him too.
Post a Comment