In my house growing up we called it "the spanking spoon". Fortunately it was a facetious term and I never felt it's wrath.“Wooden spoon”????
I didn’t even know that was a thing
Its funny Friday!
- Thread starter rgranger
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LOL! That was our mother's goto .“Wooden spoon”????
I didn’t even know that was a thing
I was thinking it had something to do with sanitation. My mom turned that job over to my dad… and he used his belt
For me, no spoon. It was a leather belt, needed often enough that it was left hanging, readily available, over my bedroom door knob.
One day, the belt wasn't on the door knob when my younger brother and I got in trouble with our mother for something.
Don't ask, I don't remember what we got in trouble for.
Our father wasn't there, he must have been wearing the belt that day. So, our mother sent my brother and me into her bedroom to fetch a belt and come back for our spanking. Jim, my brother, and I went to find the two biggest belts our father had in his closet and the smallest, lightest pink cloth belt our mother owned.
We each grabbed a pillow off our parents' bed and used the huge leather belts to strap them to our tiny little tushies, then carried the little pink belt out to our angry mother. We handed her, her little belt and immediately spun around and bent over, presenting our piqued parent with a pair of pillow protected posteriors.
Our mother laughed so hard she couldn't even lift that little belt to hit us with it.
-Will
One day, the belt wasn't on the door knob when my younger brother and I got in trouble with our mother for something.
Don't ask, I don't remember what we got in trouble for.
Our father wasn't there, he must have been wearing the belt that day. So, our mother sent my brother and me into her bedroom to fetch a belt and come back for our spanking. Jim, my brother, and I went to find the two biggest belts our father had in his closet and the smallest, lightest pink cloth belt our mother owned.
We each grabbed a pillow off our parents' bed and used the huge leather belts to strap them to our tiny little tushies, then carried the little pink belt out to our angry mother. We handed her, her little belt and immediately spun around and bent over, presenting our piqued parent with a pair of pillow protected posteriors.
Our mother laughed so hard she couldn't even lift that little belt to hit us with it.
-Will
It wasn't the woopin' it was the waitin'... you know...
"Wait 'till your father gets home"
"Wait 'till your father gets home"
Now, if a parent so much as swats their child on the seat of the pants for some misdeed, they get arrested for abuse. Result: we have a couple of generations of brats with no manners. Whatever happened to “Spare the rod and spoil the child”? ( Granted there is a line between corporal punishment and out and out abuse. )
My friend who lived across the street never got spanked. Instead, his parents were yellers. I was witness to more than one violent tirade in which I felt abused, right along with my friend, even though the fits of yelling weren't about me.
In his room, I said to my friend, "Man, I'd much much rather be spanked then yelled at like that." He smiled and said, "Not me, I'd rather be yelled at than hit."
-Will
In his room, I said to my friend, "Man, I'd much much rather be spanked then yelled at like that." He smiled and said, "Not me, I'd rather be yelled at than hit."
-Will
My mom and dad would both mete out corporal punishment… my mom preferred a wire clothes hanger…dad preferred a belt.
One day, I did something that mom thought deserving of a swat or 2. We were in the basement and no clothes hangers…so she grabbed a short piece of wood and proceeded to smack me on the arse a few times. Then she left to run an errand….I remember thinking that those sways hurt more than usual…so I checked my rump in the mirror…little red holes everywhere she smacked me. I went down and checked the board she used…it had a nail in the end of it!
I still remind my 84 year old mama about that when I think she needs to be humbled
Greg
One day, I did something that mom thought deserving of a swat or 2. We were in the basement and no clothes hangers…so she grabbed a short piece of wood and proceeded to smack me on the arse a few times. Then she left to run an errand….I remember thinking that those sways hurt more than usual…so I checked my rump in the mirror…little red holes everywhere she smacked me. I went down and checked the board she used…it had a nail in the end of it!
I still remind my 84 year old mama about that when I think she needs to be humbled
Greg
Speaking of that generation or 2 of brats….here is a quick fix
Happy New Year!
Greg
Happy New Year!
Greg
I always told my son that he had an older brother, but he didn't know how to behave.
-Will
-Will
I think with all this ass beating we probably developed stronger tighter butts.
My uncle Dave was a real woodsman, big man, keen nose, etc. my brother and I lived with my cousins on the farm one summer…
We decided to sit on the front porch and flick “strike anywhere“ matches off the front porch. When my uncle came home from work, he started sniffing and asked who was lighting matches? All 4 of us said we did. He lined us up for our whooping, my oldest cousin, me, my brother and the youngest cousin.
First cousin got his whooping, and as soon as he cried, my Uncle moved on to me…I held out for a few swats, but cried and he moved on to my little brother…he didn’t notice the trend, or was more of a man than I was... Took a lot more swats before finally crying and finally Uncle Dave moved on to my littlest cousin…he was no fool…he had played the game before…I think he cried before the first swat (uncle Dave used his bare hand…no belt or switch needed for him) even landed on my cousin’s rump…
But we did get back at Uncle Dave…we went down to the grain silo, shot some pigeons, and asked Aunt Patsy to cook them up like game hens and feed them to Uncle Dave. She played along and Dave was non-the-wiser until we told him he ate pigeon. But he figured they were grain fed…so why not?
The good old days
Greg
We decided to sit on the front porch and flick “strike anywhere“ matches off the front porch. When my uncle came home from work, he started sniffing and asked who was lighting matches? All 4 of us said we did. He lined us up for our whooping, my oldest cousin, me, my brother and the youngest cousin.
First cousin got his whooping, and as soon as he cried, my Uncle moved on to me…I held out for a few swats, but cried and he moved on to my little brother…he didn’t notice the trend, or was more of a man than I was... Took a lot more swats before finally crying and finally Uncle Dave moved on to my littlest cousin…he was no fool…he had played the game before…I think he cried before the first swat (uncle Dave used his bare hand…no belt or switch needed for him) even landed on my cousin’s rump…
But we did get back at Uncle Dave…we went down to the grain silo, shot some pigeons, and asked Aunt Patsy to cook them up like game hens and feed them to Uncle Dave. She played along and Dave was non-the-wiser until we told him he ate pigeon. But he figured they were grain fed…so why not?
The good old days
Greg
"no gas, no electric... not a single luxury"
Many would consider that a tropical paradise.
-Will
Many would consider that a tropical paradise.
-Will
When I was a kid we called pigeon squab and ate them like dove. They were good.But we did get back at Uncle Dave…we went down to the grain silo, shot some pigeons, and asked Aunt Patsy to cook them up like game hens and feed them to Uncle Dave. She played along and Dave was non-the-wiser until we told him he ate pigeon. But he figured they were grain fed…so why not?
The good old days
Greg
I bet the ones eating out of a grain silo would be tasty.
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