Extemporaneous Trouble

As children growing up we all get in trouble at some time or another. I seem to recall getting in trouble much more than what I would deem, normal for a child. I can remember my parents setting up a punishment chart with a prescribed number of spankings for a certain offense. This led to, at least in my case, not better behaved children, but several nights where the number of spankings simply tired my Father out, and I was released on account of an exhausted Dad.

While the chart served a purpose, it was the extemporaneous trouble/punishment that really stays in your mind. It was a summer day, right after lunch, a time where most children under the age of 6 should be napping. As a home schooled family, all of the kids enjoyed some quiet time after lunch. Today was a little different, it was the weekend, and the family had just settled down for a nice nap. At least that’s what the parents had envisioned. Upstairs it was slightly organized chaos. My kid brother was in the crib like a budding gymnast. the two youngest sisters were playing at some game where they would try to climb up on my bunk bed, and I would beat their hands and fingers with a pillow, which in turn led to them leaping of the ladder onto a nearby bed, and then onto the floor to try again. My oldest sister, the little "angel" of the family was posted lookout for the parents who had yelled several times to be quiet, and that reading did not make that much noise or plaster falling off the downstairs ceiling.

This fun continued for what seemed like forever, until the lookout gave the signal, I seeing this fell back to my pillow and picked up my book. The youngest three did not see the signal or failed to remember what it was, for my father stormed in caught one of the girls mid jump and proceeded to hand out spankings to the children who were not obeying the orders of nap time. Even the gymnast baby got a few.

Going downstairs we were quiet, for a few minutes. Long enough to satisfy the instruction to be quiet, at least we thought so. So, with an opening ceremony, the games began again, with as much fervor and gusto as last time. Again the calls from downstairs rang forth, and here and there a shout, which would calm the crowd into a small lull before bursting out again.

This was fine, until we noticed something, a hand, coming through the crack in the door and pointing the cold finger of death to my youngest sister, who froze as a voice called her name and the finger beckoned her to come. As if in a trance she went, and threw the wall we heard what had become her fate. Wailing and moaning befell our ears. And just like that it was over and she ran back into the room and into bed.

The hand was not done, it entered the room a second time and beckoned for the next sister, who came, this time wiser as to what awaited her, she inquired, "How many will I get daddy?" the answer chilling, "Enough." Wailing and moaning again, before a rush back to the safety of bed. This time my father stepped into the room to punish the still jumping brother, who cried himself to a sort of coma. And he walked over to the bunk beds.

I have never been so afraid of a spanking. I wonder if parents sometimes use the psychological fear of spankings as punishment, because that’s what happened next. My oldest sister and I got a look that could not be confused, we were next. He left us with this wisdom... "Don’t make me come back upstairs." And with that he was gone. This time nap time commenced, in silence. That wisdom I still heed, I don’t want to have to make my Father come back upstairs.

Hope today's a good one,
austininva