Walk Home
My most vivid and painful memory of first grade was a misunderstanding with my parents. As I said earlier, when I started school, my family lived about four miles from school. Every day when I was taken to school, I was told, “Stay at the school when you get out. Wait for us to pick you up. Don’t try to walk home by yourself”. My parents really worried about me trying to walk home. Well, one day, I decided not to stay at school when I got out. My best friend had asked me to go home with him to play. So, when the bell rang, off we went; up the hill two blocks and turn right, down the hill two blocks and turn left, then four blocks to his house. After playing for a while, I headed back to school. I guess I’ve always been able to find my around strange surroundings and had no problem getting back to school. As I was walking down the street toward the school, I saw our car, a forest green Jeepster stationwagon, sitting at the curb. But, there were too many people in it. My mom and Sara and Vickie were there, but so was my dad. He was supposed to be at work. Mom and Dad jumped out of the car when they saw me and ran to me. They both had tears in their eyes when they got to me. Mom grabbed me and asked me where I had been. Dad’s face was red as a beet and he had fear in his eyes. I told them I’d been at my friend’s house. Dad asked me, “Didn’t we tell you not to try to walk home after school?” I told him I hadn’t. That I’d gone to my friend’s house. Mom said they had called the police and they were looking for me. Then, both of them started yelling faster than I could listen. What I did hear from my dad was, “Wait till we get home”. I didn’t know what that meant, but would soon found out. As soon as we got home, Dad grabbed me by the arm and led me to the bathroom. He shut the door, and I got my first whipin’ from him. It was only two slaps on my backside. The first brought tears to my eyes. The second had me screaming. Not a lot of licks, but my dad was a butcher. His arms were solid muscle. I never walked off again. Discipline was two tier. Mom handled most of it with whipin’s with her hand or anything that was handy. Dad was the ultimate punisher. You had to have done the worst for Dad to get involved. In all, I got four spankings from my dad and I remember all of them. And, I guess, I deserved them.
Replies
I was raised orphaned by my grandfather for the first seven years - the spankings -- I always knew I was well loved and cared for and they kept me from doing worse harm to myself. They helped me to be a better listener and to take what I was told seriously. I never had any issue with the spankings as they were given by someone who loved me who felt they were for my own good - turned out that way too.
Okay, so I did the same thing in First Grade. I left with my best friend, went to her house, and didn\'t call my parents until night time. My mother went to the sink, wet her hand, and slapped me in the face several times. In case a person does not know, water makes it sting worse. I didn\'t forget that lesson and to this day I don\'t want anybody touching my face. This was a very interesting journal!