Blocking Out Bad Memories Getting Bopped on the Butt by Mr. Burnett
I guess I turned out okay as a kid. I made the national honor society and won awards for both my graduate and post graduate work. Also, I never smoked or drank or did drugs or got into trouble with the law.
But I must have been a brat as a preschooler. I recall visiting homes with my dad and mom only to roam the house and explore every drawer I could get in to. It was a wonder my folks ever grew a church.
Once when we were entertaining company at the parsonage, I remember being sent away from the table, only to return waving a broom over my head, running and screaming around the table like a one man war party. I don’t remember the outcome of that one, but do remember church member, Mr. Burnett, stopping by one summer day to line up a bunch of us kids in the backyard, then proceeded to spank us one at a time across his knee. I don’t remember the spanking but I do remember waiting patiently in line for my turn. I think my mind has blocked out the rest of it.
I have concluded that spanking is primitive, that pounding on a child is abuse, and that it is the parent who should be spanked. I remember spanking my son’s four-year old butt as a shortcut to investing in his growing needs. Worse, when I spanked, I spanked hard so that I wouldn’t need to do it again (per the instructions of my knuckleheaded mentors). Once after a spanking, my son pee'd in his pants. On another occasion, I remember him reporting to his mom “I thunk I was gonna die!”
I'm sorry, kids.
Don Loy Whisnant/Journey Notes 8H30
