Author:
Son's reminding
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Date Posted: 10:06:02 05/17/18 Thu
>I remember being very proud of my dad when I was a
>kid. While most of my friends' fathers were
>white-collar workers (with occupations that meant very
>little to a young kid), my dad was a long-haul truck
>driver. And every kid on the block knew what that
>meant: he drove a BIG truck.
>
>Unlike most of my friends' fathers, my dad was very
>muscular. He had strong arms and broad shoulders.
>Because of his job, Dad was often away from home for a
>week or two at a time. In between hauls, he would
>return home, sometimes only briefly. So when I did see
>Dad, he was often in his work clothes: sturdy work
>boots, a red or blue plaid Pendleton shirt, blue
>jeans, and a 1-3/4" wide black garrison belt. The
>sleeves of his shirt were often rolled up, revealing
>his bulging biceps. Someone meeting my dad for the
>first time and seeing him in his work clothes would
>most likely be reminded of the legendary "Paul Bunyan".
>
>Dad wore his garrison belt with its large metal buckle
>positioned off-center near his left side. I don't know
>why he wore his belt that way, and I never thought to
>ask him, but it certainly drew one's attention to his
>belt and contributed to his very masculine appearance.
>
>Whenever Dad was home for more than a few days (he
>needed the first day after a long haul to catch up on
>his sleep), I would invite some of my friends over to
>our house. They liked being around Dad. I suspect he
>was more of a male role model for them than their own
>fathers. And I think they were a little envious of me
>for having such a great dad.
>
>One time, when Dad was at home, I invited my best
>friend Jerry over to our house. After Jerry arrived,
>we went upstairs to my bedroom and shut the door. We
>played Monopoly for a couple hours, but, eventually,
>we got tired of the game and started rough-housing. We
>would throw things at each other for fun. I threw a
>pillow at Jerry. Then, Jerry picked up a shoe and
>threw it at me. I ducked and the shoe went right
>through my bedroom window, breaking the glass. Shortly
>after that, we heard someone marching loudly up the
>stairs. All of a sudden, my bedroom door burst open,
>and Dad was standing there, staring at the two of us.
>He immediately spotted the broken glass in the window
>frame. Boy, was he angry! He asked us how the window
>had gotten broken. I told him it was an accident, but
>that excuse didn't satisfy Dad. Then, Jerry confessed
>that he had broken the window, but Dad said the two of
>us shared the blame equally for horsing around.
>
>Dad said we both needed to be punished! He told us to
>wait in my room until he returned. Then, he went
>downstairs. Jerry and I looked to each other for
>support, but our faces betrayed our fear of the
>punishment Dad had in store for us. We could hear him
>talking to someone on the phone. A few minutes later,
>Dad returned to my bedroom. He said he had phoned
>Jerry's dad (they were good friends) and told him
>about the broken window. He told Jerry's dad that he
>was going to punish me and wanted to know what should
>be done with Jerry. Then, Dad informed us that Jerry's
>dad had given him permission to punish Jerry as well.
>
>Dad ordered the two of us to march downstairs and out
>to the garage. He said he was going to punish me
>first. He told me to drop my pants and underwear and
>lean over his workbench. I grabbed the far edge of the
>workbench with both hands to brace myself. I watched
>as Dad reached over to his left side and unbuckled his
>belt. Then, he slowly pulled the belt out of his jeans
>and doubled it over. Dad's belt was no stranger to my
>butt. He used his belt on me at least once every
>couple months, sometimes more frequently, but rarely
>less. When it came to discipline, Dad was definitely
>"old school". I was taught that, if I did something
>wrong, I could expect to be punished. And one of Dad's
>duties as a parent was to administer that punishment.
>But, this time, I think Dad applied the strokes much
>harder than usual, perhaps to impress Jerry with the
>severity of the punishment he was going to get. I
>started yelling by the 5th lash. In total, Dad gave me
>20 lashes with his belt. By the time he was done with
>me, my butt was a blistering red, and my eyes were
>overflowing with tears.
>
>Jerry was terrified after witnessing my punishment and
>hearing my screams of pain. The moment he had dreaded
>finally arrived. It was now his turn to GET THE BELT!
>Dad ordered Jerry to drop his pants and underwear and
>lean over the workbench. Jerry was trembling in fear.
>He grabbed the far edge of the workbench with a death
>grip. Dad raised his heavy leather belt and let Jerry
>have one solid smack after another on the butt. Before
>long, Jerry's ass began to feel like it was on fire.
>Jerry panicked. The belt hurt a lot worse than he had
>ever imagined. He let go of the workbench and fled
>toward the far end of the garage. In a loud angry
>voice, Dad ordered Jerry to return to the workbench
>for his punishment, but Jerry refused, whining that
>Dad's belt hurt too much. Then, in a booming voice,
>Dad told Jerry he was going to hurt a lot worse if he
>didn't get back here RIGHT THIS MINUTE! But Jerry
>seemed paralyzed with fear. I felt sorry for him. I
>knew the one thing Dad would never tolerate was
>outright disobedience. Jerry was really going to get
>it now!
>
>Dad asked Jerry if he had ever gotten a belt whipping
>before, and Jerry replied "No". He said the most
>severe punishment he had ever received was a lengthy
>"time-out". Dad roared with laughter when he heard
>that, and with an incorrectness, both grammatical and
>political, that would have made Archie Bunker proud,
>he blurted out, "We don't need no liberal nonsense
>like time-outs at our house!" Then, he added, "If you
>want to grow up and become a man, you gotta take a
>man's punishment. And that means REAL PAIN!" Then, Dad
>lowered his voice and said, in a gentler, coaxing tone
>that I seldom heard from him, "Now, Boy. Get back over
>here and take your punishment like a man. Don't make
>me have to drag you over here." Jerry hesitated for a
>moment, but then, he calmed down and, resigned to his
>fate, he returned to the workbench.
>
>Dad took some rope and tied Jerry's hands to the
>workbench. He said, "This will make it easier for you
>to take your punishment as there will be no more
>escaping from my belt." (I doubt that gave Jerry much
>reassurance.) Then Dad told Jerry, "Because you
>disobeyed me, I'm adding 5 lashes to your punishment.
>And because your punishment was interrupted by your
>escape, we'll be starting it all over again. So,
>you're looking at 25 more lashes with my belt!" Jerry
>moaned in fear when he heard that. Then, Dad started
>Jerry's punishment over, beginning with count 1. By
>the 4th lash, Jerry was screaming loudly from the
>pain, and those screams continued until the final lash
>had been administered.
>
>When I saw Dad put his belt back into the belt loops
>of his jeans, I knew Jerry's punishment was finally
>over with. Dad untied Jerry's hands, but Jerry was
>still crying from the pain. Then, Dad wrapped his arm
>around Jerry's shoulders to console him after the
>trauma he had just experienced. Dad said he was proud
>of Jerry for (eventually) returning to the workbench
>on his own to resume his punishment. He said he was
>sorry he had to punish him so severely, but he
>explained that's the only way kids learn right from
>wrong. He added, "If I had only given you a time-out
>as punishment, you would have forgotten it by the
>following day. But I have no doubt you'll remember the
>sting of my belt for a long time to come!" As if
>confirming Dad's words, Jerry's heart raced
>momentarily and he broke out into a cold sweat when he
>was reminded of Dad's belt.
>
>For the curious, this story was a complete fantasy.
It happens https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8NjeAFLwhpw/WRdDr8gFQKI/AAAAAAABEEY/wZO-F4H4xPwJv6dio4Q5LenmWP8YdbL7gCLcB/s1600/fv2%2B%252812%2529.JPG
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