It's a very embarrassing situation for a child to be harshly reprimanded publicly. My mom embarrassed me once when I was a teenager, and it was traumatic for me. It really wasn't deserved, but I can now, having been a parent of three teens, understand that sometimes frustration can build and release itself explosively. Nevertheless, a parent should have the freedom to let a kid have it if it is necessary. Trust me when I say, I never repeated that mistake.
Another error in judgment that I never repeated was the day that I ran from my mother. Some may get away with such misguided action, but I am not one of them. If my mom had been a mother in today's society, she would have been jailed often, and perhaps the key to the cell disposed of. My mother was anything but mean, she was extremely kind and sweet-tempered. But she carefully tried to make sure that I obeyed when she spoke. Usually, her method included speaking firmly. When that didn't work, she yelled a lot. I think I inherited that trait from her, and I want to make sure that I give credit for that where it is due.
I could always tell when out at play if I had pushed my limit too far. She would call out the back door for me, "Shirley" to come in for supper. If she had to call the second or third time, it was "Shirley ANN!" Life would be over if I didn't respond to the third call.
Now, my mom was a large woman. At 5 feet and 11 inches, she at one time had had a very fine figure. But after bearing four children, and having me at age 41, she no longer was slim and trim. This tall frame carried some weight with her, and I was in deep trouble if she got hold of me when she was angry. Mom was seldom angry. She simply had so much to do each day that she didn't have time for my nonsense, and she would get very frustrated. I looked at the woman marching toward me. Yep. That woman was angry.
I guess I just didn't think. Reason wasn't an option in my mind. It seemed that I had only one hope, and that is unfortunately what I chose. I ran. I ran like a running back on a football team who had the ball and was being chased by five 300 pound linemen. Oh! If I could only go back and relive that moment! All 5'11" and 200 pounds of that woman too easily caught up with that 8-year-old, and my mother did not wait to get me home for my punishment.
She grabbed my arm, turned me around toward home, and ushered me quickly and painfully up the sidewalk. Without a word, mom took one step, and then she swung her right foot and planted it on the back of my right leg, one time on my back thigh, one time on the back of my calf. And let's not forget my rear end. One step, kick. One step, plant. All. The. Way. Home. which was, thankfully, only one house away. I was sent to my room. I had no supper. Frankly, it's a wonder that I didn't get a spanking from my dad. But my punishment was harsh and memorable.
The neighbors saw what was happening. Did they call for police? Did they file a complaint of child endangerment? Of course not! The moms looking on were no doubt cheering my mom, and thinking, "bet she never does that again."
The next day my leg and my butt were covered from top to bottom with bruises. Today, my mom would surely have been in trouble, I would have been removed from my dear home, and my sweet mother would be behind bars, all because a little brat of an 8-year-old dared to disobey. It's a sick society that takes away the freedom to lovingly parent a child.
And you can bet your bank account that I never, ever, ran from my mother again.
