@Michael Pickett posted:Ouch, lye soap. My mom just made me go bring her a switch.
I had to pick out my own switches too if I got in trouble outside. Getting in trouble while inside was the spoon from my mom and the belt from my dad. If it was serious and it was early in the day we'd have to stand in the corner until my dad came home. I got in trouble once just as my dad left the house for work at 7:30am and I stood in the corner until he came home at 5:30pm.
Wooden spoon, fly - swatter, yard stick ... at around 12 I broke that in two and handed the pieces to Mom :~)
@Sacto Mitch posted:,
Yeah, a wooden spoon and a mouthful of ivory soap kept many of us on the straight and narrow, the only special counseling most of us would receive.
How ever did we survive such abuse and neglect?
Look at the helpless, dysfunctional, self-obsessed generation we became.
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Do you think it's just a coincidence that we share the same whacko (no pun intended) hobby? 😀
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@Michael Pickett posted:.Do you think it's just a coincidence that we share the same whacko (no pun intended) hobby?
Not at all.
Hardship. Deprivation. Constant physical abuse.
What other car would we choose?
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I also had experience with Mom's wooden spoon. She broke one on me one time and I laughed at her. It was funny until Dad came home.
A year or two later I could outrun her(if outside). That was funny too.
Soap in the mouth was also used in our house, growing up with three sisters, no brothers:
The oldest, bossy one. The middle brow-noser and tattle-tale. And the youngest(15 months younger than me), Daddy's little baby.
i got it at home and i got it from the (sisters of mercy)no pun intended as they whacked my knucles and pulled my ears
I lasted only one partial day in Parochial school (left handed)
Summer afternoon mom was dressed and ready to leave for work, she came out to the pool picking up the pool filter hose to wet me down , so I returned the favor the result was blood curdling screams. Later that night I thought I was dead meat when she told my Dad... all he could do was laugh so I was instantly off the hook.
I'll bet no one here had their mother chase them for a block in curlers and armed with a frying pan....at my mom's funeral the Pastor thought it was necessary to bring that fold memory up .
.....What a great thread drift !
Nothing like getting it on the butt with a cricket bat with holes drilled it. This beauty was swung by the gym coach. My infraction was sling shooting a bb at a girl's butt; she was wearing of those calf length 50s style tight skirts so I knew she couldn't run and catch me but the coach did. 
@molleur reminds me of Bobby Goulet, a guy who suddenly showed up in my 10'th grade class, midway through second semester. He had been attending a private Catholic school which had a particularly sadistic Nun teaching there. They had an altercation, she hit first and he decked her with one punch. Bobby wasn't any more than 5'5" and had never been a problem at home in his life. Turns out some other kid was getting beat on by the Nun and Bobby intervened and then got thrown out. We were glad to have him and he was a model student.
Oh, and left-handed Molleur: I bet you already know that it's easier for a left handed teacher to teach right-handed little kids - everything just seems natural to both. From a family evenly distributed with both lefties and righties, I salute you.
What if your mother was an X-nun ? 
@Alan Merklin posted:Summer afternoon mom was dressed and ready to leave for work, she came out to the pool picking up the pool filter hose to wet me down , so I returned the favor the result was blood curdling screams. Later that night I thought I was dead meat when she told my Dad... all he could do was laugh so I was instantly off the hook.
I'll bet no one here had their mother chase them for a block in curlers and armed with a frying pan....at my mom's funeral the Pastor thought it was necessary to bring that fold memory up .
.....What a great thread drift !
Ok, Alan, that's really funny, and reminded me of (I was 13? 14?) mum chasing me around the yard with a plastic toy rifle my brother and I had been arguing over (quite bulky, and it did have a little weight- it shot several different things including small rockets and bombs) all the while yelling "stand still so I can hit you!"
Yeah, according to modern psychiatric thinking we should all probably be scarred for life...
And the hose-down episode was priceless too!
PS- @Robert M- I can't imagine standing in the corner all day waiting for dad to come home
Forget psychiatric issues- it's amazing we're all still alive!
