Just got slapped
Although I think I have a better-than-average memory for events in childhood, I generally don't recall the precise moment that most of the pictures in the family album were taken. I sure do remember the moment this one was taken, though.
It was Christmas, 1961 (which means I'm 7 here), and I distinctly remember that Mom's sister, Lorraine, took this picture.
Anyway, what happened was: that's a book of children's games and puzzles I'm holding, and in the few seconds before the picture was taken, I had come down to the kitchen to ask Mom a question about a crossword puzzle I was doing. She evidently did not appreciate me interrupting her pie-making, though, so she shouted at me to stop bothering her and accompanied that rebuke with a sudden, hard slap on my right arm. Just a few seconds later, Aunt Lorraine snapped the picture.
Look at Mom's face. What a sadistic smile she has there. And, of course, I'm not happy after being slapped, but I was also angry, because I didn't think I'd done anything really wrong. I just asked a question, that's all. If I really did do something bad, I usually accepted my punishment, but I hadn't been bad here. I was also mad because the two sisters thought what had just happened was funny and worth taking a picture of, and it wasn't funny to me at all.
Thing is, I wasn't much older than this when Mom's spankings became frankly abusive. Between the ages of 10-13, I remember getting hit by my mom at least once every day. I wasn't a bad boy - not at all, really - but during that time, Mother just seemed to find fault in literally everything I did, and didn't do.
After a while, I caught on to the fact that my mom must have a problem. A lot of times when she'd hit me, she would be the one crying, not me. It was like she couldn't help herself. She would say things like, "This hurts me more than it hurts you," and seeing how she was sometimes when she punished me, I believed her.
Eventually, one day, my dad put a stop to the spankings. I'll never forget it. We were at the dinner table, and mom had gotten up to slap me for something I said. Before she got to me, though, my dad - in a quiet but authoritative tone - said, "Lillian, stop it. You're abusing that boy." Well, you should have seen the look on Mom's face. She didn't say a word in response, she simply sat back down, and that was that. And what do you know. The daily beatings stopped, right then and there. I still got spankings occasionally after that, but only if I actually did something that deserved one.
Long ago - decades before Mom died - I forgave her for that long period of gratuitous punishments. I accepted the fact that she had a psychological problem; that she wasn't inherently cruel or sadistic. Back then, she just couldn't help it.
And maybe I am rationalizing when I say this, but in a way, looking back, I was grateful for the spankings. A lot of times, a spanking was the only way Mom could get my attention. Just saying, "Stop that!" didn't work. Just sending me to my room or taking away privileges didn't work. But the vast majority of times when I did do something wrong and got slapped for it - you bet, I paid attention then. I definitely learned the difference between being good and bad, and that's one of the primary responsibilities of parenthood. Mom did her job, I just wish she hadn't been so enthusiastic about it at times. ;)
It was Christmas, 1961 (which means I'm 7 here), and I distinctly remember that Mom's sister, Lorraine, took this picture.
Anyway, what happened was: that's a book of children's games and puzzles I'm holding, and in the few seconds before the picture was taken, I had come down to the kitchen to ask Mom a question about a crossword puzzle I was doing. She evidently did not appreciate me interrupting her pie-making, though, so she shouted at me to stop bothering her and accompanied that rebuke with a sudden, hard slap on my right arm. Just a few seconds later, Aunt Lorraine snapped the picture.
Look at Mom's face. What a sadistic smile she has there. And, of course, I'm not happy after being slapped, but I was also angry, because I didn't think I'd done anything really wrong. I just asked a question, that's all. If I really did do something bad, I usually accepted my punishment, but I hadn't been bad here. I was also mad because the two sisters thought what had just happened was funny and worth taking a picture of, and it wasn't funny to me at all.
Thing is, I wasn't much older than this when Mom's spankings became frankly abusive. Between the ages of 10-13, I remember getting hit by my mom at least once every day. I wasn't a bad boy - not at all, really - but during that time, Mother just seemed to find fault in literally everything I did, and didn't do.
After a while, I caught on to the fact that my mom must have a problem. A lot of times when she'd hit me, she would be the one crying, not me. It was like she couldn't help herself. She would say things like, "This hurts me more than it hurts you," and seeing how she was sometimes when she punished me, I believed her.
Eventually, one day, my dad put a stop to the spankings. I'll never forget it. We were at the dinner table, and mom had gotten up to slap me for something I said. Before she got to me, though, my dad - in a quiet but authoritative tone - said, "Lillian, stop it. You're abusing that boy." Well, you should have seen the look on Mom's face. She didn't say a word in response, she simply sat back down, and that was that. And what do you know. The daily beatings stopped, right then and there. I still got spankings occasionally after that, but only if I actually did something that deserved one.
Long ago - decades before Mom died - I forgave her for that long period of gratuitous punishments. I accepted the fact that she had a psychological problem; that she wasn't inherently cruel or sadistic. Back then, she just couldn't help it.
And maybe I am rationalizing when I say this, but in a way, looking back, I was grateful for the spankings. A lot of times, a spanking was the only way Mom could get my attention. Just saying, "Stop that!" didn't work. Just sending me to my room or taking away privileges didn't work. But the vast majority of times when I did do something wrong and got slapped for it - you bet, I paid attention then. I definitely learned the difference between being good and bad, and that's one of the primary responsibilities of parenthood. Mom did her job, I just wish she hadn't been so enthusiastic about it at times. ;)