When I was little and would get a spanking from Mother or Daddy, it used to make me cry and cry as it would any good-as-gold-and-particularly-undeserving-of-any-punishment-whatsoever-especially-the-corporal-kind child. I used to wail and weep and gnash my teeth after such a whoopin', and I cried so hard it wore me out. When I mentioned it to Dad, how I got so sleepy after I got spanked, he started calling my punishments "sedatives" as a kind of joke.
Yeah, Dad. Real funny.
When my daughter was four I gave her a spanking for something she had done that she was not supposed to. Rather than cry her eyes out, she packed her little preschool backpack with a pair of underwear, her doll, some "crowns" (crayons, for those of us who speak four-year-old), some books, and various things to eat. She then proceeded to tell me she was running away. When I asked her why, she said, "Because you 'panked my butt!"
And she proceeded to walk out the door.
And I let her.
And I videotaped the whole thing.
At the time we lived on a corner lot. She walked down the driveway to the street and stopped. Then she turned and followed the edge of the yard all the way around the corner, all the way up the hill and into our back yard. She went along the back of the back yard and down the other side to the front, then back to the driveway. And she repeated this little walk several times.
Because she wasn't allowed to cross the street.
It brought back such memories for me! Because folks, that apple fell straight from the tree.
Oh yes, it did.
At the tender age of five I remember packing a hard-sided suitcase that was bigger than I was with a coloring book, dolls, and underwear. Because after all, you always have to have clean underwear.
I announced to Mother that I was leaving. I was running away and she would be sorry. She would cry and she would miss me, but I was going and she couldn't stop me.
To my surprise, she didn't try to stop me. Instead, she wished me well and told me she was sorry I'd miss the lemonade and hotdogs we were having for dinner, as well as the drive-in movie we were going to see that night.
It was Pinnochio. The year was 1962.
I clunked off down the street (because I was allowed to cross the street in those days) and got about halfway down the block before I decided that maybe Mother had learned her lesson. Besides that, I was getting hungry and those hotdogs sounded really good. I might even be persuaded to eat one if she was really nice to me. And if she treated me REALLY well, I'd even go to the show with her and Daddy to see Pinnochio. After all, they'd need someone to explain it to them.
My daughter lasted a lot longer than I did. She was out in the yard for almost an hour before she finally came in and told me she was moving back home.
I was glad. I missed her. And in her honor we had hotdogs for dinner and watched a video of Pinnochio.
Just like old times.