Go get my damned belt, Kurado.

My mom use to hit me all the time. We (my brother and I) used to run around the house, screaming out heads off trying to run from her. Her favorite tool was a plastic backscratcher, we must have gone through a million of those as a kid since she would break one everytime we got a whooping.

Story: In 1st grade my dad freaked out one morning and smacked my head becuse I woke him up. We ended up getting to school 3 hours late, and my teacher must have seen my puffy eyes from crying. During recess I told her my "head hurt" (I had a headache but as a 5 year old, I didn't know the difference) so I was dragged into the principal's office with her and 2 police officers and interrogated for what seemed like hours and hours. I ended up getting to ride in a police car to our local police station and they showed me around the place (I saw the drunk tank, their cafeteria and some butch police lady had a knife in her sock). I was there until 6PM during which they "arrested" my parents and interviewed them all afternoon. They gave me a teddy bear and released me to the most awkward evening I've ever spent with my family. My dad was nearly thrown into jail, although ironically that was the first (and last) time he ever hit me.

It was a huge sticking point against my parents when I was going through my puberty years ZOMG I was child abused but I've realized it's not such a big deal. American society just makes you think it is.

Jam it back in, in the dark.