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.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Hmm, how the hell haven´t you heard the classic THIS WILL HURT ME MORE THAN YOU line?

Originally Posted by a lurker

(That's one thing I never got. It's so morbid to ask the kid to bring you the IMPLEMENT OF PUNISHMENT. What the fuck, man. What are you trying to do here, dicipline your child or abuse it.)

I guess, while you´re looking for the weapon of choice for your parent to beat you with it forces you to think more clearly about what you did and the consequences. My mom´s boyfriend only did it once to me, wanted me to get a branch from a tree, those thin ones that whistle when you swing ém (WHAT HAPPENED TO MY APOSTROPHE) and bring it to him while we were at the park. I was mostly bothered by the fact that he made me take my shirt off for the beating and walk home afterwards shirtless. I was a very selfconscious ten year old.)

(I´m trying to talk about all this with a sense of humor, but at times I am pretty damned bitter about what I went to prison for considering what I went through, which I won´t get into anytime soon)

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.