I was around nine and my brother was six. I had gone the week before to church with a friend. In Sunday school, we had been given a homework assignment. When the Sunday school teacher asked the question, I raised my hand concerning Jesus and the prostitute.
“What did Jesus say to the crowd?”
“Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone.”
“Then what happened?”
“Jesus picked up a rock and threw it at her!”
All the kids including myself burst out laughing uncontrollably. The Sunday school teacher was not amused and yours truly got marched down to the church administration office. They called my mother, told her what happened, requested that she come and get me immediately and requested that I never return.
She arrived and steaming with teeth clinched. Our car, a 58 Ford two door, was left running in park and she came around to passenger door, opened it, pushed the seat forward and ushered me inside. “Don’t say a God damned word.” This woman rarely cussed.
I just knew I had an appointment with the “Bruce belt”. By the early sixties thin ties and belts were in fashion. But there was this big fat ugly belt from the mid-fifties that remained in the closet for special occasions like this one.
I was as quiet as a mouse as we drove home. But then, we turned into the shopping center. We got a parking space right in front of the entrance to the grocery store. All three of us went in and she picked up a few items. Once we got back to the car, she glanced over at my little brother who was trying open the shell of a peanut. She grabbed him by the wrist and was fuming.
“Where did you get that? We didn’t pay for that! You stole it! You are going to grow up to be a stealer!!”
“Yeah, a Pittsburgh Steeler!” I quipped as I laughed.
She turned and swung a backhand at me. I tried to duck unsuccessfully and she caught me square on the nose which started bleeding profusely. She opened the car door and got out. I didn’t want to get in trouble for getting the car bloody, so I pushed the seat forward and climbed on top it to get to the door handle. In the process, I squished my little brother who began screaming bloody murder. I got outside the car about the time she came around from the front. I held my hands in front of my face.
“No, mom, please don’t hit me anymore!”
She stopped, everybody stopped. More than a dozen people were staring, mouths agape, at this kid standing in the parking lot with a bloody white dress shirt and the one screaming in the car. She turned beet red in mortification and leaned forward saying between clinched teeth “Don’t say a God damned word.” I didn’t…for the rest of the day.
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read more blogs!
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wordsofwit
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Nov 24 @ 11:20AM
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Here is another short memoir. I was probably thirteen and my brother (the ultimate cry baby) was ten. I had looked at the TV Guide and saw a movie coming on at 8:00 that I knew my dad would want to watch. My brother and I were laying on the floor in front of the TV. At around 7:45 I said softly to my brother, "There is a movie coming on channel nine and it is all about you."
Just before the top of the hour I said, "Hey dad, what do you want to watch now?"
"Well, let's see." He picked up the TV Guide. "Oh, there is a good movie coming on channel nine."
"Oh really? What's it called?"
"The Ugly American"
My brother jumped up. WAAAAAAA! "It's rude to call somebody ugly!" He then ran off to his room. My parents looked at one another puzzled. I turned the TV to channel nine with a smirk and we didn't see my brother the rest of the night.
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butterfly943
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Nov 24 @ 11:36AM
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Heck there was 5 of us kids..and my Dad could smack us all without turning around 
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kywonder
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Nov 24 @ 11:41AM
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Felt the back of my parents hand, belts, switches, or anything else they could get their hands on in my growing up years.
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teacuppoms
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Nov 24 @ 11:48AM
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my father kicked me with the metal point shoes
my mother hit me with her rubber slippers
and also with a wooden hanger
i will never forget their way of hitting me
and i havent forgiven either ;
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Peabianjay
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Nov 24 @ 12:21PM
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I'm so glad my parents had a sense of humour.
Many times in my youth, my mom commented, "Don't make me laugh when I'm angry with you!"
How could the quip, "Jesus picked up a rock..." possibly be deserving of anger or punnishment? A laugh and possibly a lesson should have been the only result.
As for "...and requested that I never return." Good grief!? That's like being expelled for skipping classes. Like, duh? Guess they figured you were corrupt beyond redemption.
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ragtopcookie
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Nov 24 @ 1:16PM
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As a middle child ....my older brother and younger sister got me in trouble all the time......most of the time.....they lied.....and my dad believed in the belt.....the switch.....and his hand.....both slapped and backhanded.....i thought it abuse way back then...and i do to this day.......cookie
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goodgurlgonebad
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Nov 24 @ 1:59PM
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My mother used to hit me with the broom. She swung it like a damn bat.....across my thighs.....I can remember not being able to wear shorts in the summertime......the bruises were to bad. She also would hit me across the nose with a iron skillet.....cant even tell ya how many nose bleeds ive had.....she was very abusive....and I still to this day have not forgiven her.....she died back in 96......and I swore I would never treat my kids like that woman treated us.
Tammy 
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1frantastic
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Nov 24 @ 2:30PM
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I remember the way my mama (bless her sweet heart so is dying yet hanging on right now) would box my ears woth both hands and my ears would ring...ringggggg......and I confronted her in the hospital with my tales..she denied it...said she would NEVER do that..well...she did...but if she forgot...guess I can forgive...
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BandTMom
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Nov 24 @ 4:18PM
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“Jesus picked up a rock and threw it at her!”
I'm sorry, if my boy said this ( and he probably would if we went to church), I would be LMAO and then write a blog about it.
Children are so precious and innocent, yet we ever know what is going to come out fo their mouths.
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wordsofwit
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Nov 24 @ 5:27PM
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We were never abused. My late sainted mother never hit us ever hard and only slapped or spanked us with an open hand, never anything in it. We were never abused, just falsely accused.
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SpiritEnergy
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Nov 25 @ 9:55AM
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Oh, my Mom was mean as all get out! Took me years to work thru the fear and the ultimate stage of anger then back into a place of love for her. And yeah, she denied ever hitting me. My siblings agreed, yeah, she beat the crap out of me. Usually when my brother blamed me for something he did.
That same brother has spent a large portion of his adult life behind bars for theft to buy crack cocaine...so, in my eyes, a little whack or two may have made him NOT a drug addict and thief. Too bad she always accepted his stories and not mine truth... oh well. She has passed and we have healed....mostly.
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