Tough Guy

I remember that shortly after  we moved into our house at 211 Vernon.   Brian and I were playing and fighting and arguing in the basement about something.  I cannot even remember.   It was a Saturday.

Then my father who heard the noise, came downstairs and he was angry.   He did not like hearing the noise.   He said something that made us realize that we were going to be punished.   Both Brian and I were so well disciplined at that point that we both stopped.

My father directly the familiar sadistic ritual.   He lined us up side by side and made us pull down our pants.   We put our hands on our knees and looked forward silently waiting for our deserved punishment.    He whipped us pretty good and it hurt a lot.

Finally he was tired and stopped, left us, and went upstairs.

I turned to Brian and said,  "The only reason he hits us is that he likes to feel like a tough guy,"   as a way of letting Brian know to not take it too seriously.   And then after we pulled up our pants, Brian left the room.

Then moments later, My father came downstairs again and he was enraged.   Brian followed him downstairs.    "So I like to be a tough guy, huh?" he demanded.   "Alright, I'll show you how much I like to be a tough guy."   He forced my to assume the position and he repeated his previous performance, but I was the only one that was whipped.   Brian stood there and watched.

Finally my father was tired and again went upstairs.

The next day, I had black and blue bruises across the backs of my legs that took almost two weeks to go away.   I was glad that it wasn't summertime and I could wear long pants so that no one would see them.

I was in fifth grade.

copyright(c)2014 Wm Schaeffer