Spare Not The Rod
When we lived on Big Creek, at the head of the hollow, times were much simpler then. In those days people walked most places that was close by. Every evening Dad would let me walk with him to visit his brother, my Uncle Joe, and Aunt Hazel. They only lived about a half of a mile away. We did have to walk out of the hollow, go across train tracks, a wooden bridge and beside the highway to get there.
I was around four years old at this time.
One bright and sunny day while my mother was bathing the baby, my sister Sarah, and Dad was at work, I was left outside by myself. After playing with the dogs for what seemed like forever, I got bored. I thought ‘I will walk over and see Uncle Joe and Aunt Hazel’. I walked out of the hollow, made sure no train was coming and crossed the tracks. As I was going across the wooden bridge I stayed in the middle of it. I walked beside the road the rest of the way till I got to my Uncle’s house. I went up the steps and sat down on the porch with my legs hanging over the edge.
My Aunt Hazel came out of the house and started asking me questions. She repeated to Uncle Joe almost every word that I said. She finally asked me where my mother was and I told her that she would be along shortly. Aunt Hazel went in the house and got me a cup of water and some cookies. No one had phones at this time. She couldn’t call Mom and tell her where I was. Uncle Joe was putting his shoes on to take me home, when they saw Mom coming.
Mom talked with Aunt Hazel and Uncle Joe for a few minutes, while I was finishing my cookies. . She thanked them for watching me, invited them over and told me it is time to go home now. I jumped off the porch and took her hand and we started the journey home. We walked by this really large weeping willow tree that was beside the road. Mom stopped and broke one of the branches off. I noticed how limber the branch was.
We walked across the bridge, the railroad tracks and came to the dirt road on the other side of the tracks. Mom then started telling me that what I had done was wrong and how much it had scared her. Then she proceeded to start whipping me with the switch. It seemed like every step that I took she hit me with the switch. I remember it being a long walk home, with me taking several high steps. I can’t remember any more trips out of the hollow by myself. Lesson learned.
You find them in loving and good parents. Ones who want their children to grow up to be productive people.
Thanks, John, for the story. I remember my paternal grandmother used to have a supply of switches. I never got switched but the boys sure did. My uncles and brothers were quite creative about getting into trouble. One uncle found Grandma’s stash of cookies that she had hidden in a closet. She knew better than to put them out in the kitchen! Uncle Luke (not his name but to hide his identity since he is still living in Lawrence County) found the cookies and ate the whole dozen of them. Grandma never did find out who the culprit was.
We lived in a different age back in the 40’s and 50’s. The parents were strict because they knew that if they didn’t discipline us, life would. Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa, for keeping us in line.
Willow switches were the worst. They wrapped around you as you were being whipped and just didn’t wear out! Many other switches beat you more than stripe you and would break easily. Looking back, giving a good whippin’ was about the best thing my parents ever done for me.