The Last Time I was Beaten as a Punishment

We now live in a day and age where we resist to punish our children the proper way. We don't allow discipline the way some of us "older" folks experienced first hand. We avoid the belt and a slap, and replace them with time outs and talking through a child's problems. I for one have experienced both of these situations. I grew up, getting beaten on occasions for being a bad kid and now as a substitute teacher and a much older brother - I've seen the new age way of discipline utilized through my students and watching my younger siblings treated the same way. But ah, the good old days.

When you would fear the old man to be coming home so you'd pad your ass up with as many pairs of underwear and wash cloths to soften the blows of his belt. Now, I think most kids will get away with anything cause they know they can. They want to get sent to their room just so they can play video games and watch tv. And if they're sent to a corner; it's only a temporary time out in a long line of their devious acts in life. I watch a few of my younger siblings still pulling the same shit over and over again. And they don't even get reprimanded for most of it; cause they know they can get away with murder.

But I knew their was always repercussions for my actions as a kid; despite the fact I did them anyways for fun and amusement. I could remember being bad, whether fighting with my brother or making my sister cry. Making my Grandmother go crazy or disobeying something she wanted me to do so badly - just behave. My mother would wake up from her naps during the daytime and wouldn't want to deal with it anymore. I was always a big child, so it wasn't long before my ass was too large to go across her lap and slap it. Then again, she had no problem disciplining the other kids. I can remember the fear that rang through my heart. To hear "just wait till your father gets home." I dashed around in a panic, looking for whatever I could to elongate the old man coming home from a long day of work. I knew he'd be stressed out enough, on top of that, he'd have to hear complaints of me being bad. Me, the oldest. The most respected and "supposed" to be maturest of the bunch. What ya want from me - I was eight?

No matter if you hid or ran away, the old man could hunt you down. He too was in my shoes when his own father would beat him as a child. I'm at least grateful my own father wasn't an alcoholic. Dad would eventually tell me tales of how his father would come home drunk from the paper mill factory and drag his children from underneath the bed to beat them for being bad. You'd think being raised on such violence, you would prevent such things from occurring again. Unfortunately, my parents didn't use the new wave philosophies of punishment until about halfway through my fourth sibling.

So in the mean time, we sucked it up along with the pain. So things fairly calmed down for years. I became a much larger child and I damn near was bigger than my own father by the time I was thirteen. I was still doing bad shit; I guess just looking for acceptance in a world that couldn't harbor a geek like myself. I felt the most segregated and begging for acceptance in my years when I just transfered to the St. Augustine's Catholic school. I had just left the public district' s of Marlboro for only two years due to some of their teachers.

I went to "St.A's" knowing that I'd rule that school. I'd be the most popular kid in the class because I was touched by the outside world of "public school districts" and that all the guys would want to be my friend and all the girls would want to date me. Alas, St.A's wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Praying and education just don't seem to mix, and believe it or not, Catholic school children are some of the toughest mothers around. They do have to compete with that image that "catholic kids are all laid back, wear uniforms and pray." I met some of the most vile, obnoxious and abusive pre-teens I've ever had to witness in years. And take it from me, I work with pre-teens and they're nothing like those bastards at St.A's.

Being a fat kid also totally diminished my self-esteem from these guys. Constant teasing and harassment. The ways they'd make me jump up and down while we were changing in gym class, just to solely get off in laughter and watch my man tits jiggle. Or how'd they squeeze my fat or nipples during class time. Things like this prompted me to practically having a break down in class, or rolling over in tears. That I wanted none of them near me and demanded a total apology. I just begged for my time there to pass, all the while teetering on an edge of acceptance and abuse.

During these time, I met a friend/neighbor of Mike Galante just down the street from me. He was fun, but was even worse was how he was about four-six years younger than I was. When your best friend is a midget and years younger than you, during a point in your life when all you seek is acceptance - you know you got it bad. So I funneled Mike into myself, I wanted to be like him cause I saw him as so cool amongst everyone he was around with. Which meant listening to rap (like Onyx and the early days of Snoop), talking about guns, stealing and pretending we were gangsters. We frequently rode our bikes to the Jamesway plaza during the summertime when I was thirteen. It was quite the ride, even on bikes, but it was fun and their was nothing else to do.

One day in particular, on June 5, we rode down there on our bikes. I had an overly large boom box propped up on my shoulders that blasted the earliest of 90's gangster rap. Mike and I had been riding to the plaza at least once a week (sometimes numerous times in a week) over to Jamesway. We'd seen how easy it was to steal from them, and it was such a thrill to do so. I'd been stealing the new wave of Transformers toys that'd been coming out at the time. In fact, the toys that took about six robots to make one huge one such as Devastator, I completed him and started about halfway through my second. Not that I was poor or nothing, I could have easily purchased the toys myself. I'd been saving up money to go to our trip into Disney World soon. Which, was probably more money that I stole from friends/family to help with my purchases in the land of the mouse.

So there we were, a typical day during the summer. Loading our pants up with toys and ripping more out of their packages. We started to scoot our way out of the store when we were halted by a balding man with a firm build and thick rimmed glasses. Mike heard the man yell stop, so he started to empty his pockets so that Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars shot all across our feet. I was too petrified to pull such a maneuver so I stood still in fear. The man notified us that he worked with the theft prevention at Jamesway. He'd seen us there numerous time and that he finally busted us. He brought us around back into a small room in the back of the store full of surveillance cameras and documented evidence of previous arrests.

He called our parents there, man did I feel totally frightened about that. Not to mention the shame and embarrassment that both my mother and I felt when she had to go get me. It pretty much came down to it that I had to pay a 75$ fine and that I was never allowed into the store again. What did make me feel good was that the guard told me that it was people like me that Jamesway was currently in chapter 11 bankruptcy. So who's laughing now unemployed theft prevention officer? So, then I had to wait for the incidental arrival of my father from work. Which, my mom had no problem constantly reminding me, "just wait till your father get's home. You are going to get ittttttt." Thanks mom.

So anyways, the whole family was in the living room. I was there just waiting for my mom to utter the news. I was standing near the doorway thinking to myself, "you're 13 now, you've gotta stand proud and take this like a man." Mom revealed to him the news and it seemed like something snapped within my totally calm, sweet loving and peaceful father. Flames raged in his eyes, veins appeared out of his forehead from where they never were before. All he could do was question what the hell I was doing something so stupid? That I was throwing my life away and could of risked on my permanent record doing such stupid things. Not to mention, being the oldest, I set the examples for everyone else to come before me.

So he laid it out for them that stealing was the worst thing you could ever do. I saw his belt slide off and around his waist in a flash of fury. His arm waved back and forth that he was still able to lash my ass despite the fact I had my hands up trying to block his shots. That day was probably the most I'd ever seen my father so angered, and I could never forgive myself for causing something like that. So, I ended up being grounded through the remainder of the summer. Denied visits with friends and especially going out with Galante for quite sometime. Even though I was a big child, much larger than my father. I still knew that I was still a kid mentally and I had a lot of growing up and experiences to deal with.

I learned that day that I never really wanted to steal again, that it was probably one of the worst things I could have ever done in my father's eyes. To create such rage and anger in a man that was brought up by a man with similar attributes frightened me. I never wanted to do that to my dad again or cause anyone in my family such shame or anguish for my idiotic actions. Never the less, it still rings in my mind that last day that I was ever beaten. Before I got too big for my own britches, but never enough to appease my appetite for destructive, disruptive and abusive behavior.