I didn't look forward to this. Wasn't there another way to rectify the problem? Did it have to come to this? I couldn't fathom going through this again. "It's going to hurt me more than you," my dad sternly stated. Yeah right, I thought. It was the mid 1960's and my toddler mind, full of just a wee little calamity or more, tried to reason the logic of dad's decision. Soon, his hand would be across my behind which would hurt as bad as his hand. This didn't make any sense. Can't we just talk about it? After all, we did a few times before. I remember the steam shot out of his ears more with each occurence. But we're family, dad...dad....DAD!!! I bawled as I had no tolerance for pain. But I figure Dad couldn't stand pain either as he probably stopped when his hand hurt bad enough (or so I'd like to think). I especially relished the thought that I endured a helluva lot more pain than the ol' man. Boy, I wished I could've passed gas for revenge! Especially the silent ones as they are more potent.
It's a half century later now. I've come to know what I did back then: some things in life just don't happen when you want them to.