See The Kenetics

A child who has been smacked on numerous occasions may hold their body in such a way as to minimise further such strikes, should they have been caught out doing something they shouldn’t have (as we children often were). The response may be an apparent slight turning of the body to an angle to the parent, who raises their hand to strike, or, ducking instinctively as the hand swings thereby, learning how to avoid the full impact of the intended contact, by ‘going’ with the strike. Not dissimilar to the stuntmen fights seen in the movies. As kids, falling with the blow or swing, we could do that. Some kids have obviously gone on to careers of doing just that. Including many professional soccer players and probably a few boxers (hehehe) and of course the stunt men. As children we tried never to be caught screaming out as we were smacked unless we actually were. I recall one of my older sisters being belted for something and she screamed aloud at each strike (there were three). What spoiled it was her screaming out four times. The fourth swing from my father stopped, before contact, but her scream of pain was the same. There was a momentary pause as A: my father realised she had screamed before she was touched and B: my sister realised she had screamed out before the blow had landed. (big pause as each reflected). Then there was a solid flurry of blows, all of which I can assure you my father made sure actually connected.

So I think we understand what is being mentioned here. After psychological punishment, physical is next on the list and my example of this in relation to learning right from wrong, is highlighted in what occurred after my second intentional stealing a few years later.

It was a wild and stormy night…(thanks Mr Schultz and Snoopy, always loved that opening). It was. It was also Dunedin; winter and there was rain/sleet falling as seemed to happen during several weeks of the year. We had all made it safely home from school after a cold walk home. We had changed into ‘play clothes’. These were different from our school uniforms. Our shoes had already been polished for the next days wet walk to school. Our socks were steaming in our bedroom. Not the greatest of smells, as I mentioned earlier (four boys sharing one room, and damp ‘boys’ socks and winter…whew). Our family were about to sit down to a hot dinner of beef stew. That meant some potatoes as well as a gravy containing some meat and vegetables, when…. My mother discovered there was no more bread. No bread for our lunches the next day, and no bread to ‘mop up’ the gravy from our plates. There never was enough mashed potatoes to go around to do this, so a piece of bread was also required. And there was only one alternative. “One of you kids will have to bike down to the shop and get some.” My mother blithely said.

(Continued tomorrow)