Mom never hit her 3 sons with her hand but was down right terrifying with a fly swatter. She could clip an earlobe no matter how fast you tried to run past her.
George
Dad never raised a hand to any of his 5 children because he believed that a man is too big to lay a hand on a woman or child. His approval was what kept us in line because we all respected and (strangely) feared him. Mom on the other hand WAS the disciplinarian but we deserved everything we got. Mom, despite wielding a yardstick like a samurai, was the epitome of love and fairness. Mom broke enough wooden yardsticks over my ass that she finally decided to get a metal yardstick. When mom slid that thing from between the furnace and duct sounded similar to what I imagine Excalibur sounded like when it was being unsheathed in battle.
I’d take every whooping I got as a boy right now for one more day with mom.
