Hmm.
@Aunt Marg A story from my wonderful childhood.
I was sent outside as in “I am sick of you being around, so outside. NOW!” It was after dinner. I don’t know how I ended up outside barefoot. The rule was always wear shoes. I figure I was around eight.
I would not be outside long. When they finished eating, I would be called in to do the dishes. I walked across the side yard which, since we just move to a new house, was not yet planted. I suppose something caught my eye. I stepped on an old piece of 2x2 with a large rusty construction nail in it. I must have screamed, had to have screamed. I don’t remember.
The nail went up through the arch of my foot and came out the top. It stuck up a couple of inches through the top of my foot. My butt hit the dirt and I just sat there. (What else could I do? I had a giant nail in my foot, held against the bottom of by foot by a pice of wood). I wasn’t crying. I never cried. Then, mother, from the doorway calls. Come in, time for dishes.
I don’t answer. It’s twilight outside. She comes to the end of walkway. She is wearing her white heavy terry cloth (I think) robe with the pink flowers with green stems on the left side. She loves this robe. She walks over and sees me sitting. Where are your shoes? (I have wondered that my entire life. Where were my shoes.) Get up. “I can’t”
She walks over and sees my problem. Reaches down, (Using her right hand) takes hold of the piece of wood, and pulls the nail, and board, out and off my foot. I start to bleed like a stuck pig. She uses her right hand, pulls me, and pulls me along into the house. It’s a slow journey.
I am hopping on one foot, my left. I am leaning against her. My foot is bleeding all over her robe and the flowers and the stems. As we struggle to get into the house, she says “I told you to wear shoes outside”. With her right hand, she is hold onto my right arm, half dragging me. With her left hand, she hits my butt with every word she says. Spanks me all the way into the house.
She sits me down in a dinning room chair. Goes and gets an old sheet, tears and ties it around my foot. “You got blood all over my robe.” She pulls me out of the chair, folds me over her lap, and continues spanking. Tosses me back into the chair, throws the rest of the sheet at me, and yells “clean up the blood”, which I do.
When I am done, she tells me to go do the dishes. I go do the dishes.
Yup, I do not miss the good old days. Not one dang bit. I could go on,
