My Dad had quite the tight spring in his finger. My siblings and I know this all too well. Being one of seven kids, I figured my Dad resorted to a good head-thumping to keep us in line as it was quick and easy, got the point (read: pain) across without raising his voice to us, no spanking needed, no dragging a kid to their room to think it over as being alone in our room was, let's get real here, with a small neighborhood living under one roof, a luxury.
All he had to do was pull back his finger with his thumb and raise it over our head that had us shutting-up the "foul" language we were using, begging our teased siblings for forgiveness, instantly cleaning up our mess, whatever it was that we, the children, knew that he was coming after us for.
It's the worst when we didn't see it coming. We'd taunt our sibling in quiet, thinking everyone is out of earshot, when the world would shake with a loud crashing sound as our eyeballs rolled around in our head. Before we could come to, the swelling pain from one small spot on our head told us we were in big trouble mister.
Yesterday I felt compelled to go on a genealogy site I'm a member of. In my search, in my father's ancestry line, I read the memories of his great grandmother.
Needless to say, I laughed.
Out loud.
While we hated, HATED Dad's head thumping, at that moment I looked back on it with an amused grin, no doubt. Funny how odd characteristics (be it good or bad) are passed down from generation to generation. Old habits we have our children see and replicate.
I'm just grateful Dad didn't carry around a thimble.
