My coworker was just telling me about her grandson. She was just shaking her head. She said, "He's wide open. He's just so…rough!" I think he's about four or five years old. She said her son his on his butt, though. She said her son thumps his son on the head when he gets out of hand. She said she tells him to stop thumping him like that.
I just laughed. I explained to her that a thump works like a reset button on bad, li'l boys. The impact of a well-placed thump (temporarily) restores order in a chaotic little brain intent on doing something it has NO business doing. It's like a magnet on iron filings. A thump is only a temporary measure, you see. You're still gonna have to whup 'im at some point. Don't feel bad, though. That bad, li'l boy NEEDS that disciplinary thump.
My dad used to thump the CRAP out of me. He would make me sit in the chair in front of him at our…religious services. I'd forget where I was and get to playing with my fingers. They were men, you see. And, they would fight. My middle finger and my ring finger were the legs. My pinky and my index fingers were the arms. I'd be kung fu fighting on my lap with my hands. Way before The Matrix was ever conceived, I was doing bullet time with my hands…re-enacting the fight between Steve Austin and the Seven Million Dollar Man. My right would dodge a kick, get his balance quickly before launching his own kic-
*Thwock*
My dad would thump me on that bone right behind my ear with laser-like precision. Reality would drop back on me like a big, fat girl coming off the top rope. Suddenly, I remember that I was supposed to be turning in my Bible to a scripture. I'd blink back the tears and act like I didn't hear my friends snickering three rows back. I couldn't even rub it because then he'd lean forward and threaten to pound me into a paste-like consistency if I kept on playing.
Five minutes later, my fingers would be re-enacting Obi-Wan and Darth Vader's lightsaber battl-
*Thwock*
The funny part to me is that 15-20 years later, I had a rambunctious son. He'd be intently applying himself to some form of mayhem or mischief, when…
*Thwock*
I applied pressure to the reset button. He'd straighten up.
My dad said, "Uh, son? Don't thump him like that! He's ok!"
8^o
My mother, on the other hand, didn't thump me. She used to pinch me. To this DAY, I hate being pinched. She would get in really closely and talk so that only I could hear her and threaten to tell my father on me. But, what people couldn't see, because my body was blocking their view, was my mom pinching my stomach through the whole sentence. You don't need to look up the word "writhe" once my mother gets hold of you. Trust me on that one. I actually think that I behaved for a longer period of time from the pinch than the thump.
*smh*
