My Dad had 2 rules, and only 2 that would warrant a beating.
Don't get her pregnant, and don't call from jail.

How about a beating that I got out of,

I smacked my little brother with a stick and Dad saw my do it.  He told me to go get a stick so he could beat me with it. When I bought back a 3 foot long 2X4 he had a hard time not laughing.

Wooden spoons over the ass for calling for money for ice-cream from the street in the Bronx.My mother was in the shower and the ice-cream man was coming down the block ,so I used to call up to the 5th floor window "mom ,mom,mom and she did not answer so I got louder and louder because the truck was starting to go and I needed money (about 8 years old)so I'm screaming as loud as I can and she runs to the window half naked thinking I'm hurt or something and see's it's for ice-cream .She says get up here and proceeds to beat my ass with the wooden spoon and breaks it grabs another one and breaks that one to ,grabs another one and has at it.The next time the truck came I called in a whisper.mom,mom and that was it so low no ice-cream for a while.I think I have the record for wooden spoons breaking over my ass.

Belt to the ass plenty of times as a kid... When I was in 9th or 10th grade (6 feet, 220) my dad (5' 10, 185) pushed me and i instinctively pushed him back, he fell down against the wall ruining some window blinds in the process. I bugged the fuck out and locked my door...he never came after me, I never heard about it again, he never hit me again (even though I deserved it that time). I couldn't believe I fought back but my dad and I are really close now and all is well between us.



ETA:  I couldn't sleep for that whole night though, I was scared shitless about what he was going to do.

These stories are why I don't beat my kids.  I've been able to apply discipline without the fear of beatings.  I'm not anywhere near perfect as a Dad but I wont beat my kids.

Yeah, I had 'em when I was a kid.  Didn't deserve the severity then and never got over it or forgot about the injustice.

Carry on...

Got a bloody nose in the grocery store from my father when I was about 13-14.

It helped build character. Sissy.

 

Spanked at home when I deserved it and I always did.

Got smacked on the face for saying "shit" at age 6.


My parents did not use curse words that much.



One time my dad's friend who is a US Marine Light Colonel and Vietnam vet said "shit"...I was sitting on his lap and was 3 or 4.

So I repeated him and said "SHIT".

Mom comes in from the kitchen and gasps "WHAT DID HE SAY".


He looks down at me and sees the terror in my eyes.

"Him...he didn't say anything".

I LOL'd. Thanks, I'm still chuckling. "Let me make it worth your wile". Ha ha ha.

I lolled hysterically at the part in red.  Comic gold except for the pain you felt, which was anything but funny I'm sure.  FWIW, I got my ass beat with a belt daily whether needing it or not.  And some days, my siblings and I most certainly had it coming.

I never had any form of regimented corporal punishment.  It was usually swift, light pop in the mouth, or a flick to the back of the head at the dinner table.  Just enough to keep me in line.  I never had to "wait until dad gets home" either.  My mom had no problem dropping the hammer .

The best beating I ever saw was when my mom was smacking my little brother with a wooden spoon (it was always the closest "less lethal" weapon available depending on me or my brothers' level of "escalation").  I was peeking around the corner laughing, and the spoon broke, the top almost hit me.

My parents NEVER however used a belt, fists or any heavy object.  There was a line.

Hmmm. The two I remember the most are getting beat with a garden hose by my dad for not hanging the wet laundry fast enough and the one with the wire coat hanger because he was out of "diet pills" and in a bad mood. Oh boy. Good times. At least I got to miss school for a few days out of those. Those are about as funny at beatings got at my house.

My parents had this ancient leather belt that worked wonders!

Disclaimer: Spankings, not undeserved beatings.

Haha My dad would never do any of this stuff, he loves me!

I was never beaten, I was given spankings as needed.  Discipline was usually administered with a paddle, or a belt.  Just as they are today in my house.

I really feel sorry for what some of you had to put up with as children, but I also suppose that this was not the only area in which your parents failed you.

When I was 14 years old, I was watching TV when my mother was trying to get me to take out the trash.  I kept saying, 'In a minute.'  And she finally told me to get my ass out of that chair right now and take out the trash.  Without thinking, the word, 'bitch.' slipped out.  



At the time, my Father was across the room.  It was a good 30 feet.  Before I knew what happened, I was lying on my back, the old man was kneeling above me and his hand was around my throat.  



It was his calm that was the most disturbing.  His tone of voice was conversational and he never raised his voice.  Just held me until I started to turn purple and said, "You WILL NOT talk to my wife that way."  



He let go just before I would have passed out.  



I have never called my mother a name of any kind since that day.  

Many broken wooden spoons.
One time I mouthed off to my mother and she clocked me with a bag of rock hard, homemade(hence rock hard) bagels.
Dad whipped me with a child's fiberglass bow ONCE. I was supposed to get two hits, but there was no fucking way I was letting that thing touch my ass again. It hurt worse than just about anything else I have ever been hit with. And I spent 16 years with a psycho bitch.

I tell my kids that I got my ass beat if the grass was green that day, sometimes I had it coming sometimes not.
One time my best friend (rest his soul) and his cousin (rest his soul) were playing wiffleball and wouldn't let me play. They thought it would be best to make fun of me instead, well my friend learned respect when I threw a two foot long 2x4 at him and split his head wide open. My old man's belt came out faster than a light sabre and hurt like hell.
My uncle had a 67 Fairlane convertible and my two cousins took my football and locked it and them in the car. They razzed me and said I couldn't get it cause I couldn't get in the car, have brick will travel, took the passenger side window out with no problem. Out came the lightning leather stripe maker again.
When I was a wee lad my parents bought me a carpenter tool set with real metal tools and the saw worked so good that I used it to remove the legs from the couch. Those folding six foot rulers that come in those sets hurt pretty bad too, my mom didn't want to wait for my dad to get home with the strap.

I don't even think I was ever spanked. I learned at a very early age that doing what my parents told me, made life a lot easier.

Pretty standard.  Mom would whip our asses and then Dad would come home, hear what had occurred and whip them again.  Usually with a paddle.  One day, my oldest brother must have been about twelve.  Mom went to whip his ass and he took the belt away from her.  Dad beat his ass with fists thereafter.  

My last paddling I was about twelve years old.  I had gotten suspended from school for being a little asshole and that meant I went to work with Dad and did his scut work.  Now, Dad worked in Aviation maintenance but I didn't think too much when on the first day he grabbed a six foot length of 2X4 and got to work.  He started shaving it down and trimming it into a shape.  Thinking he was making a lever or what not to work on an airplane I asked if he wanted me to help.  He showed me how to use some of the machines and we worked on it most of the day as time permitted.  It wasn't until he had it shaved down to 1 1/2" X 4" X 4 1/2'  with a handle and then started to burn it over with a torch that I realized what it looked like.  "Dad, what is this anyway?" I asked.  He replied, "It's the paddle I'm going to use on your ass the entire week you're suspended from school".  And he did, in front of any of his coworkers who happened to be around.  At least once daily.  Did I mention he worked for the State Troopers and they didn't give a shit?  After that, I graduated to the fist to the mouth when I got lippy.  I deserved every bit of it and probably didn't get it as often as I deserved it.  I harbor not one bit of resentment for any of it.  My Dad kept my ass out of trouble and steered me onto the straight and narrow.   I'm now thirty one and I have that paddle waiting for my kids when I have them.  I owe my success in life to the discipline my Dad instilled in me.  Sometimes he says that he may have been too hard on us when we were kids and I'll tell him he was just making up for all the shit he never caught us doing.  And last but not least, just two days ago me and Dad were under my truck pulling the rear tank and he said that he was glad we got along so well.  Apparently, he and Grandpa never did.  It seems well worth it to me.  Beat your kids when they need it, they'll thank you one day.

I don't really remember many of them, but I put baseballs through 2 windows and a car windshield (seperate incidents, and not on purpose). Broken windows always got you a beating

People I know think that my parents did not beat me enough as a kid.

We got beat petty regular when we were kids before the old man ran off. Anything hard within reach would do, if there was nothing close then his fist worked just fine. His favorite was a boat paddle.

I guess the lesson is not to do that to my kid.

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Mine would have smiled at that and started swinging.



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My mother was the wooden spoon breaker over my ass champion.  Also, she liked to use one of those paddle ball paddles without the ball and elastic band attached.



She never really had to do it a lot but lord, when she did, I remembered it.  My father rarely if ever had to touch me.  He was the kind of person who is big and intimidating and basically all mom had to say was "wait till your father gets home."  If that didn't shut me up then when he came home he could shut me up.  Again, never really had to touch me but it was his voice and his finger in the middle of my chest backing me across a room that got the point across.

My dad never touched me, his glance was a death ray!  My mom on the other hand hit me with anything that she could lift.  Spatula, shoe, board of education(my backside broke it), belt, hand, etc.  All of it aimed squarely at my ass.  The beatings weren't that often, but the verbal abuse sure was.  I never held it against her, although I kind of wish she just would have screamed at me instead!  

Most of the crew think you don't get beat enough now.

Never got beat bad, but I did learn to fear The College Ring.

A good whack on the head with that thing left quite a lump.

punched my little brother in the face once and got a foot put straight up my ass didnt even know what hit me until i was spitting out dirt and grass.  i deserved every one i ever recieved

That is not the same type of beating we're discussing here, although the terminology would be accurate there....

I got the living shit beat out of me by my dad for playing with the Jewish kid that lived across the street and for playing basketball with the ( white) kids in the neighborhood.

 What I learned then was that Jews and "nigger sports" weren't things I should be doing.,


 What I learned as an adult was to not be a violent,racist asshole.

The family had gone to a local tourist stop and I talked my parents into buying me a bullwhip. At that time, "Rawhide" was big on TV.

Well, about a week later I regretted that purchase. Mom didn't tie me to a wagon wheel or anything like that, but she DID get a few good whacks in.

But then again, when Mom or Dad decided that a can of whoop-ass needed to be opened, whatever was handy worked just fine.

I remember when I was probably about 10-11, I must have mouthed off to my dad, or did something that was inexcusable, what I seem to recall was that my dad had recently refinished his kitchen and he had a nice piece of solid oak, probably about 5" wide by 3' long. Needless to say, he told me to bend over the steps and gave me three or four good whacks with it. It goes without saying my damn knees buckled right then and there. That put an end to my shitty mouth.