The thread about the little crap that knocked himself down at wally world got me thinking. Found here link to threadWhat are some good beating stories that you received from your parents? Especially ones that taught you valuable lessons.

One would have to be when I really pissed off my mother by not cutting the grass. I was old enough to think I could tell her I wasn’t going to do it. She stated “your cutting the grass or your getting a beating”, yea sure whatever mom. Well 2 min later she comes in with the metal BBQ spatula that’s 2 feet long and proceeds to beat the shit out of me with it (I was a real smart ass, I had it coming)

I try to grab the spatula but rather then trying to worry about hitting me on my bottom she takes the target of opportunity and beats the hell out of my knuckles/hands. Moral of the story 10min later I was still cutting the grass with bloody hands. Never did argue about cutting the grass again.

Another when I was real young, like 6th grade young. I wouldn’t listen to my father he proceeds to throw me over his knee and explain to me why I should listen. I tell him I am going to call children services because he beats me. Without a second thought he grabs me again and tell me “let me make it worth you wile” and I get the beating all over again. I listened real well after that

When I was in the 2nd/3rd grade, I HATED to go to church. I dragged out getting dressed one Sunday in the hope that I would get left behind. My sainted mudder (who is now a retired teacher) beat my ass with a wooden paddle until it split down the middle. Needless to say, I got dressed...............    

Wow...I got my ass whipped so many times that nothing really sticks out. I had it coming every time too.

For real.  The only one I really remember was the last one.  I was probably 14 and I turned around to my dad and sneered "that doesn't hurt anymore" all Nelson Muntz style (though this was pre-Simpsons, even on Tracy Ullman).  So he punched me in the nose.  I don't think I ever did anything deserving that again.

I told my mom to "fuck off" once and she chased me with a wooden spoon over half a mile through woods and our field before finally getting a hold of me and beating me till the spoon broke.

I thought cursing at her was bad, it paled in comparison to breaking her wooden spoon with my ass/back.

I was beaten on my bare ass with a wire brush. The bristles broke my skin-my ass was a bloody mess. In the 1970's this was discipline. Today it is a prison sentence. Uncle Sam took me in at 18 and I haven't looked back.

Shit the stuff my parents did if they did it now they would be in jail. They were both raise to resolve any problem hit first, you can't agree with Dad about when to cme home you get a punch in the mouth. Reminds me of my sister-in-law that beats her kids and tell them to stop hitting each other ....dumb fuck. Anyway my Dad beat me one time with a ruler and it broke so he ripped out the electric cord from a vaccum and kept on hitting. My Mom use to use a horse whip on us. Shit I still can't sit without the bad memories .

lol. I had my mom slap me in the face, hard, one night when I felt that curfew didn't apply to me anymore, I was about 13-14yo.



Another time when I was a little younger about 10-11, we owned quite a bit of property. My dad had told me not to play with my friends on the property for concern of them getting hurt.



Well, me and my friend were playing around in the trees and what not when I see my dad walking up, and he was pissed. Snatched me up and took me into the house, then proceeded to tear into me with a frat house style wooden paddle.



Good times. I was a little asshole when I was younger.



Also, saw a buddy of mine get whipped with an extension cord and another time with a nike sandal. After the beating with the nike sandal, he had a bunch of nike swooshes all over his back for about an hour or so, lol.

Same here

I'm sure Dad missed a few beatings that I deserved as well

My dad used his fists.I think he's the reason I've never hit my son..

Hot Wheels track, doubled over.  Not that I didn't deserve it though.

My Dad could really dish them out.  It didn't take more than a couple before I wised up.  When Mom said "Don't make me tell your Father" it was time to stop fucking around and straighten up.  It was bad enough that Mom watched to make sure he stopped before any real damage was done.



Personally, while it damaged the whole Father/Son relationship, no other damage was done and being scared shitless of Dad gave Mom a big stick of her own to carry.  I wasn't afraid of Mom at all and I'd push her, but when she drew the Dad card it was all over.



A shame in a way though, I didn't start to like my Dad till I was grown and out of the house for a while then I had my own life.  And he died at 66, so we didn't have much quality time together.  My older Brother never reconciled with him and now he's gone too.  I like to think that they've finally made up, somewhere.

I had many, but the worst was when I was 13.

A group of us were playing baseball in the street and my younger brother and I got into a screaming argument about something.  My dad came out with a 4' stick from an ash tree that was about as thick as a broom handle, but flexible like cane.  For some reason, I was the target.

He beat the shit out of my backside and legs in front of the whole neighborhood.  I was wearing shorts.  It was the worst beating that I had ever had.

It also sucked during the post-PE showers at school when the guys noticed the welts and scabs.  No one asked me what happened, though; I guess that they knew.

I still have trouble watching caning videos.

I was about 10. Burned down about an acre of ground cover brush in the woods behind our house by accident Lied about the cause. . Couldn't sit for about a week.

my father worked for Bell helicopter for awhile as a contractor for Iranian government prior to the Shah being deposed.  He had this nice big belt buckle with AH1 Cobra and the helicopter on it, from time to time I would have a perfect imprint of a Bell Cobra on my ass cheek wearing it for about a week until it went down.

I did the same thing, was maybe 9 or 10 and had just learned the words at school that day and really had no idea waht they meant except they were cool.  Got home, Mom opened the door and I greated her with it.  She yanked my ass in the house so fast  LOL. Can't remember if she used as spoon or a hair brush, but I had one or two of each broken over my ass over the years.  

I remember back in Russia I was a little shithead in kindergarten all the time (started fights, pulled girls hair, pissed and shat everywhere). Well my parents when they would pick me up at night would always ask my supervisor how I did. If they found out I did what I wrote above I would get a belt to the ass by my dad and be put in the corner. Good times

I did something similar to that one time... But he got it put out before it went more than a few dozen feet. Then I hid the lighter I used. I think I would have rather had to put the fire out with my ass instead of what I got for that one.

The last time my mom "spanked" me I was like 11, and she did it with a leather riding crop... I told her it didn't hurt anymore and she proceeded to make like Babe Ruth with the thing. I retracted my previous statement in a hurry.

Normally they would just make me learn the lesson in some other way, like the time I told her I hated her and I wasn't going home with her when we were at Walgreens (I was probably 4 years old?). She said "alright, see ya later and good luck finding your way home", walked out of the store and just around the corner from the door where she could see me come running out after her screaming DON'T LEAVE ME MOMMY!!! She asked if I was ever going to do that again and I said no and that was that. Or the time I "stole" a nail from Wal-Mart around the same age (I found it on the floor and ran it over the scanner cause I thought it magically knew what the item was, I had no idea what bar codes were) and showed it to her when we got outside. She marched my ass right back in the store and made me give it to the cashier, apologize, and told me I was lucky she didn't call the police on me.

That kind of learning went pretty well for me when I was little... I never took anything from anywhere again and I made sure I never pissed off the person who drove me somewhere.

In the summer as kids our grandmother watched us.  A little background on my grandmother at a very young age both her parents died of that swine flu back in the day, and she was passed around family way back when, so she had no sympathy.  Well every morning she would take this branch from a weeping willow and give me and my brother a good swat with it, and she told us that was for whatever she didn't catch us doing during the day.  And if she caught us, holy crap, it was like professional wrestling she would use whatever was at hand, I once got bonked over the head with a metal collander.

The worst one I ever got was at the hands of my dad.  He caught me punching my younger brother after church and he snatched me up and beat my ass with a barber strap.  Damn that hurt.

The best beating that I ever saw was once my mom took my older brother's (8 years older) belt and started spanking me, and I ran across to my aunt's house (single lady with no kids) and my mom sent my older brother to get me and my aunt told him to go away and she would take his belt away from him if he let my mom use it again.  He said I'd like to see you try (he was 16 at the time) and she proceeded to go full windmill on his ass, it was one of the funniest things I have ever seen.  He ran out of there like a little girl with my aunt chasing after him just full on windmill on his ass.

When I was about 6 years old, I got sunstroke while working in the rice paddies.  The next day, I threw a tantrum about it when told to go plant some more shoots.  It was miserable work with the fields stinking of human manure and the muck reached up to my thighs.  (Hell, I was 6!)  My grandmother lit into me with a switch.  The broken skin got infected (see what happens when you wade in shit and get it all over your welts) and I ended up pretty feverish.  Luckily, U.S. Army medics were around because there were still frequent patrols in Korea at that time and I lived.

This isn't Korea (houses are too nice and there were no trees in the paddies) and the kids aren't being forced to work, but it reminds me a lot of what it was like.



I just don't get a warm and fuzzy feeling about this picture after my childhood.  

We used to have a enormous stack of carefully stacked firewood in the barn. We were told time and time again not to climb on top of the stack. We did. Went fine couple of times, until that time the whole stack collapsed and hit grandpa's car, and lawnmower.
I remember that ass-whooping well because my grandfather started it and my dad finished it.
After the asswhooping we had to stack the whole thing again. Took us three days.

That was the only time my grandpa gave me one. Can count the ones my dad did on two hands.

My mom broke her thumb beating my ass once.  I was a hyper child, probably would have been diagnosed with ADHD given drugs these days.  My mom home schooled me for 2 years after the child psychologist said I would never be able to function in a normal classroom.  I've been thinking about sending him my diploma from the nation's #1 university but I doubt he would remember me.

When I was 14, I called my mom a bitch when she returned my Nintendo 64. All she said was, "I'm calling your father."

My dad was a special agent with the railroad police and was 2 1/2 hours away from home that night. He drove all the way home to pick me up by my hair and punch my in the face. I haven't called my mom a bitch ever again.

My dad was (and is) a very fair and honest man, but being an old Army Ranger, not inclined to take much flack.  I distinctly remember the last whipping I received for fighting with my brother; corporal punishment was rare, but when administered was similar to a 1780's vintage Royal Navy caning.  "Okay, who's going first?"  I did, as I knew my brother was much weaker mentally, and his watching my ass-beating would make his all the worse.  Ten good lashes while holding the luggage rack on the station wagon, and I walked silently away in great pain but internally chuckling about the wails of brother.

Brother got another good one after shooting a guy's windshield with a BB pistol while riding on back of buddy's motorcycle (brother was clearly a reprobate).  Dad told him, "Grab that gate", ripped a large branch from a nearby ornamental, and gave him a well-deserved beating I couldn't watch.

Nothing put the fear of death into me like my mother getting the crazy look and having her whip off her flip flop to beat my ass.

  Everyone's ass is split down the middle.

Mom beat my ass with half a hula hoop one day for refusing to wear that stupid



yellow rain slicker and buckle up rubber boots to school when it was raining.

Good to know I wasn't the only one to have a wooden spoon broken on my ass.

The worst was that pissed her off, so she went and got a horse whip. Boy, that really changed the game.

I also remember getting being a turd to my grandfather when he was babysitting my brother and I, he took his belt off, bent me over his knee, and giving me a couple of good licks. Yeah, I never miss treated him wrong again.

First off, there is nothing good about a beating, period.


I was beaten pretty regular whether I needed it or not.

Up until I was 8 or so, my dad handled that. If I so much as walked in front of the TV while his favorite show was on, or made a mess with my toys, out came a belt or a fist. Went to school all marked up more than a few times.

Then he died. I figured I was going to have it easy after that. Nope.

Mom picked up where he left off, and turned it up to 11.

Not just hitting me, though she did plenty of that with anything she could get her hands on, she was creative. She removed my bedroom door and burned it. She killed my pets (or made me, or her boyfriend do it). She broke my stuff, trashed my room, basically anything she could to get under my skin.

I have no idea why, and to this day she claims to not remember any of it, or the majority of my childhood.

Can't forget about the clogs hitting you like a sniper's bullet........ where the fuck did that come from.

The worst was the house we lived in when I was around 10. There was a huge weeping willow tree in the front yard. When we got into trouble, we'd have to go pick the switch our mom would use on us. The psychological effect of that was as bad as the whipping. You had to choose just right. Too big and it would hurt too much; too small and I'd get sent out for a bigger one and whipped for trying to shirk the punishment. And many a wooden spoon met its demise on my butt. I curse whoever invented nylon spatulas.

My mom smacked me across the face with a wire brush when I was 9 for calling her a drunk bitch. She's been sober since October of 1989. I'm proud of her!

One time I shot an arrow at my brother inside the house.  I missed him and hit an oil painting my parents cherished.  That arrow was used to beat my butt pretty bad.

Another time I really deserved it was a weekend.  I was spouting off to my mom the whole day being a total jerk, just because I could.  When I finally started doing some housework she walked up to me out of no where while I was dusting the piano and slapped the crap out of me.

The last time I really deserved it I was a teenager, maybe 8th grade.  I made a smart remark to my mom while she was doing laundry and she went for the slap again.  Without even thinking, my left arm came up for the block.  Dad took care of me after that.

I did eventually learn not to be a spoiled little turd for the most part.

Dad used 10 lashes with his belt as the answer to any misconduct I was perceived to have done.  We were not on good terms until I was in my mid-20s.

playing in the house accidentally scratched furniture... heavy leather belt to the backside... learned to be careful around all furniture... or at least figure out which wood finish looks best

When I was 5, we were in a multi-story J.C. Penny's. I noticed a bright florescent red sign on a door that said, "PUSH".


I knew the red meant something like "don't", so I waited until the parental units were wandering away. Then I PUSHed it.

Flashing lights, sirens, alarms!!


I tried to hide, to make myself invisible, to vanish. No good.

Had trouble sitting down for couple of days.

I was 10 or so.  Whatever little league age is.  We were always late to games or practice.  I was always ready to go, but Dad was doing whatever Dad did, and we were always late.  This time, I was waiting in the garage, and he came out and asked why I wasn't wearing my ball cap.  I was pissed that he was insinuating I wasn't ready and he'd been waiting on me or something, and got mouthy.  Maybe I'd been mouthy all week, I don't know, but I saw something snap in Pop's face, and he laid into me across my back with his ball mitt.  I know that doesn't sound like much, but it was bad.  Two or three swipes I got.  Full load, whatever he could muster.





I learned a valuable lesson about life from that.  Maybe we were always late because he had adult stuff to do, you know, like feeding and housing me.  Whatever the reason, at that age I was at the point where I only thought of me and my wants, and I learned that my needs and wants weren't always going to be the top priority, no matter how flip I got.  I learned that there was a physical consequence backing up threats of punishment, that I couldn't just slide and do whatever I wanted.



The way I was going, I don't think anything but that swift, unapologetic, physical punishment would have brought me to those realizations.  It was only after that, did the "son I'm dissapoint" speech start cutting to the bone.

The time my brother decided it would be a good idea to have a shoe fight (run around the house and throw shoes at me).



I reciprocated.



He got a bloody lip and started crying right when mom and dad walked in.



I got a beating.

3 beatings come to mind...

I was 13ish and had learned what "the finger" was and I was dying to use.  I was in the kitchen while mom was tenderizing some meat and she told me to put ice in the ice cube bucket (they didn't get an automatic ice maker in their refrigerator until after I graduated from college in 1998).  I hated having to do this because it required me to take the ice bucket out of the freezer door, dump the ice trays into the bucket, then not spill any of the ice cubes when I put the bucket back in the door - I was never successful at that - and then refill the ice trays and put them back in the freezer without making a mess.  Well after I dumped the ice cubes in the bucket, I flipped her the bird...and she shut the freezer door just in time to get a face full of my middle finger.  Needless to say, she was less than enamored with my gesture.  She grabbed said finger and took it over to where she was beating the hell out of the meat and held my finger down and whacked it a few times with the meat tenderizer.  My middle finger is still crooked to this day because I'm pretty sure she broke it.

Second one was me challenging my dad a few years later.  16, Billy Bad Ass, and indestructible...and dumb as a bag of hammers apparently.  Mom told me to take the garbage out and I thought that was below my station in life, as I was a badass teenager. "No" I told her.  Dad piped up and said to take out the damn trash or else.  The last thing I remember was saying "Or else what?"  When I came to, I had two black eyes, a broken nose, and two loose teeth and was laying on the living room floor with a bag on frozen peas on my face.

The last, and probably the worst beating I got was right before I graduated from high school.  I had just come home from spring break in Panama City, FL and was regaling one of my friends one of the phone of all the imaginary poon I had gotten.  The Old Man comes into my room and tells me something "important."  I blow him off and keep talking to my buddy.  He comes and tells again.  So I hang up the phone, irritated, and I'm going to give him a piece of my mind.  We talk by the garage door (door that leads to the garage, not the garage door to the outside) for a few minutes, things get heated, he pins me to the wall, and I whip out the cheap, shitty chainlink handcuffs I got in PCFL as a gag and I slap one on his right wrist and the other to the doorknob ad slip away.  Now he's handcuffed to the door and can't get away.  In my epic brilliance, I stand just out of reach and begin to taunt him relentlessly.  I was even so brazen as to go get the phone and call my buddy and stand in front of my dad while he's trying in vein to get out of the handcuffs.  I was so smart.  I had finally bested the Old Man.  All I could do was laugh in his face while he tried to get out of the bracelets.  If you don't already know, the phrase "I'm smarter than you" is enough to send your dad into a rage.  My dad, all 6'5", 260 pounds of him, then RIPS THE DOORKNOB OUT OF THE DOOR (I'm not shitting you), and tackles me in the confined hallway.  He proceeds to pin me to the floor, takes the phone and tells my buddy to "listen to this shit" and then BEATS ME WITH THE FUCKING DOORKNOB!!!  I'm not sure how long the whippin took, but it felt like a thousand lifetimes. I didn't go to school for 2 days because he beat my ass so bad I couldn't open my eyes.  

That was the last time I ever smarted off to my dad while we were in the same state.

My Mom told me the only thing she regrets about my childhood is not beating me enough, seriously. I was a very bad child admittedly though.

My growing up was pretty common.  Nothing out of the ordinary, I didn't act up much, but when I did, my parents didn't mind spanking.



This reminded me of my friend growing up for some reason.  I think he got the Hot Wheels track too.  But the story it reminded me of, he used to always break his toys, and one day he was playing with a newer toy, and his dad said "hey, let me see that" and broke it and gave it back to him saying something like "I saved you the trouble".

I was around 4 years old and I had disobeyed mom about not going down to the local swimming pool. She was going to swat me with a belt. As she swung the belt I pulled away and she missed. I pointed at her and said "Ha Ha you missed me". I'm 47 years old and still remember thinking that that beating would never end.

Jesus christ....



I respected my parents, sure I did stupid kid stuff that led to spankings when I was young but I couldn't imagine doing anything as a teen that would require fists.

When I was 15/16 I was at a friends house and my mother called and told me to come home to help make dinner. Not wanting to leave I argue with her which got a bit heated, called her a bitch and hung up.

5 minutes later the phone rings again and it's my younger brother. He tells me that I better get home because my mother is in my room (on the 2nd story of our house) ripping my shit off the walls and throwing my clothes out of the window into the back yard.

I race home and get there a few minutes later to find exactly what my brother called about, in progress. I'm pissed at this point and go to literally try and bear hug my mother and get her out of my now totally destroyed room - right as I get up to her and try to grab her she spins around and smacks me HARD in the face with what seems like a move out of the Matrix when you see Neo moving so fast that you see multiple arms at a time....I got hit so many times I have no idea WTF happened and went to school the next day with the right side of my face looking like it was on fire.

Never did that shit again.

I learned that I was going to get it no matter what, so I might as well be a delinquent.
 

My dad used his USMC web belt to dish out punishment.

One morning me and my younger brother tried to swing from the drape cords in the living room, I got on the couch, he got on an end table, we both launched at the same time.
We pulled the drape rod out of its holder and pulled the holder out of the wall.
We destroyed the drape mechanism.
My mom beat us with the drape cord.

One of my neighborhood friends dad was a coach for the local Pony League (baseball).
He had a sack of brand new balls that were for games, another sack with practice balls and another bag with balls for his son to use to practice pitching.
His dad had set up a tire against a brick wall with a couple of pillows used for backing.
His dad told my friend not to use the game or practice balls.
My friend didn't want to pick up the balls, so he dumped out the game and practice balls and started throwing them.
As he was doing this the pillows fell out of the tire, my friend kept throwing the balls.
His dad came home and saw what his son had done.
He made him go to the peach tree and cut off a branch, then whittle the bark off of it.
At that point he sent me home.
The next day my friend showed me the switch marks on his back and legs.
He never messed with ANY of his dads stuff after that.

Never got hit, slapped, spanked, or laid a hand on other than to yank me away from something.  Turned out just fine in the discipline area.

Dad was a fists and feet kinda brawler.



I found that out when I was about 6.



Ask me how a punted football feels.

I remember my teacher bringing me to the Pastor after the coach noticed my bruises.  



It stopped when I made it stop, sadly.  It was an ugly day in the barn.



My father tearfully apologized for his discipline about 10 years ago.  I hold no ill will.  I talk to my Dad every three days on my way to work in the morning.  



My kids don't get that type of discipline.