My Parents and Grandparents Blistered My Bottom

My grandparents and parents were among those people who believed in the Bible verse about sparing the rod and spoiling the child. When one of them spoke, you listened, and if you didn’t there was price to pay, and that was usually a whipping.

I’m not sure how many times my grandparents and parents wore me out, but there were a few times when they did and I haven’t forgotten those even though I’m about 70 years old.

During my younger years, I’m not sure how many whippings I received, but I remember the first one like it was yesterday. That was probably around 60 years ago and that whipping was given to me by my grandfather.

Growing up on a farm everyone, even the small children, have chores to do. As you get older the chores increase and they don’t get easier, but that’s just the way life is on a farm.

I was a young child, not sure if I had started school yet, but I was given chores. One of those chores was to feed and water the chickens and gather the eggs.

You would have to rise early, get your corn and mash together and head to the chicken house. Once there, you would empty the feed and when the chickens got off the nest you would gather the eggs. Sounds simple, but not really that easy to do.

My grandfather had a couple of roosters that were mean and didn’t mind letting you know that if you invaded their territory there was price to pay.

Almost every morning, one of those roosters would attack me, spike me and peck me. Almost every morning I would leave the chicken house with blood dripping from some part of my body.

To say I dreaded entering that chicken house would be an understatement, but what a relief it was when the chore was done and I could get out there.

With that being a daily routine, eventually I decided enough was enough and I was going to show those roosters who was boss.

That morning, when I went to the barn to gather the corn and grain, I cut a couple of pieces of hay bailing twine as well. My idea was to use the bailing twine in self-defense. If one of the roosters attacked me I was going to use it, much like a whip and strike the rooster making him think twice about doing it again.

It didn’t work out that way, however.

As usual, I entered the chicken house and one of the roosters gave me the evil eye. He watched me as I walked toward the feed trough and when I bent over to pour the food into the trough the rooster made his move.

He jumped on my back stuck his spurs in me and began pecking me. My instinct was to get that darn thing off me. I forgot about the twine – as a matter of fact, I dropped it.

After a couple minutes of fighting with the rooster, I was able to get my hands on him, and that was when I got a new bright idea.

I picked up the twine, held tight to the rooster, put him on the ground, rolled him over and started tying his feet together. Then I took it a step further, I had seen my grandfather tie other animals and he would tie their feet and their mouths to keep them from biting.

My intent was to tie the rooster’s beak, but it was too small, so I tied the rope, attached to his legs, around his neck. It was not my intent to harm the bird, just teach him a good lesson.

Later that evening, my grandfather returned home from working the fields. He was already hot, tired and aggravated. As usual, after dinner, he would make his way to the backyard to fire up his nightly pipe. He would just stand out back and puff on that pipe as if he were contemplating something, but little did I know what was going to be in store when he returned from his “smoke break.”

I can hear his voice to this day calling for me at the back door. I knew the tone of that voice and I knew I was in trouble.

“What did you do?” he asked holding a dead rooster in his hand.

I told him what happened, but that didn’t matter. He took off his belt and wore me out. He blistered my bottom enough that I really didn’t want to sit down for a while.

After tearing me up. He explained that the rooster didn’t know what he was doing; he was simply guarding his territory. He also explained how what I had done was wrong and how it would affect our chicken house.

I’m not sure which was worse, the spanking or the talking to. Either way, it was effective.

It taught me that for every action there is a reaction and it taught me to respect the farm, its animals and the family. It also taught me that there is a price to pay when you do wrong. God was right when he wrote in his word, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Today, I appreciate every one of those times my bottom got blistered because it helped me to stay out of trouble and become the person I am today.