The Helper

When I was a kid, spanking wasn't the taboo it is today. It was common practice. Every family had their favorite spanking tool. There's Dad's leather belt, a 'switch' off the old willow tree out back, Mom's wooden spoon or my family's choice... The Helper.

The Helper usually came out when it was time to clean up the pig sties we called bedrooms. When we actually got around to cleaning our rooms, we'd already been told a hundred times to do it and had literally been chased up there to get it done. I don't remember complaining much but my little sister Annie could never do the job without throwing a fit. She'd stomp around and cry about how much she hated it while slowly shuffling things around.

After listening to the commotion for a minute or two, my dad would come up the stairs and say, "Do you want The Helper to help you? I think you need The Helper." Then he'd walk over to the closet and pull out a wire hanger. This immediately prompted Annie to yell "I'm cleaning! I'm cleaning!" and hustle around trying to find a spot for a dirty sock held in one hand while covering her butt with the other. This wouldn't have affected me at all except for the fact that my room was right next to hers. Which meant that The Helper always had to stop and pay a visit to me too. How thoughtful!

The Helper was more of a scare tactic really. It never left bruises or even hurt much, it was just something to get our attention. A quick little tap on the butt and we were working double time.

Now that I think about it, I don't have any wire hangers around here. Maybe I should take those clothes to the dry cleaners so I can get a few. You never know when The Helper will come in handy. Hey! Who was supposed to clean up this mess?! {sound of a whip cracking}

What's For Dinner?

I'm sure every kid complains about what they're having for dinner at some point. I think it was mainly Annie who complained about the various meals we had, but we all did so at one time or another. My parents were able to find a cure for the whining, and before dinner one evening, they sat us down and told us what it was.... Sardines.

I don't care who you are, sardines in a can look disgusting... stinky little fish covered in oily goo. The new house rule was that if anybody complained about what we were eating, they had to eat sardines. My dad actually chose to eat sardines on a regular basis, so there was always a can or two waiting for us down in the food storage room. Because we liked to torture each other as often as possible, my sisters and I were constantly on guard, ready to tell on each other should we hear any complaining that hadn't reached our parents' ears.

We all ended up having to eat sardines at least a couple times, but I think that Annie and Corinne hated it more than I did. I've always liked fish and to me sardines tasted a lot like tuna. Annie and Corinne weren't too thrilled with the thought of eating fish under normal circumstances and sardines were 100 times worse as far as they could tell. They'd lay the sardines out onto a piece of bread and eat it as a sandwich, gagging and fighting back tears with each bite.

My dad ended up changing the food that was used as punishment after a little while because he said we liked the sardines too much. Once again the new punishment was revealed as dinner was being prepared one night... pickled pigs feet. My dad brought out a glass jar full of them, and we took turns passing the jar around to inspect the little nasty looking hooves.

From that day on, nobody ever complained again. That jar of pickled pigs feet is still sitting down in the food storage room, covered in dust, just waiting for someone to complain.