Being a bad kid is a tough job

Don’t Threaten Mom

Your big mouth just got you in trouble

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It was 1968. My Mama was determined to raise her six wild children to be decent people. At this point in our young lives, having fun was all we cared about. Unfortunately, our fun often involved activities that got on her last nerve. We never knew which of our fun-having activities would make her mad at us until it was too late. Once we made her unhappy with us, we had to pay the price, spankings for everyone she caught doing something. Mom was old school; there was no such thing as gentle parenting. Mama used a belt to ensure that we behaved.

Every Saturday, our mom slept in. Sometimes, if he was off, my police officer dad slept in with my mom. We loved Saturday mornings because we were on our own for breakfast. As the oldest, I made a bowl of cereal and milk for each child. Because no parents were around, our bowls of cereal were custom-made masterpieces.

One of my brothers wanted his cereal served in a saucer so he could sip it. Done.

My sister wanted a bowl of milk with very few pieces of cereal. Done.

My other brother did not want milk, just dry cereal at the bottom of a dusty bowl. Done.

My baby sister cried if her cereal was not filled all the way to the top so she could just lean her head into it like it was a cow trough. Done.

My youngest brother wanted whatever the oldest brother had. Done.

I fixed my cereal with a layer of Captain Crunch, then Trix, then Cocoa Puffs. Done, done. And done.

One day, a public service announcement spoke directly to children. The point of the PSA was that if you were being abused, call the police. No one was to hit you. “They” would come and save you. That fact spankings were not allowed was news to all of us. My mother was regularly spanking butts in our house. We were a gang of six who deserved to get our bottoms tapped. We did crazy things all the time.

The second part of my job was to make sure that no one woke our parents until cartoons went off at 11. My brother was so excited that he tried to run past me to wake our mom with the news flash she could not whip us anymore. I stopped him from getting everyone in trouble right then, but he spoke up later that week.

The same week we saw that PSA, we took turns jumping out of our second-floor windows onto the lawn for fun. When she got home from a long day at work, our next-door neighbor told my mother. My mom lined us up and prepared to spank all six of our butts.

My evil little brother lost his mind again. He told my mom if she whipped us, he would call the police; they would come and take her to jail. He looked around at the rest of us for support. Oh no, dude, I am not with you. Nor were the other four kids.

You are on your own. We stepped away from him as if he was on fire, and we had on gasoline underpants. We wanted Mama to know we were not a party to his words. We don’t play with fire or threaten our mom.

She told him to get ready to make that call.

Not only would Ma beat his butt for jumping out the second-floor window, but he would get extra for being stupid enough to believe what they showed him on TV. Those messages were not for him. She did not have dullard children. Her children were smart enough to know what applied to them and what did not.

My mother would typically spank us in order from oldest to youngest. I was the oldest, so usually, the belt spoke with me first. I looked at my brother, thankfully. He would get to go first this time. Thank you so much for your foolishness. If he kept talking, soon he would make Ma so mad she would spend all her anger on him. Good for me, bad for him. He kept talking.

She said she would gladly go to jail for the pleasure of beating his butt. Ma stated she would proudly wear that orange jumpsuit like a Diana Ross Grammy runway outfit. That PSA was not meant for us.

She whipped his butt. I’m sure he saw stars circling around his head after that one. The rest of us did not get a spanking that day.

When Mama was done tanning his hide, she told him he couldn’t leave the house and… he couldn’t use her phone. The rest of us beat it outside. He spent the day looking out the window at us playing. We pretended not to see him.

That was the first time my mom articulated something we all knew, even as children. There were things on TV that were not meant for little Black kids that lived on the South Side of Chicago. We were not the children that did not get spankings. Those children lived elsewhere.

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