A Crack of the Spoon

I thought my mom's method of corporal punishment was unique. Until I saw a meme on Facebook.

And there it was, in all its menacing glory: The Wooden Spoon.

Apparently, I wasn't the only child who got whacked with this kitchen utensil. In fact, all my mother had to do was reach for the silverware drawer and glare at me, and I'd promise to do anything she told me to, no matter how onerous. I was so traumatized by the wooden spoon, my mom seldom had to apply it to my posterior. And when she did, it stung but didn't cause lasting pain. I think was more the idea of her punishing me than the actual blow that brought me to my knees.

To be honest, the worst punishment my mother inflicted was guilt. She'd look me in the eye and say, "I'm disappointed in you," and I'd crumble like a stale Pecan Sandy.

Years later, my mom said she almost felt bad about threatening me with the wooden spoon because I went all Sarah Bernhardt on her. I think she had a hard time trying to sustain her anger and not crack up. 

When it came time to disciplining my own kid, Mr. Ginley – as the primary caregiver – did most of the heavy lifting. While spanking was occasionally inflicted, he found other methods that were just as effective, especially as Joe got older. 

One of the classics was sending Joe to the "Bad Boy Corner." We later dubbed it "The Wailing Wall," because our son would cry his heart out and wail about the indignity of being punished for whatever his transgression was. When it came time to paint the wall, there were actually tear streaks that had stained the paint. If we were modern parents, we would have been mortified. Being old-school, we just laughed and painted over it 

My sister, Denise, tells a story of my Mom when she was in the nursing home in the final years of her life. Dementia had taken over, and her memory was spotty. One day, a staff member came in while Denise was visiting and tried to get Mom to respond to a memory task. Mom shut her eyes, as the woman rambled on about how she knew mom cooked for her family, and then asked if she remember this.

She produced a wooden spoon.

Mom refused to open her eyes or respond in any way. Denise stepped in and said, "Hey, Mom, remember how you used to bang the wooden spoon on the counter, and Barb would beg and plead and say, "Don't hit me, I'll be good!" 

Mom kept her eyes closed. But chuckled.

Once a Mom, always a Mom.