The Belt

My childhood wasn't the easiest. We had a roof over our head and food on the table, so I had it better than some. But saying my mother resented her kids would be an understatement. One of her favorite phrases was "I wish you were never born." This was usually punctuated with the dull, twapping sound of "The Belt" smacking skin. The Belt wasn't a belt at all. It was an old razor strap that was about a half an inch thick and 2 feet long with a tapered bit on one end that made it easier to hold on to. The leather was old and cracked, but still strong enough to hurt like heck when it struck.

When we were getting formally punished for something, The Belt would be used upon our bare bottoms. When my mother was in one of her blind rages it would flail wildly, looking for purchase upon anything nearby. During those times all we could do was roll up into as tight of a ball as possible and wait for it to be over.

We never knew what would set her off. We constantly tiptoed around so to not incur the Wrath of Mom.

I was a good kid. I always did well in school without trying. I listened to my elders and always did as I was told. Regardless I still usually managed to receive a beating at least once a month.