By Jim Hagarty
2004
To the Editor:
I have read where the Supreme Court of Canada says it’s OK to spank children and I thought it was about time some sanity was brought to bear on the matter. However, I decided, instead, to write a letter to your newspaper.
First off, let me tell you that I have first-hand experience as both receiver and giver of corporal punishment so I think I am more than qualified to comment. Both my parents used to take turns flailing the living daylights out of me. Later on, my wife and I did the same to our eight brats as soon as we got the chance to get our hands on them.
I think the thing that is most often forgotten in any discussion of this issue is that children are born bad. Pure and simple. Lucifer’s got his fingerprints all over the little reprobates from the moment they arrive on the scene and it’s the job of us caring parents to raise ’em up good. Speaking for myself, I know I was one heck of a little devil and deserved every slap, punch, kick, body slam and strap I ever got. For example, sometimes I used to slouch at the supper table instead of sitting up straight like I should have. Other times, I wouldn’t fall asleep instantly when my head hit the pillow at night but would instead, giggle away with my brother in bed over some really bad thing such as whose body openings could emit the louder sound. Other times, I would sleep in on Sunday morning and not be ready for church on time.
When my kids came along, of course, they were just as bad as I had been and I had to whack ’em into shape too. Sometimes, for example, when I would tell one of them to go and get me a beer out of the fridge, all I might hear back is, “Why don’t you get it yourself’?” Well, I’d make good and sure that was the last time that child said that to me.
I haven’t seen any of my children for many years now, not since the funeral for my youngest girl, who, unfortunately, overdosed on pills. But if they were all here with me as I write this, I’m sure they’d say it was a good thing their mom and dad didn’t spare the rod. The guards at the penitentiary tell me my oldest boy is a model prisoner and very polite and I know the charges against his younger brother will be dropped some day soon. Two of my other children take their anti-depressants as they’re supposed to, not like some people I have known who keep going off their medication. The last time I was allowed to see Michael in the psychiatric hospital, the nurses told me he was a dear lad and didn’t cause anybody any trouble. They say that someday, he might even be able to recognize who I am again.
If I ever get the chance to meet any of my 11 grandchildren, I’ll bet they’ve been raised straight and true like their moms and dads and their step-moms and step-dads were. I am proud of all of my children, every last one of them. Even today, they work hard and do their best to battle their addictions to sex, gambling, work, booze and drugs. When they get into trouble, by gosh, the first thing they do is think about getting some help.
As I was telling my fourth wife the other day, a good beatin’ now and then never did me any harm. It taught me to respect my elders and when I grew up, it gave me a way to get respect from people who failed to behave the way I wanted them to. I know a good shaking or a slap or two used to work wonders for keeping my first three wives in line and after a while, I hardly had to do that any more. I’d just raise my fist and whatever the problem had been would go away, just like that.
I often tell my psychiatrist that I don’t know where I’d be today if my mom hadn’t found the courage to nail me across the face with her fly swatter or rolled up newspaper when I was getting too cheeky. I remember one time when she caught me staying up for the third period of the last game in the Stanley Cup playoffs; did I ever get it that night. But I deserved it. I knew what the rules were.
When I first went to jail, I would take everyone as I found them, but eventually, I got that I could tell which guys hadn’t been raised by parents who loved them enough to lay a hand on them now and then. These guys would whine around the clock and give the guards a hard time. They were always going on about their rights and demanding to see their lawyers. You never found me doing that; I took my lumps in jail just like I did when I was a boy and you wouldn’t catch me crying about it.
My probation officer and I often swap tales from our upbringing and it’s fun to watch his eyebrows arch up when I tell them stories from home like how Dad used to go at me with a hockey stick. In response, the officer would say silly things like how his dad, instead of beating him with a hockey stick, actually taught him how to use one. But when I listen to the lip on this guy, I’ll tell you; a few good thrashings wouldn’t have been wasted on him. He’s a candy ass, through and through. Gets me in a bear hug now and then and tells me he loves me. Drives me crazy.
The other night there was a guy in my anger-management class who told us all about how his dad actually broke his wrist with a shovel handle one day, to teach him a lesson. He had been caught looking at a girlie magazine, so he had it coming. I think we all agreed in that room that night that we’d all wished our dads would have loved us that much.
This fall, if the restraining order is lifted, I hope to be able to attend my son John’s graduation from high school. He’ll be the only male in my family going back three generations to get a high school diploma. Tell me that would have happened if I had molly-coddled him all those years.
Parents who aren’t willing to lay a hand or some other object on the backsides of their children actually hate their offspring. Take it from me. Sending a child out into the world without the memory of a couple dozen good wallopings from his parents is to send them out there totally defenceless.
But, I have to admit, it isn’t easy. All those beatings I laid on my kids hurt me a lot more than they ever hurt them. It was hard not to feel bad when they cried and screamed but I always found it was important to keep at it until they learned how to take it like a man. Even the girls. It’s worth the effort.
If my father hadn’t driven his car off that pier and he was sitting before me today, I’d tell him thanks for all he did for me. He taught me all I truly needed to know in life, including just what a bad person I was at heart. Thanks Dad.
Let’s put this matter to rest. Bring back the strap in school! Let parents correct their kids in the way they see fit. It is God’s plan and we can’t change God’s plan, can we?
Let’s not let the candy assers of society have their way. It’s a tough world out there. But hey! I survived. Spanking never hurt me one bit. If I take my medication, stay away from all mind-altering substances, obey all my parole conditions, abide by the restraining orders, stay off the Internet, and never pick up a gun, I’m fine. Where would I be today if I’d been allowed to run wild, eh?
Thank you Supreme Court judges!
Signed,
“Grouchy”
(real name withheld by request)
