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Let me say this about that.

I’m an old guy, which means I was raised as a kid – ‘old school’.  Today’s parents don’t know how to raise kids and are far too gentle in teaching them the life-lessons they will need to survive as adults.

In my entire youth I never received a ‘time-out’, a ‘go-stand-in-the-corner’, a ‘go-to-your-room’, a ‘you-are-grounded’, or an ‘apologize-to-your-brother’.  For every transgression I committed as a child, I got whacked.  Not one of those little love taps that today’s parents occasionally dole out, but a full, reared-back, Mohammad Ali type ass kicking.  As a kid, if punishment did not border on assault-and-battery,…    we were back doing the same thing the next day.

By today’s standards, I was a well behaved child, primarily because my parents used a child-rearing methodology that was extremely effective: Fear of Dying.  These days, when young parents tell me that don’t believe I am being literal, I tell them this story about my Dad.

My Dad was a good man, but he did not take any crap from anyone, least of all his two sons.  He bought a horse once from a guy that told him it could not be trained as a saddle horse.  Dad got a very good price because the horse was one of those crazy animals with authority issues and would as soon kill you as let you ride him.

On the day the horse was delivered to our farm, the ‘ol man spent the morning just trying to put a saddle on this three-quarter ton equine assassin.  Scared the crap out of me and my little brother, so we hid in the barn to watch.

Shambo:  “Look, the horse just bit Dad in the ass.”

Little brother:  “Yeah, probably the reason Dad just bit off a piece of his ear.  I don’t think this is gonna end well.”

After three hours, Dad finally got the saddle on the horse-from-hell and actually managed to mount the animal.  Immediately, the horse bucked him off and tried to trample him while he was on the ground.  The ‘ol man got off a kick to the groin that slowed the horse’s attack just long enough for him to get back up and re-mount the beast. 

Buck, buck, throw off the ‘ol man.  Bite, kick, cuss, spit, punch, wipe blood, re-mount.

Buck, buck, throw off the ‘ol man.  Kick ‘ol man while on ground, clobber horse with large stick, bite ‘ol man, bite horse, multiple contusions for both contestants.  Blood and body parts flying everywhere.

This goes on for an hour until the horse decides that the ‘ol man just ain’t gonna give up.  So, Einstein-the-Horse gets smart and just lays down.  Won’t get up, won’t move, can’t be ridden while lying on the ground, he figures.  The ‘ol man does not have an answer for this pacifist tactic and gets really pissed off.  Bad decision on the part of the horse.

Dad leaves the field of battle with the horse still just lying in the meadow, happy as a clam, seemingly pleased with his victory.  He forgets that he pissed-off the ‘ol man, which my brother and I knew elevates the contest to a much more calamitous altercation.

After a few minutes, the ‘ol man returns to the field where the ‘Mustang Mauler’ is lying and begins to stuff newspapers under the horse.  Then he proceeds to ……………… SET THE HORSE ON FIRE!!! 

That animal made a fine saddle-horse for years afterward – gentle as a long-eared rabbit.  When young parents ask me if I ever gave my Dad any ‘back-talk’, I just laugh and think about that crazy horse running around in circles with his ass on fire.

And, that’s all I have to say about that.

Shambo