For some reason, there are times when memories from 5o years ago or more will come rushing back as unsummoned.
Today I found myself remembering Mom’s leather strap she would use to whip our backsides when we were out of line. The black strap was about 4 feet long and had little holes punched in one end. I suppose the holes were to enhance the stinging effect when the strap found its target.
Mom had, what turned out to eventually be, the unfortunate habit (for her) of keeping that belt in the different handy “go-to” place. Whenever one saw Mom head for one of those belt hideaway spots, one knew one was in trouble.
I have no complaints about the belt being overused. I’m sure whenever Mom drew it out, I deserved every lick I received. However, that is all in hindsight. Eventually, at a very tender age, I realized that the mere existence of that leather strap was my sworn enemy. And of course, enemies are made to be eliminated and so I determined to eliminate that blackstrap enemy.
So, at an age most tender, I went on a seek and destroy mission. I had no way to literally destroy the leather strap so I did the next best thing. I hid the damn thing in a place only God could find. Being satisfied with my work I returned to my cavalier boyish life.
You know where this story is heading, don’t you? I mean, it is not like I suddenly became an angel that did not need the instrument of learning applied to the seat of application. Yep… sure enough, the day soon came when I did that mischievous something that warranted the leather whip. However, I must admit that a certain relaxing strain descended upon me when I realized my mother had gone on the hunt for the belt. I knew the matriarch would not find what she was searching for and that my hindquarters were in no threat.
There I was, knowing that I was worthy of a whipping while also knowing that my poor mother was soon to realize that she was in a pickle. I watched her go throughout the house looking at the old haunts where she would typically hide the belt. As she headed in each new direction I knew that the end of her furious search would end in futility.
Pretty soon, she was worn out, and then it dawned on her as she glanced at me … I had a hand in the Sherlockian case of the missing black leather strap. It was like watching a light bulb literally going off over her head.
The poor woman was betwixt and beside herself. She was caught in a flurry of emotions ranging from anger at my hiding her dreaded weapon to laughter that I would think of doing such a thing at my tender age. She didn’t know whether to laugh in good humor at my resourcefulness or to go all nuclear for my boyish insolence.
Of course, she demanded to know where I hid the belt. And, of course, I insisted that I had no idea what she was talking about. Hey … in for a penny in for a pound right?
I honestly don’t remember how that encounter ended. I do remember that Mom bought many more belts over the years and that I, in turn, hid many more belts over the years. I am quite confident though, at the end of my childhood years, I didn’t miss out on any of the whippings that my Mother believed I deserved.
