Dotsie,

"knock it off" . My very words to my children I don't know how many times......And as I can recall, my Dad's words to my siblings and I..

Maybe this will lighten the mood : One time my brother ('member the preacher guy?) hauled off and labled me a good one for socking him because he stomped on my perfect lavendar rug with all the loops that I had standing up perfectly...(Which he did with regularity, knowing this would send me into a fury!)WEll, Mother, used to say, Jawanna! - you let your little brother come in there, he only wants to be around you!!! No amount of explanation on my part would convince her otherwise; he was, after all the "baby". But my father could see differently. Being a guy himself, I'm sure he knew what nasty little tricks Randy was always up to....So he said to us on this occasion " You children come in here, I want to talk to you!. Father had spoken, and o boy, we knew we were in trouble now. Mother disappeared into the kitchen, and we were ALL BY OURSELVES !!! (Now, my father never struck us since we were just little tiny kids, before reason was an option, so we had no reason to fear his mighty self, but still, we feared him more than anything on this earth. His slightest word of chastisement would send me into a torrent of tears and running into my bedroom, where he would follow and always EXPLAIN why he was so disappointed. This was worse than all the lashings that could ever occur.) But on this occasion, Father said, "JO. You have reason to be mad at your brother. You have MY permission to hit him." Randy and I stood there, looking at each other, then our dad (to see if he was indeed, serious) and back at each other again. I thought about this. I loved to hit my brother whenever appropriate. It really felt great to just haul off and slug him! (the very brother who put garden toads in my bed, stomped on my rug, and and listened in on my private telephone conversations) I HATED him!!! But as I looked at him, waiting for his punishment, I suddenly turned to mush. Really mushy mush. I started to tear up, and realized, I couldn't hit that little guy! Not cold blooded hitting! In the heat of battle, it was ok, but not standing here in the living room looking at his cute little freckled face, looking younger by the second......I said,"I can't Dad.". "Yes, you can, Jo, just hit him. Hit him hard. ". Now I began to get mad at my father. "Well, Daaaad...." And DAd just sat there , silent. Soon, someone had to break the silence, "Daaaaaad, I can't hit him NOW!!". "Well, why not?". So eventually, it came out - "Well - I love Him!). Point taken. Father walked out of the room in perfect silence , letting the words fall on both our ears......