Crime, Punishment . . . and Laughter

It's my big brother's birthday today.
Again.
Hmmm . . . I just realized something.
This happens every single year.
Always on the same day.
Amazing . . .

Second birthday.
He's considerably older now . . .

I was raised in the fifties.

When a good swat on the backside got a child’s attention.

And cured all types of bad behaviour.

In one, swift, *smack*.

Sometimes with the cake spoon.

It didn’t happen often.

But it happened.

Well, to me, at any rate.

My oldest brother, Jerry, was a whole different story.

Which I’d like to tell you about . . .

I don’t know what he’d done.

Okay, yes, he was a tease and, occasionally, a torment.

And sometimes this behaviour spilled over onto Mom.

Who usually took it with a grin and an, “Oh, Jerry!”

But on this occasion, my scamp of a brother had roused her ire.

Enough that she went for the cake spoon.

Uh-oh.

You know how it is when one child in the family has gotten themselves into trouble.

All of the other children drift in from the nether regions of the household to stand and watch.

And rejoice that it isn’t them.

So the rest of us were ringside as Mom went for the spoon.

At which point Jerry started to laugh.

Laugh.

Said laugh caused Mom to laugh.

Which entirely nullified any feelings of outrage.

And ditto, the previously-mentioned and well-deserved swat on the backside.

Huh. So that’s how it’s done!

I stored that little crumb of knowledge away for the next time Mom’s ire was raised.

In my direction.

But, on that inevitable day, I discovered something important.

It’s takes real skill to be able to laugh directly into the face of anger.

Real skill.

I didn’t have it.

And neither did I avoid the application of correction.

Sigh.

My big brother Jerry.

I could have learned so many important and life-saving things from him.

If only . . .

P.S. Jerry and mom also have a history with the broom. But that is another story . . .