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Showing Original Post only (View all)I was switched all the time as a kid. [View all]
My cousins were too. I am not defending it. It's another form of violence couched in a regional definition.
We had to pick our own switches. You learned to pick stiffer, less supple branches. They hurt less than the sting of the others which could act like whips. You survived less lashes if you hollered and acted as if it hurt like hell. It did hurt, but if you somehow conveyed you were oh so sorry by acting horribly wounded at the first blow and pleading, then it seemed to satisfy the elders most of the time.
Was I really sorry? I was sorry I got caught and was going to be switched. We all learned to be more devious and careful. AND you never narced on anybody if you got hurt in some way. You just planned your payback instead of turning the perpetrator over to the elders.
What was worse for me was the 'game' my Mama played. If she got real mad at me, she wouldn't talk to me and pretended not to know me. She would also act like she was going to leave me wherever we were at that moment. It could be a store, a friend's house, at a relative's, or by the side of a road. You want to terrify a little kid then try that. I still have nightmares occasionally about that.
Neither method is right. However, a branch from a bush is not embedded in my psyche.
