It was a typical evening in the Hollis household. My mom and dad were watching TV in the living room, and my brother and I were playing games. If you have a brother or sister around your age, you probably know that playing and fighting are kind of mixed in to the same activity. That night, my brother and I were fighting more than usual. We were 8 and 9 years old, so you can imagine how annoying it must have been for my parents.
Unbeknown to us, while all of our fighting and tattling was going on, my father had had enough! He issued the ultimatum. He said " If I hear you guys yelling again, I'm whoopin' you both!".
My brother and I took this warning to heart. In fact, we let it settle there and make a nice home. Daddy's whoopin's were borderline child abuse. My dad is a short stocky man with arms the size of Popeye's (No, it's not because he likes spinach). Once that belt got to swingin', it wasn't stoppin'. Needless to say, an encounter with the belt was undesirable.
We continued playing quietly, until brother had to go and do something (I can't even remember what) that made me mad! I let out a drawn out "Mooooooooommy!" and It was too late to put the words back in my mouth. The words were spilled out on the floor like a glass of water running too fast to sop back up. My daddy got up and asked " Alright, who's first?". Now you already know, it WASN'T me. What do I look like volunteering myself to get the first whoopin'? I wasn't going down like that! I was waaaaay too clever. So I sent my brother to the slaughter. It was wrong, I know, but up until that point I had never been whooped by my dad.
I listened to my brother through the door. For some reason it used to be HILARIOUS to hear my brother get a whoopin'! I never knew what went on in there, but it sounded like my dad was whoopin' Spider Man or somethin'! I'm even laughing now.
Anyways, after he was finished with my brother, my number was up. My heart sank. I was crying before the belt even touched me! I was a softy. The door closed behind me. I was so scared! I begged him not to whoop me! He showed no mercy. He raised up the belt strap to swing and as it came down,something magical happened! I caught the belt strap with my very hands! Yes, with my hands. This was my last hope. There was no going back.
My dad yanked the belt from me. I kept holding on. He yanked again, harder this time. I did not surrender that belt. By then he had enough. He pulled the belt strap so hard that I thought I would release it, but I did not. He was obviously stronger than me, so as he was pulling the belt, he was pulling me along with it. All of a sudden, he began pulling up! I found myself lifted off the floor while still clinging on to the belt strap. Yes, I was hanging in the air, holding to my father's belt strap, which was being held by my father....with one hand....
Then, to my surprise, he chuckled. It was the miracle I had been waiting for. He put me back on the ground and struck a bargain with me. He said "If you walk out of here, get in the tub and go straight to bed, then I won't whoop you.".....And that's exactly what I did. Even as a young sprout I could recognize a deal too great to walk away from.
To this day, I pride myself on the fact that I never got whooped with that belt strap. Not once. And for that reason, this is the greatest whoopin' story never told.