Published: October 05, 2009 09:14 am      

Whuppin’s was what made you good men

Betsy and I gathered up both grandsons last Saturday and hied ourselves off to a Birthday Party: the 95th Birthday for a Lady who just about raised me. Roxie came to take care of me several years after I was an infant — Zeola and Mandy were in charge of me for those years — and was probably more responsible for my upbringing than any Lady except Momma, or my grandmothers Mema and Ma’am. Like Ma’am, all three of my upbringers enforced my manners: “Yes, Ma’am, No, Ma’am, Thank you, Ma’am, Please, Ma’am” with whacks on the head or bottom, as needed. Roxie’s first comment Saturday (in front of the whole crowd) after miration over the grandsons, was, “Lord-a-mercy, I sho had to Whup you a lot! You was a mean little boy!”

Whuppin’ was the term we used to apply to discipline at the end of a switch, paddle, belt, or even the palm of a hand. Back in those days, seems like a whole bunch of people, without regard to race, color, or creed, had Whuppin’ Privileges on most of the youngsters around Brownspur. Or in the small town of Leland, where we went to school and church. I tried to get Roxie to take back about me being mean, so she and Betsy worked out a suitable compromise: mischievous. One of my favorite authors, Ferrol Sams, has a father declare in his classic RUN WITH THE HORSEMEN: “He’s not really a bad boy – I just can’t think of enough things to tell him NOT to do!”

The worse Whuppin’ I recall from Roxie was when I had caught a pint jar half full of bumblebees, and brought it inside to set it on the kitchen sink while I got the ice pick to punch airholes in the lid, which was not screwed on tightly (got to be ready to catch the next one!). While I was looking for the ice pick, Roxie grabbed the jar to wash, and the lid fell off. Not my fault atall! Hers, actually. But guess who got Whupped?

Troy and I got a much worse Whuppin’ from Roxie’s husband Pete, a short bandy-legged man who bred long lanky sons. We were preparing for a Saturday afternoon fishing excursion in the Mammy Grudge, and wasp grubs are the best bait in the world for bream. There were beaucoup nests up under the eaves of The Store, our commissary that still stands today, and we chose to clod a huge nest at one front corner, over the porch where everyone was gathered for payday. Our first barrage brought that nest to the ground, and we departed for the insects to quit buzzing, overlooking the fact that most of the porch sitters were screaming, swatting, and trying to get inside – all except Pete and Long Mile Harrison, the Barefoot Dodgers baseball coach. Those two men gave chase, to run us down before we had cleared the smokehouse, and not only did they Whup us, but Big Robert kept us around all afternoon, giving everyone he paid off a free ticket for laying a belt to our backsides. What a waste of bait.

I was probably twelve and learning to drive Big Robert’s pickup when I turned the corner between Pete & Roxie’s house and the pigpen across the turnrow. Power steering was unheard of then, and I misjudged both speed and turn radius. The hogs were just as “Happy as dead pigs in the sunshine” when all of a sudden a purple & white pickup came crashing into their haven, with all the joyous decibels of collapsing tin roofs and sides. When the truck started to bog down in the mud, I poured the coal to it, and went out the other side of the pen, to attack one corner of the outhouse (occupied!) and two posts of the clothesline (ditto). After Daddy recovered his voice (and how!) an array of belts one could never have imagined suddenly appeared, and he, Pete, Roxie, plus older brothers Bud and Allen got in on the Whuppin’. I spent the rest of the day catching pigs, repairing the pen, clothesline, and outhouse. Bud and Allen felt sorry and helped with most of the repairs, though periodically rolling with laughter (out of the adults’ hearing).

I have been a visiting instructor in both public and private schools and colleges in several states over the past couple of decades, and I have to make this observation: one of our big problems in today’s world is the lack of discipline. Thank the Lord for the influence of people like Roxie on young’uns – her own and anyone else who needed it! Matter of fact, she declared toward the end of the party, “You know, all them Whuppin’s was what made you the... good... man you are today." She paused perceptively before choosing the word “good." I started to agree, then thought about the sheer number of Whuppin’s I got from so many Whuppers. “I ought to be better’n I am,” I admitted.