...with one exception. Today is my dad's birthday. He'd be 80 today, but he died at 60. What a neat guy he was. He generally was kind, and loved each one of us so much. He's the one who taught me that gossipping was bad for the soul. Dad had something good to say about nearly everyone. And most of the time, if he didn't have anything good to say, he didn't say anything. I never got spanked, but my youngest brother did. But if I'd had my way, I would have spanked Jimmy too. What a spoiled little kid. Luckily he turned into a great adult.
As I said, I didn't get spanked but once when I was in college I said I was going out, and Dad said no (I'd been out every night that week.) I insisted, and so did he. Finally I said I'm going anyway. Dad was sitting at the dining room table eating french fries and had a plateful of ketchup. He lofted it up in the air in a perfect arc and it hit me right in the butt. My beautiful white shorts were a mess, and definitely not going to be worn that night.
In retrospect, the cool thing about it was that it didn't hurt at all. He tossed it in such a way that it caused no pain, but tons of embarrassment.
Did I go out? Well, after going to my room and bawling, he gave in and let me go.
Happy Birthday, Eddie! I still miss you, Dad.