Tuesday, September 30, 2014


“My fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”

OK, it’s been 54 years since I heard those words, and in those 54 years I have paid my taxes, and for it there was a screwed up invasion of the Bay of Pigs, (I never got anything out of it, not even wet pork!) the Viet Nam war, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Watergate scandal, an impeached president, a Mid-East Iranian hostage crisis, and a failed embarrassing rescue, Iran-Contra, a thousand points of light that left me in the dark, a president that did not have sex with that woman, and “It is what it is” plus other semantics, and invisible weapons of mass destruction, Enron and Dick Cheney, 9-11, 2008, and now a president with no foreign policy but does salute the Marine guard with a cup of coffee in his hand, unemployment and the endless drug war, not to mention racism, bias towards gays and the Mets.

So my suggestion is to heed the late President Kennedy-don’t ask… or in his words “ask not.”

So what does the government do with all my money, and for that matter your money too? Do you feel like you are doing the right thing in enabling bad behavior? If my wife went out or if I did for that matter and paid obscene prices for toilet seats, there would be hell to pay for it. The government does it and we marvel at it. They could call any housewife and get a clue as to a good bargain, get the toilet seat on sale.

My suggestion is to send in lieu of money to pay taxes, coupons-yes, savings coupons. Cents off here and cents off there and it amounts to a lot of money from 313.9 million people! In fact it is such a good idea, when you mail in your coupons, the post office will make a buck too.

And some of these projects we spent untold millions of dollars on, like landing on the moon, what happened, did we lose interest?

I don’t mean to sound cranky, but I paid a lot of money into social security, Medicaid and Medicare, finally can tell the difference and now will try to figure out Obama care, AKA The Affordable Care Act, and should I? It sounds like the first time the Conservatives or the Republican Party get into power the old repeal maneuver will be employed. But hold one hand on it, because when the Liberals and Democrats get back into power, you guessed it-Obama care! Now here is the beauty of the Affordable Care Act; it’s for people who can’t afford health insurance, and if you can’t afford Obama Care, then you pay a penalty, something you can’t afford.
Not with THAT woman
But hey, let’s not blame everything on the Federal Government: there is still the state and local clowns who run their own circuses, who have their hands out also. Take Governor Christy, not my governor but a good example. You want to screw with him? He’ll send you to the Washington Bridge, during rush hour, so there.

Of course how could we not mention those wonderful folks at town hall, you know the ones that control recycling, garbage pickup and snow removal. A fine bunch of yokums who have no idea what they are supposed to do, have no ideas and somehow seem to stay in office, long after they die.

But the late and great President Kennedy said it all: see above.

Monday, September 29, 2014


And those were the nice ones who yelled at me.

In the mid-fifties, there was a fad for young boys who played on the streets of Brooklyn. In those days, there were plenty of produce stores with empty wooden crates stacked somewhere where you could steal one. Being poor, we took what we could and improvised.

You took an empty crate and mounted it on a 2”X 4” or even a 4” X 4” board and then got an old pair of roller skates dismembering them and mounted the wheels on the front and back of the board.

This was our form of getting around, since it didn’t pay to own a bicycle with all the traffic and concrete that existed, plus the temptation of someone stealing your bike if you left it alone for a minute. This was the poor kids bike.

If you grew up in Brooklyn or the Bronx or even Queens, you heard the grating sound of roller skate wheels as they rolled by. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and if you passed the same people enough times, they would respond some how.

On my grandmother’s street was a club for Italian men, called the Republican Club, and they played pinnacle all day long, drank coffee from demitasse cups drank shots of whiskey and smoked these old rope like stinky cigars called “DeNapoli”.

Dad was a great father in many ways. When he couldn’t afford to buy me something, he would look for an alternative instead of saying: “Sorry kid.” Since I didn’t have a bike that he could afford, and the fad on the streets was a wooden scooter, Dad built me one. I never in my life asked him for anything, knowing we were poor, and with the exception of Christmas, never verbalized what I wish I had, knowing with 3 other kids he just wasn’t going to afford it.

On Saturdays, during the spring and summer, I would go over to my grandmother’s house and in the front was a store, a novelty kind of gift shop that Dad owned and ran. I would go with him and keep him company and amuse myself when I could. Dad kept the scooter at my grandmother’s house in the basement so that I had it when I got there. There was no room in our 3-story apartment house, so grandma it was.

I would mount bottle caps or decals or paint things on the box and scoot up and down the street sidewalk. In front of the Republican Club sat some old geezers that sat on the sidewalk and chatted with each other. The first time I would go by, they would stare me down, the second time they would pull out their cigars and yell: “Get the hell outta here, you little a bastard!” or  “Basta, Madonna me!”

If I were bold enough to try a third time, they would yell: “A ma bafongul!”  a nice way of saying: “Kid, you coma by a one more-a time, I’m a gonna killa you, or tella you fatter!” Me personally would opt for death, because my “Fatter”, he no-a like a to hear that I was uh facema!

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

Sunday, September 28, 2014


I'm not even sure who this is
Every morning I come down from my shower, dressed and ready to roll. I have a cup of coffee that I enjoy and there sits TLW (The Little Woman) watching the morning news, and this is a daily ritual including weekends and holidays.

On the TV every morning is the weatherman, John Elliot, who annoys me to no end. I think the guy thinks the show is about him. But in spite of my annoyance, he will show pictures of celebrities who have birthdays on that particular day.

Usually about 3 or 4 people are shown with their name and age and he mentions them and life goes on. Except for me, that is. If this person is younger than 45, chances are I don’t know who the heck they are, where they came from, or if they just snuck their picture in the lineup for a thrill.

Where have I been? These are supposed to be celebrities, famous people, and I have never heard of them! It reminds me a lot of when you went to school, got sick and stayed home for a day or two, returned and the teacher starts the class where they left off, but you are lost.

Then there is Facebook. The younger crowd has their own dialect, say things I have no idea what they mean, and it seems all so now while I seem all so then! This is not good. I read the newspapers every morning, I read books and am part of the social media, it is not like I am not informed. WHO THE HECK ARE THESE PEOPLE AND WHAT DO THEY MEAN???

I decided not to get too upset about it, no, I will continue to go my blissful way, unencumbered by extra names and things I probably don’t care about anymore anyway. Let’s face it, nothing is so important that I would want to mention it while trying to get it off the tip of my tongue! God knows I do enough of it already with the people I do know.

Hey, I'm old, leave me alone.

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

Saturday, September 27, 2014


The afternoon was quiet: I sat watching the TV, and a great sense of quiet was overcoming me when suddenly the phone rang.  Lifting my eyes from my stupor, my caller ID was telling me that it was someone I did not know. The compulsion to answer it was great, even though it might be sales call, and even though the number was unfamiliar to me. It could be a friend or a confirmation for a doctor’s appointment for TLW (The Little Woman) or, the Publishers Clearing House asking me to be home for a big fat check.

Reaching for the portable phone I picked up the receiver and asked rather annoyed who it was.


“Hello? May I speak with Joseph, please?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Joseph, my name is Megan from ABC Travel.


“Joseph, my job is to call past travelers and introduce …”

“Your new job is not to call me anymore, and since I’m in a good mood, I will commend you on a fine job, in advance of your not calling me. Have a good day.”

It seems that the ‘DO NOT CALL LIST’: does not work, these morons call anyway. Sometimes when they call and ask for me personally, I say: “Hold on I’ll get him.” Place the phone down and wait for them to hang up.

There was a time when the Do Not Call List was real, people joined the list and no one broke the law, now they flaunt it. Being in advertising once myself, I know there are many restrictions in what you can do or say, and there are lawyers around to remind you.

I get on the average of about 4 calls a day: all sales calls and at a certain time period. I know this is America, and the seat of capitalism, but leave me alone already. I have tried to be nice, understanding (TLW’s idea) and devious, and nasty (my idea) but they don’t stop. I think I need a new strategy, maybe order something and not pay for it. That is morally corrupt, so it might work.

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

Friday, September 26, 2014


As the fall draws into the summer heat, and the children are all off to school, it takes me back to a time long ago that makes me smile at my own expense, Mom’s joy for the beginning of school.

It was very annoying.

First she would look at me, then break out in song, singing: School Days” in her most unappealing voice. This went on every year, until I went to high school. In particular the days I went to elementary school in Brooklyn were the most painful, a smile cracking her lips.

Right after Labor Day, when the school would call back all its students, Mom would take us out for new shoes and clothes to start the school year, along with composition books with the black marble covers that said: COMPOSITION then left lines for your name and class room.

But the night before was the worst! Along with the singing she would polish our shoes, starch my shirt and that morning, make me lunch. Sadly, summer was over, I had to now leave my freedom for the rigid discipline of the school. God I was unhappy! Not only could I not go out and play with my friends after dinner as I had all summer long, I had to sit and listen to warnings of grave consequences if I did not behave!

Then the morning of the first day of school, the past night went too fast! Going to bed that night, I though I had at least the night for final summer freedom: I slept through it all. And the next morning through sand encrusted eyes there stood Mom at the foot of the bed, a smile transcending the summer into the school year! Oh the pain. It seemed that the word Freedom was used a little too much with no American flag in site!

And so it went, every new school year, year after year. Mom had her silly times for sure at my expense.

Thursday, September 25, 2014


I would like to share with you something very inspiring to me, something that makes me personally proud of my heritage and grateful for this great country we call America or the United States. It could probably have been written by: an Irishman or German or Chinese, Pole or Russian, or any nationality that would fill in the blanks. I find it beautiful and found it on a Facebook page.

"I am an Italian American. My roots are deep in an ancient soil drenched by the Mediterranean sun, and watered by pure streams from snow-capped mountains.
I am enriched by thousands of years of culture. My hands are those of the mason, the artist, the man of the soil. My thoughts have been recorded in the annals of Rome, the poetry of Virgil, the creations of Dante, and the philosophy of Benedetto Croce.

I am an Italian American and from my ancient world, I first spanned the seas to the new world. I am Cristoforo Colombo.
I am Giovanni Caboto known in American history as John Cabot, discoverer of the mainland of North America.
I am Amerigo Vespucci, who gave my name to the new world, America.
First to sail on the Great Lakes in 1679, founder of the territory that became the State of Illinois, colonizer of Louisiana and Arkansas, I am Enrico Tonti.
I am Filippo Mazzei, friend of Thomas Jefferson and my thesis on the equality of man was written into the Bill of Rights.
I am William Paca, signer of the Declaration of Independence.
I am an Italian American, I financed the Northwest Expedition of George Rogers Clark and accompanied him through the lands that would become Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Michigan. I am Colonel Francesco Vigo.
I mapped the Pacific from Mexico to Alaska and to the Philippines. I am Alessandro Malaspina.
I am Giacomo Beltrami, discoverer of the source of the Mississippi River in 1823.
I created the Dome of the United States Capitol. They called me the Michelangelo of America. I am Constantino Brumidi.

A. P. Giannini
In 1904, I founded in San Francisco, the Bank of Italy now know as the Bank of America, the largest financial institution in the world. I am A.P. Giannini.
I am Enrico Fermi, father of nuclear science in America. liasion
First enlisted man to win the medal of Honor in World War II, I am John Basilone of New Jersey.

I am an Italian American. I am the million strong who served in America's armies and the tens of thousands whose names are enshrined in military cemeteries from Guadalcanal to the Rhine.
I am the steel maker in Pittsburgh, the grower in the Imperial Valley of California, the textile designer in Manhattan, the movie maker in Hollywood, the home maker and the breadwinner in 10,000 communities.

I am an American without stint or reservation, loving this land as only one who understands history, its agonies and its triumphs can love it and serve it.
I will not be told that my contribution is any less nor my role not as worthy as that of any other American.
I will stand in support of this nation's freedom and promise against all foes.
My heritage has dedicated me to this nation. I am proud of my full heritage, and I shall remain worthy of it.

I Am An Italian American.”

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

Wednesday, September 24, 2014


No, this is not about some church on the water but of a historic hotel that is so beautiful that once you see it, you want to go inside and explore.

It seems every time I go to Cape May New Jersey, I have to see this wonderful architectural gem, and once more make my imagination run wild about a time long ago, when things were different.

The following is from the website:

The Angel of the Sea was built around 1850 as a "summer cottage" for William Weightman, Sr., a Philadelphia chemist who, as managing partner of Powers & Weightman, introduced quinine to the United States as an anti-malarial drug. Built as a single structure, the house originally stood on the corner of Franklin and Washington Streets where the Cape May Post Office now stands.
In 1881, Mr. Weightman decided that an ocean view from the broad porches of his "cottage" would be appreciated by family, friends and guests. To accomplish this goal, he hired a number of local farmers to move the house to a piece of property on the corner of Ocean and Beach Avenues, near where the Marquis de Lafayette now stands.
The farmers discovered the house was too large to move as one unit. Not wanting to lose the winter work, they decided to cut the house in half, move it in sections and then reconnect it after the move. Their task took all winter long, pulling the sections on rolling tree trunks with mule and horse power! Unfortunately, after both halves of the house were moved to the new location, the farmers discovered that, although their mules and horses were quite adequate for "pulling" the house, they proved totally ineffective in "pushing" it back together.
Summer was close upon them, and Mr. Weightman would soon be returning to Cape May. The farmers enclosed the sides where the cut had been made, renovated as best they could and hurried back to their farming chores. The results of their efforts are the two buildings as they stand today.
The house remained in the Weightman family until Mr. Weightman's death in 1905. During the next 50 or so years the Weightman Cottage, as it was called, was used as a hotel, guest house and, during one period, a restaurant.
In 1962 a powerful Nor'easter ripped through New Jersey and devastated the city of Cape May. Referred to by many as the Storm of the Century, it destroyed much of the town including Convention Hall and the boardwalk. Miraculously the Angel survived, but not without considerable damage. The massive rebuilding that followed the storm cleanup called for the two houses to be torn down to make room for a parking lot. They were saved from this fate when they were purchased by the Reverend Carl McIntire and moved (this time on flatbed trucks) to their present location on Trenton Avenue. From 1962 to 1981, the houses were used as a dormitory for students from Shelton College and to board employees from several nearby inns. During this time they received very little maintenance and in 1981 they were declared uninhabitable. Virtually unwanted, this once magnificent structure was left abandoned to vandals and the elements until December of 1988.
About that time, John Girton, a builder and developer, and his wife Barbara crawled through a window to check out the soundness of the buildings. Although all of the windows were broken out, walls had collapsed and many of the porches and stairways had rotted, it appeared the houses could be saved! Based on what they found, the Girtons purchased the property and began renovations in January, 1989. Time was money and John Girton led his crews seven days a week around the clock to put the Angel back together. At times, as many as 75 people were working on the site during a 24 hour period. At the end of one shift, one painting crew would get off the scaffolding and another would get on it.

A trailer set up in the backyard housed a fully functional cabinet-making shop. There artisans and carpenters would find bits and pieces of the original building and piece them together. They then recreated on-site all the gingerbread detail, wall brackets and windows, copying the original designs they found. The first of the two buildings opened in July of 1989, only six short months after renovations had begun! One year later, the most complete Victorian restoration in New Jersey was completed. The total project cost approximately $3.5 million and was done with over 103,000 man hours of labor.
After its first two successful seasons as a bed and breakfast, the Angel of the Sea was acknowledged as one of the Top Ten B & Bs in the United States by two national bed and breakfast organizations. It also won the Historic Preservation Award from the National Trust for Historic Preservation in Washington, DC for renovation to historic specifications.
In the fall of 1995, John and Barbara sold the Angel to their oldest daughter, Lorie Whissell. Since then, Lorie has made numerous additions and upgrades to the inn, refurbishing many of the guestrooms and adding additional guest services. A new interlocking brick patio was created in the rear of the inn and the landscaping was extensively redesigned and brand new deck was installed on the first floor porch. Flat screen TVs have been placed in many of the rooms and the Angel now offers guests wireless Internet access.

As we toured the hotel lobby, we walked out and two gentlemen were busy working installing some kind of electrical thing, and one of them asked us if we would be inrested in getting a view from the top of the building, off of one of the balcony/porches! We immediately took him up on it an had the most beautiful view of the beach, boardwalk and surrounding Cape May to put the icing on our cake! 
If you are ever in the neighborhood, please do yourself a favor and visit the place, or better still, make a reservation for a few days of angelic serenity, and passion for beauty.

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

Tuesday, September 23, 2014


Yes, there is such a place and if exits were ratings for where they led you, then the exit would be called AAA1.

It is the very end of the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey, the state of Governor Christy and is located just off the George Washington Bridge and down the parkway a bit.

But once you travel down the Garden State, about 2 hours worth of driving, and you start to see the exit numbers dwindle down to 9 or 4 then 0, your heart starts to race and an excitement takes over. You can feel the beach and the sounds of the boardwalk, the stirring breezes as they whip around your face and body, gently cooling you and finally, you see the bridge that takes you across the marsh that cuddles Cape May.

You wonder once again if your visit to Aleathea’s Restaurant will be the same, sitting on the wrap-around porch for a drink or two, chatting casually, rocking gently in an old wooden rocker and viewing the ocean ships and the horse and carriages or tour trams of the busy world of Cape May going by.

Peter Shield's Restaurant
You wonder what new place to visit for dinner or lunch, or even breakfast holds a nice surprise, as you remind yourself of the Mad Batter and the best pancakes in the world. You see the many families, and older couples who travel down to this Mecca of sunshine and tranquility, of joy and play and see the faces that are happily experiencing the joys of the Cape.

There is the beach: one of a few, that sits at the end of a long road and past the
World War II monument and the sunken concrete ship from an experiment that was abandoned during World War I, sitting out off shore, and the flag pole where every night during sunset, the flag is lowered to the stanzas of Il Silenzio or as we all know it: ‘Taps”.

You could stop on the main street, but which one? The street where the beautifully preserved Victorian homes stand in peaceful silence, or the main street where the shoppers stroll unencumbered by the horseless carriage, or perhaps you mean the main street where you can walk and find a surprise waiting for you in some little tucked away shop?

I will continue to believe that Heaven has been visited, or that my life is now completed, because I have found that little jewel in the world tiara that I love so much, Cape May, New Jersey.

I started early, took my dog,
And visited the sea;
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me.

And frigates in the upper floor
Extended hempen hands,
Presuming me to be a mouse
Aground, upon the sands.

But no man moved me till the tide
Went past my simple shoe,
And past my apron and my belt,
And past my bodice too,

And made as he would eat me up
As wholly as a dew
Upon a dandelion's sleeve -
And then I started too.

And he - he followed close behind;
I felt his silver heel
Upon my ankle, - then my shoes
Would overflow with pearl.

Until we met the solid town,
No man he seemed to know;
And bowing with a mighty look
At me, the sea withdrew.

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

Monday, September 22, 2014


And spend some time with him being a nut. I am getting together with my old classmate, best man and godfather of one of my children for a few days in Cape May N.J. with his wife Linda and TLW (The Little Woman). We will probably share the same old stories over again, have some laughs and enjoy a beautiful week at the cape.

Phil and I go back 50 years in January. We have kept in touch with each other and will continue to I hope, because he is a true friend, generous, faithful and always there when I need him. I have tried to do the same by him, and know I didn’t have a brother because it would have been hard on my brother when my best friend is closer.

We have both shared heartache, both losing a child, and when I lost mine, there he was, next to me, giving me courage. When I went to the funeral parlor that cold January day so long ago, I paused at the entrance and looking out, saw him in his car, I felt a little better.

When I got married, Phil was my best man. He is Jewish, and although I don’t care to know how devout he is, he is fun even in ceremonial occasions like my wedding and the rites of the Catholic Church. It seems that he was on the altar when the priest decided t give out communion, came to Phil who was so shocked by the priest his jaw dropped, and you guessed it, the priest delivered one wafer between his palette and tongue.

Many a day I would go to class and find this fellow sitting near by and one day he comes over and introduces himself, and it was the beginning of the best days of my life, for fifty years!

So we are thinking of a 50-year celebration. Something special to commemorate the occasion and mark such a long a faithful friendship, a cruise seems to be the thing, and in February no less.

Good for us!

Sunday, September 21, 2014


Took TLW (The Little Woman) for cataract surgery on her right eye, let me tell you, it is exhausting! Yes, I suffered greatly. She did fantastic, but she had the easy job, going into the operating room and they fix the eye, but me, I had to wait for 3 hours with a bunch of old biddies that talk too much.

TLW is the perfect patient, a doctor tells her what she has to do and she does it. No big deal, no asking for her mommy, nothing, just marches off in those short strides and gets it done. It resembles her marching down the aisle in church so many years ago, her father running to catch up to her.

Most of the people in the waiting room were over 70, and grumpy old men and noisy, chatting wives who wear too much perfume and did I say talk a lot?

When we got to where we should be, we sat down surrounded by what looked like a tryout for the Pirates of Penzance, with little band-aids over one eye!

One my right sat two elderly ladies, one of which who spoke so people on the next floor could hear her, and yapped continuously.  On my left sat TLW, and next to her were another two elderly ladies, one of which did ALL of the talking.

Soon TLW was called in and I was left to listen to them all. As I sat there, the old hag on my right left for a moment and her talk mate saw me sitting alone, and starting to look in my direction, and I would have nothing of it, shifting over to TLW’s vacated seat. The problem was I was now in earshot of how the other women liked her eye doctor, but decided to get a second opinion. I offered mine under my breath about volume and girth and it made me feel good. I know I am not being nice, but I hate to hear what other people have to say, especially when I’m not in the conversation. Go into a restaurant and on occasion you find a large group, and one or more of the morons wants to be the funny man, be loud and make the table mates get crazy with noise like I wish I would want to be sitting with them. All the while I’m hoping a crazed postal worker would show up not liking noise and put them out.

Go on a subway or train and you find someone yelling into their phones, and I want to take the phone and toss it out the window. Apparently, the old talking bat went into the operating room and continued non-stop in there too!

OK, so I am waiting out in the waiting room, trying to read something on my I-pad and there is this one woman, looked like Hiawatha’s grandmother who was waiting also. For two hours this woman got up and down off her chair and paced the room, standing over me as she did, looking toward the operating room like that would make things go faster. I started writing some poetry in my head:

“I shot an arrow in the air,
I hope it lands in her rear.”

OK I’m being nasty again, so I decide to go to the Men's room, because the ladies room would have caused a stir. When I come out, Hiawatha’s grandmother is sitting in my chair!!! I give her such an ugly look (Not hard) she jumps out of my seat and goes back to her old seat.

There was one lady who needed to go to the toilet. She was about my age and got up, went to the ladies room and found the door locked. She looked distressed and went back to her seat. After 10 minutes, she got up again and went to the ladies room with the same results, so I suggested to her to use the Men’s room and I would stand outside the door to prevent anyone from going in, it was my good deed for the day and hopefully erased all my mental bad behavior and impatience.

But the kicker was: two people who happened to become friends, who were both called in at once. As they headed toward the operating room, one was a man and one a woman, the wife of the man made them stop, posed for a picture from a cell phone before continuing in for their operation!

And that folks is how you spend three hours waiting.


Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

Saturday, September 20, 2014


I’m reading in the newspapers that there is another animal out there in the person of Minnesota Vikings Adrian Peterson, who took a “Twitch” as he called it, a tree branch stripped of its leaves and applied it to his 4-year old son’s butt! He sees it as old-fashioned southern discipline, and after being called on it, says he regrets any unintentional pain he heaped on the child.

Of course there is that other jackass who punched his fiancé in an elevator and was caught in the act. She of course married him after that, thus jackasses attract to each other. But I believe I already mentioned how I feel about them, so back to Mr. Peterson.

He seems to think that because the child is his in name only, he has a right to apply abuse to an innocent child, inflicting pain and thinking it is for the benefit of the child. But I would ask him this: What do you think would happen to you, if you inflicted that same kind of punishment for the same kind of ‘crime’ on another 4-year old other than your child? It of course would be deemed unacceptable. He would be arrested.

The first word that comes to mind is assault, which I think would probably come to his size-challenged mind also. What would make that bad, but beating his 4-year old son OK? That child is no one’s property and should be respected. You want to punish the kid, ok, take away something he loves for a while, and see what else there is, but keeps your hands off of the kid!

Mom had her wooden spoon, which she used for several well-deserved occasions, but I didn’t see the business end of it until I was older that 4, and she used it with just one whack, on the arms, the butt or legs and never on the head. It was more for intimidation and coercion than for real physical punishment. But I think it was wrong too, in retrospect. Most young kids got a strap or wooden spoon. The interesting dichotomy is that the strap meant the father was the disciplinarian while the wooden spoon meant mom was the enforcer.

The enforcers!
My father was never one to hit, he always deferred to mom, and although he yelled, it wasn’t often, he liked to pick his spots. Mom on the other hand used yelling a lot, and complained I didn’t listen enough to her. It was kind of hard, even with her yelling to hear her as the wooden spoon came into play, causing me to develop cat-like responses to sudden noises.

I will say this for corporal punishment: it is more effective than the more lenient kind I am proposing, but it is more barbaric, more painful when pain shouldn’t be the criteria for punishment. Most of us growing up in the 40’s and 50’s got the paiful kind, and really, we grew up very well adjusted for it, but it is time ti think about ourselves a little better.

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm