In the 1960's and early 1970's, we were a family the lived daily life as it came. Of course there was drama, but my Mom was able to keep us in line. Sometimes she didn't need to say a word to straighten us up - she had a look that said "knock it off!" But many times we were left to figure out our conflicts on our own.
My parents were strict about many things. When we were eating, there were no elbows on the table, milk was withheld until after dinner and we were expected to be a "clean plate clubber".
If an offense was serious, or even if we pushed on after being warned, capital punishment was not off limits. We learned early that when the kitchen drawer that held the pancake turner and wooden spoons opened, someone was gonna get it. It's amazing that we knew the sound of that particular drawer - sometimes we'd stop in our tracks and change course if we heard that drawer open, even when we were being good and Mom was just cooking dinner.
Although we were surprisingly well behaved in public, at home we could squabble with the best of them. I don't specifically remember the source of most of our fights, but they usually involved turf (I SAVED that chair!), chores (I did the dishes yesterday!) or just plain being cranky (He's looking at me). We were expected to keep our bedrooms clean (never happened) and help with other tasks, but our chores were never a set routine. If something needed to be done, we were asked to do it and it better get done. Period. And my parents NEVER gave us allowance.
But if a pattern of misbehavior developed, the worst punishment Mom could bestow was to tell the offending child (or children) to "Get the Sock Box". That phrase could strike fear in our hearts. Mom had a large cardboard box (later a laundry basket) that she would throw all the socks into as they came out of the dryer. In an average week over 150 socks hit that box. There were socks for boys, girls and babies. We would rummage through to find a pair that matched somewhat before school, but nobody owned a particular pair. So when Mom was at the end of her rope and needed a punishment that was quiet, she'd doom us to pairing socks. Usually we could make tidy pairs for about half the socks, but the others were impossible to match. My Mom's response "You can do better. Look really closely." This one simple chore would grant Mom at least an hour of peace, and often more if the box was really full.
Since we went places as a family, my parents also were strict about what was allowable in the car. For the most part, Dad would lead us in singing. We went on family trips or out to dinner and even drove across the United States in a station wagon that somehow fit ten or eleven. There were three bench seats that held three people each and the last two (usually Greg and Susie) sat toe to toe in the well between the second and third seat. Tom, Rick and Margie sat backwards in the third seat - a lethal combination. On more than one occasion, they would get riled up (we called it "getting the giggles") and Dad would have to pull over and swat their butts on the side of the road to calm them down.
If someone did something really bad, Dad would use his hand or sometimes his belt to spank us. In many cases, the act of disobedience happened when my Dad was out of town, so we'd have to wait for days to be punished. I think the waiting was worse than the actual spanking. He'd line the rest of us up to watch as an example of what happens when you act badly. And you'd better not laugh, or you'd be next.
Typing this, it sounds like my parents were cruel, but spanking was a rare occurrence, used only in the most severe cases. I can only remember being spanked twice. Usually my Mom could head-off bad behavior before it became a capital offense.
After all, she had a sock box.
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