Apparently, before I was even in school, I picked up some trinket and walked out of a 5 & Dime with it. When I began playing with it in the car, my mother turned right around, drove us back, marched me in and made me return it with an apology. Then I got my butt blistered.
I misplaced mom’s favorite scissors, broke a trophy, invited over guests without permission, you name it. All resulting in spankings where I couldn’t sit for a couple of days.
There were a few times I seriously misbehaved and my Mom got really mad at me. She didn’t use a belt, but she bawled me out and then started crying real hard. 
That hurt much more than Dad’s belt.
Ha! I have a similar story! When I was in second or third grade, our class was in the library and I accidentally ripped a page in a book (I was leaning on it with my elbow). The teacher was furious and told me I had to go home and tell my parents what I’d done and have them write a note saying that we’d discussed it. Problem was, it was the day before the Thanksgiving break and I just knew this was going to completely destroy the entire holiday. I had never been in so much trouble. So I wrote the note and forged my mom’s signature. Unlike you, I had lots of experience with this - this was my regular routine for signing my piano practice log. I had the signature down and planned to tell the teacher that my mom was so busy, she had me write the note and she signed it. It worked! My mom never knew and the teacher took the note without comment (more likely, she had probably cooled off over the break and couldn’t give a shit by the time Monday rolled around).
Looking back on this, if I had told my mom, she would have rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of me getting in trouble for that. She usually sided with us kids when other adults were mad at us. It seemed like a huge deal at the time, though.
When I was 7 or 8 I stole two comics from a mom & pop shop. I got marched back there by my mom to apologize and got a spanking.
But the one I really recall was when I was 9 or 10. A ball rolled down a sewer. It was just lying there visible, so my cousin and I borrowed the jack from our car and were busy trying to jack up the sewer grate. It slipped a couple of times before my uncle found us. We got a serious trouble for that one.
One I remember is having an argument with my mother about something, maybe about setting the table, maybe something else. I was maybe 11 or 12 at the time, just starting my prepubescent rebellious stage. We were using paper plates and I might have thought it was stupid to set the table for that. I remember holding the stack of paper plates in my hand and yelling at her to do it herself and making a motion like I was going to throw them at her like a frisbee - which I really had no intention of doing because I knew she would snatch me bald if I did - however, I did not understand physics and the plates in the middle flew out all over the place and I was left with only the top and bottom ones in my hand. It was one of those slow-motion “OH SHIT! I am going to die now” moments. I still have flashbacks.
I’ll never forget putting a golf ball in the muffler of my dad’s new Hyundai elantra. He was so mad, he had to shoot jump shots to calm down…Stole all the kids book bags in my first grade class and hid them, except mine of course. The teacher was livid! I remember her grabbing my arm and yelling a lot, hahaha…very sad actually.
Good stuff. I had a group of friends during my middle school years in Baltimore and we all decided to jump the backyard fences of each neighbors house on the block. We started at the beginning of the block in someones back yard and proceeded from there. Of course I got caught, because I was too slow, and got viciously yelled at by one of the neighbors who came out his back door. My friends continue onward as I walked AROUND the block in shame and embarrassment. I was really mad at them for leaving me so I lagged behind them on the way to our home block. When I did catch up, I didn’t realize they were playing another game, don’t split the pole, and was promptly kick in the butt by my friend tracey, which apparently was the consequence for splitting the pole. This only further enraged me and I ran up to him and punched him right in his temple. I then proceeded home, as he hurled insults and curses at me while holding his head.
When fun ideas go bad…for one person.
I know the feeling. Cant risk the potential of weekend/holiday fun. I had to take a referral home to my dad to get signed over the weekend and return Monday. I cried like a baby, when the teacher issued it to me and bounced me to another class for the last part of the day. I knew I was screwed and my weekend was ruined. So unlike you brave souls, I simply didn’t present the referral to my dad and as the weekend progress I felt more and more at ease and eventually forgot about it. That is until a week or two later, when I came home one day and saw my dad talking on the phone with someone. I knew it was serious. He asked did I have something for him to sign and I said yes, when he read it he began to rant and rave about how terrible it was for me to clown around in a class I was failing(7th grade math). He got more angry as he continued and eventually ushered me to my bedroom for a whuppin. He didn’t beat me, but he didn’t have to. I was terrified, trembling and crying. He’d never chastise me like that before. I was on punishment for a long time…
I like this story 
It reminds me of my Dad’s story of how he “ran away” when he was 5 years old because he was convinced his Mom didn’t care at all about him. His Mom was in the kitchen and he went to her and said he was running away, then made a big stomping noise going to the front door so she’d know he meant business. He opened the door, then opened the screen door and waited… waited… waited until the screen door slammed shut. Then he shut the heavy inside door and hid in the front closet. His Mom didn’t come looking so he pretty soon got out of the closet and opened the door and then the screen door, carefully made sure to let the screen door swing shut before shutting the heavy door and the back into the closet. He did that several times and finally went to the kitchen and demanded to know why she wasn’t looking for him! 
Got caught kissing the only boy in the neighborhood.
I was maybe nine or ten and my friend and I hung around with the only other kid our age in our neighborhood. We lived in a little development way out in the country. One day we decided we need to know what kissing a boy felt like and he was the only one available. So we held him down and smooched him quite vigorously.
My stupid older brother and his stupid older brother were spying on us and ratted us out to my mom. She had some pretty repressed ideas about sex and totally freaked. I don’t remember the full gist of the lecture but I do remember she was “extremely disappointed” in me. 
Even then I remember thinking “yeesh mom, we’re, like, nine and it was just kissing”. :smack:
She was also very fond of using a wooden spoon on me. I don’t remember the infraction but I do remember thinking, “might as well get hung for a sheep as a lamb” and stole the wooden spoon as well. She had really hard hands though so it wasn’t all that successful.
Well, when I was 5 or 6 I took my grandmother’s blue dishtowel and a pillow. I carefully placed the pillow about 10 feet from the garage. I tied the dishtowel around my neck and climbed the ladder, someone had left out, to the roof. Pillow in position?check. Cape as it should be? Check.
I held my arms out, just like Superman, and jumped.
I was sure I’d land on the pillow, 10 feet away. I landed about 8 inches from the garage.
Then my grandfather drove up. I realize now he was more scared than angry, but he yelled at me good.
I have ADHD and to this day I firmly believe if my dishtowel had been a darker shade of blue and just a little bigger, I would have hit that pillow.
When I was nine, a fence when up next to us. We lived in the forest. our nearest neighbor was about a half mile away.
A lot of the forest was pulled down and pushed into burn piles. I watched all this progress over several weekends.
Then one day I heard a noise in the field. It was a HORSE! No, it was 12 horses. Some were big, very big to my 3 feet tall. But some were little.
I climbed that fence and went looking for the bulldozer man. I asked if I could pet the horses and give them apples and carrots. He said sure , then asked if i wanted to ride one! He put a saddle on one of the smaller ones. He was a shetland pony and he was mean! He bit me every chance he’d get, and he still felt kinda big. I asked if any ot the other little guys could be ridden.
The man made a big mistake right there. He said, Any one I could catch and get on and stay on, I could ride.
Later that week I cut down my grandmother’s clothesline, took all the carrots I could pull up without anyone noticing , filled my pockets with apples and climbed that fence again.
I fed the carrots to all the ponies, but they wouldn’t let me get closer than arms reach. Then I remembered that letting them see the rope was a mistake. I hide the rope behind my back and walked up toa pretty little paint. I was able to get the rope around his neck. I stuck the rope in his mouth, like a bit. I didn’t know about hackamores. I knew that the bit was for steering.
I dragged the poor thing to a recently made stump and jumped on. Remember my learning to fly? Well, I had my second lesson. He ran away with the rope! I knew I be in deep something if I came home without the rope. I spent the rest of the afternoon following him around. I finally caught him and did I turn him loose? Oh No. I climbed back on. This time when he threw me, I held on. He dragged me through the brush for a while then gave up.
It took a couple weeks, but he got used to me, and I got better at staying on. My grandmother hadn’t noticed the clothesline was missing, because it had rained on laundry day so everything was dried indoors on racks.
Since it was summer, I didn’t keep track of the days of the week and eventually, The man caught me.
He was worried that without the right equipment, I might get hurt.
so, he took me home to ask if it was ok for me to ride.
My grandfather was surprised and pleased at my resourcefullness. But my grandmother was livid. I don’t know what kind of punishment she had in mind, but it never happened.
By the way, the horse had no name so I got to name him…Charley Get it… Charley Horse? He had no name because he was wild.
My mom did this. The guilt trip was WAY worse than a spanking. And if she told my favorite gramma what I’d done… Oh misery and dispair!
My Mom did this all by herself. Neither of my grandmothers lived to see me. Of course, if my Dad came back and saw that Mom was crying…
Here’s another…
When I was 6, my stepdad’s x-wife decided their son would be better off with his father. So my stepbrother came to live with us when he was 4 or 5. The first night they put me to bed in his new room too. They had cleared out a junk room, so it just had sparse furniture so far, and didn’t even have curtains on the window yet. It had a tile floor so it echoed in there. This was the first night he’d ever been away from his mom, new family, new house, new bed, etc. I was an only child, so it was also the first time I’d had a sibling.
We were laying there talking and I was trying to be friendly, welcoming, and show off how cool it was going to be that he had a new sis. Tomorrow was Saturday. So I started telling him what cartoons and shows we would watch the next morning. One of my favorites was Land of the Lost. He’d never seen it before. I had to bring him up to speed! So I proceeded to describe the show, the pylons, the crystals, the characters, the dinosaurs, and the Sleestaks: Tall green scaley bug-eyed pointy-headed lizard people. In the dark, I sat up in bed and mimicked how they hold their arms out and hissed as they stiffly walk around trying to grab people. Then, on a whim, thinking it was funny to tease him a little, I said something like, So don’t let those Sleestaks come through that window in the middle of the night and gitcha!
Out of the darkness, Whhhaaaaaaaaaa! All He’ll broke loose , tears started streaming and he screamed bloody murder!
I sincerely felt bad. That was stupid. I had no intention of traumatizing him! I got in so much trouble. And they reminded me about doing that to him any time I complained about him. We never did get along well. Shocker!
This is about my son. He was quite precocious, he walked at 11 months and talked in full sentences before he was two.
He had a great grasp of some things, other, not so much.
One day he was sent to his room for some infraction, probably something loud.
He was never a big cryer. From outside the door, I heard a big sigh, then, “Cryin’, cryin’ Hey, can’t you hear me, I’m cryin in here! Mom’s shouldn’t let their little boys cry!”
It was so funny, I couldn’t stick with the punishment.
My father had some valuable 19th-century silver dollars in a little box on his dresser. Not only did I steal them, but I spent them at face value, rather than selling them for a lot more.
So I got punished, not just for stealing them, but for being stupid.
I still regret this: when I was twelve, me and about two of my friends got into a fight with another friend over something stupid. (I can’t even remember what it was all about – something about someone’s mom saying that she’d take us swimming, but she wasn’t, or something like that).
Well, of course as pre-teen girls tend to be really catty, we decided to write her this extremely nasty letter, then slip it under her backdoor. Well, her entire family read it, including her younger brother. Her mother called all of our mothers, and we were grounded for the rest of the summer.
Not only did we hurt our friend over some stupid argument, but I know her parents were really hurt too, because we were always over there for dinner, they’d take us all to the pool, to the mall, etc. To this day, I still feel bad about it.
Then there was the time I was fighting with my sister over something dumb, and told her she was a mistake. Oops! :smack: (No, I have no idea if she was or not. She STILL teases me about that one!)
All this time I assumed you were male. :smack:
Must be the hockey posts I imagine. Weird.
When I was about 9, another idiot and I took two butcher knives from his mother’s kitchen. My sister saw us and told us to put them back, which we did (I always did what my big sis told me). Later, we went back and got them again, went to a vacant lot and, kneeling on either side of an apple crate, proceeded to chop it to bits. On one wide swing with the knife, my friend slit my chest open (we weren’t wearing shirts). The sight of all that blood cascading down my front caused me to experience shock and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I ran for home and some adult grabbed me on the way. I ended up at the doctor’s office getting fifteen stitches in my scrawny chicken chest. The stitches, and later the removal of the bandage, were punishment enough. I still have the scar.
I parked my motor scooter next to the train tracks and took a girl under the trestle for a little slap and tickle. A train came along and hit the scooter, knocking it into the bushes. The train stopped to make sure nobody was hurt and took my name. I didn’t realize that they were going to contact my parents later to make sure there wasn’t going to be a lawsuit. I caught some serious hell for that; worse, the scooter was unusable.
Another idiot and I went into a junk car lot, found a couple of steel pipes and commenced to bust out the windows on the cars. We honestly didn’t know that it was wrong, because hey. . .junk, ya know? Got caught by the owner, who came running down with his gun to stop us. Then he tried to whack our parents for $500 each. My dad offered him $50 and the option to not be reported to the police for threatening children with a firearm. He took it.
My family was hosting a barbeque and the boys were playing in the woods. Against the back fence of the woods was the parking lot to a car repair shop. On this particular 4th of July, they apparently had two armored trucks to fix up. Y’know, the kind that deliver money to banks.
So my friend says “That’s an armored truck. You can’t break those.” So I got some rocks and tried my damnedest to prove him wrong. First some pebbles, then some rocks, then some stones. Finally, we’re throwing bricks at the damned thing.
Then my dad saw us. Did. Not. Go. Well.