Growing up in the 60s and early 70s, I was sure that I was abused as a child. I got whippings and there was always the threat of getting another one if I were “hardheaded,” stubborn, or displayed my “ugly ways.” One of the last whippings I got came the month after my 16th birthday.
My mother told me to do something I obviously didn’t want to do, and she said I “sole up,” code for bad attitude coupled with eye rolling. It was New Year’s Day and she beat me right there, fair and square, in the middle of the kitchen floor as she had promised to do whenever one of those attitudinal episodes presented themselves.
