Mom's punishment

My mother, just like most Vietnamese mothers, punished her children with spanking. She "ordered" my dad, who was a carpenter, a nice wooden stick just for punishing us only. That "sacred" stick had a nice and distinguish position in our living room and it was like a dead scary devil who kept staring at my sister and me whenever we were in trouble. My dad, even though he was the one who made the stick, never used it. He was actually the guardian who we ran to when mom reached for the stick because he would stop her. The stick was used regularly when I was in elementary school. I grew taller than mom during my middle school years and I was thrilled with that "advantage" because I could easily take the stick from her and run away, just like a golden retriever grabbed the ball and never wanted to give the ball back. And that was how I got away with punishment in middle school.

High school years came, and mom did not have to use the stick much. It was not because we behaved better. It was just we were smart enough not to let her know we screwed up. I was quite a troublemaker in high school, but I was so good at covering my bad doings at home (shh don't tell my mom). One day, mom found out about my habit of skipping classes. Oh. Gosh. She was devastated. She was a teacher and never could she allow a student skip her class; now her own precious daughter, who she thought to be a good student, dug school all the time. I came home that day thinking about all the excuses I could make to get away with this. How horrified I was when I saw mom standing at the door with the stick in her hand. Mom started walking toward me and I started running. I ran upstairs real fast to hide and I thought, at the moment, a ninja could not beat me in running. Mom did not say anything. I could not find anywhere to hide, so I turned around and got ready to take the stick away, just like what I had done in my middle school years. Her eyes were wet and red. She lifted her arm. I closed my eyes... "Whoosh" I heard the sound of the stick hitting on the skin surface, but it was not on me. It was mom hitting herself. Mom cried, "I am..a... bad mom... I don't..hic... know how...to raise...my own...child..." Nothing. Nothing. Nothing could ever describe how shocked and scared I was. I burst into tears. I cried out loud and ran to hold her. My mom was so small; I held her tight in my arms. "Ma, I'm sorry, ma...I'm sorry, ma..."

It was effective. I did not get in trouble any more after that incident... It has been three years since I left home. No one could ever spank me with a stick. I am on my own and I am responsible for myself. Oh, I want to call mom and cry like a baby, but that would freak her out. Yeah, all moms are the same, always worry...I guess this is why I keep a digital journal to myself haha.