The belt was the thing. My folks didn't want to wait on one of us to go get a switch. Just whip that belt off and start swingin'. BTW, comedian Sinbad has a bit about gettin' that ass whooped that had me rolling.
My all-time ass beating came when I was 15. Came home one afternoon and found my mom rearranging my room. What the hell? You're touching my stuff. She told me to grab the other end of the bed and help her move it. (This turned out to be my saving grace) I bowed up and told her I didn't want my room messed with and she could do it herself. Went to the den and here she comes after me, belt in hand. Told her she wasn't hitting me with that belt. She advised me she was and reared back to swing.
Just then, that little devil from Animal House popped up on my shoulder and told me I was a bad man and shouldn't stop now. So, I reached up and grabbed the belt, threw it across the room and told her she was NOT hitting me with that belt. I was right! SHE....wasn't going to hit me with that belt. I spent the rest of the afternoon cussing that little devil guy, waiting on dad to get home. He does...and goes into the bedroom where mom is waiting.....Remember the phone call from A Christmas Story where it starts out with, "Do you know what my son just said?.....Do you know where he heard it?"
That's pretty much how it went down. Pops comes out with a belt and starts wailing. Belt ain't good enough...he starts throwing hands and beatin' my little punk ass down the hall...and into my bedroom....where the bed is still sitting in the middle of the room. Hopped to the other side and kept it between me and him until he got tired and left. I locked the door behind him....and bled.