From: Ken Meyering (ken@define.com)
Date: Sun Aug 15 1999 - 17:27:58 MDT
jr@shasta.com (J. R. Molloy)wrote:
>
> > "I think that people want peace so much that one of these days
> > government had better get out of their way and let them have it."
> > --Dwight D. Eisenhower
I believe that when my father was in the NSA his function was to
decode messages for direct delivery to President Eisenhower. He said
his status was "CNO Crypto". Something like "Chief Naval Officer Top
Secret Cryptographic" or something like that.
I always suspected that our civilian life in our home at 111 Mizar
Place in Vandenberg Village was a "deep cover" assignment to generate
two healthy male bodies: gluttons for punishment that could withstand
endless criticism.
The street next to Mizar, called "Alcor", was where I was first
introduced to "Play Dough". I tried to eat it, but it was too salty.
Our next door neighbor was the president of a local bank. One day
his son, about my age, invited me over to show me his treasure. He
had a little toy combination safe filled with silver dollars.
He got bored after a while and shifted his attention to his
spirograph. When he wasn't looking, I slipped one of the silver
dollars into my pocket, figuring he wouldn't notice it missing.
I forgot about the silver dollar until the next day when my father
found it in the laundry basket, still in my pants. My father asked
"where did you get this?" By his tone, I knew he was angry and that
I was in trouble. I couldn't tell him the truth or I'd be dead! I
said, "I found it." He said "Where did you find it?" I searched my
mind frantically for a likely location, but panicked and walked to my
brother's bedroom closet and pointed to the floor.
My dad knew I was lying. He said, "Son, I think you're lying to me."
"If I find out you're lying, I'm going punish you like you'll never
forget!" I started crying and told him I stole it from Todd, the
bankers son next door.
He made me take it back to Todd and apologize to him and his mother.
When I got back, he said "Son, you're in trouble, and you're going to
get punished. It's bad that you stole the silver dollar, but it's
worse that you lied to me. I'll give you choice: do you want to be
restricted to you're room for a month, no going outside to play, or
do you want a spanking. I thought about it, and chose a spanking.
He said, "O.K. I'm gonna give you another choice: do you want me to
spank you with my hand, or with a belt?" My dad's hands were huge
and heavy, so I said "A belt." Then we walked into his bedroom,
opened up his closet where he kept the rifles, and we looked at all
the belts hanging there.
"You get to decide, Son. Do you want a fat belt or a skinny belt?"
I thought about the weight of the belts, and decided on a skinny
belt. "Take off your pants!" I started crying. "Shut up and stop
crying or I'm gonna spank you even more! Now take off your pants!"
I took off my pants. "Now pull down your underwear." I cry and pull
my underwear down to my ankles.
"Son, ask much as this is going to hurt you, it hurts me even more.
But it's important that I teach you a lesson that you'll remember for
the rest of your life! I'm gonna spank you across you butt 20 times,
and I'm going to let you count out loud, up to twenty. Now bend over
on the bed!" I cry. "Shut up and stop crying!"
The first whack was loud painful. I screamed at the top of my lungs
and yelled "Daddy! Please please!" and I put my hands back to cover
my behind. "Son! I love you very much and it hurts me to have to do
this. But later in life, when you get older, you'll understand. Now
count, that was 1".
Whack! This one was even worse. I think maybe the belt missed my
buns and hit the back of my thighs. I screamed. "Count!" "Two!"
Another crack! This time I noticed that I didn't have any louder
cry, and that it was best to scream "Three!".
Then I started sort of drifting out of my body, and decided that I
hated my dad. I decided that when I grew up I was going to something
to try to stop this from happening to other kids.
"Four!" etc..
By the time we got to twenty, I was amazed at my tolerance for pain.
My dad hugged me, with tears in his eyes, and said "Son I love so
much. But so help me god, if you ever lie to me again, I'll kill
you. Now go to your room."
For some reason, I never was able to remember my multiplication
tables. I hate money.
-------------------
ken@define.com
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