When ever I was to be punished as a child my mother generally handled it, and by handling it, she smacked me to next week and back with a wooden spoon. I'm not mad about this, actually I'm grateful for it. When I got into real trouble, the famous phrase that held so much fear for me was unleashed, "just wait until your father gets home!" gasp!
My father was a drill seargent in Korea, not during the Korean war, he's not that old yet. Very laid back most of time, but when he becomes angry or frusterated, I still have the sense to walk quietly. His hand was feared even more than a wooden spoon, just the threat of it was enough to snap me into line. He is 5'6" and I am 6' 1", but when he goes back to military form, he becomes much larger and stronger than I.
I grew up to love my father as one loves God. He is to be loved and feared at the same time. He is the hand of authority and boy, if you cross the line your ass is mine. Luckily he's mellowed as the years passed, but the other day I was reminder he was a drill seargent. A man decided to cross my father, since he had four surgeries in the past 10 months, and he got his back straightened just like I used to. I love my dad, but I sure wouldn't want to cross him.