It was the summer of 1936, between my eighth and ninth grades of school. I was meandering through the yard of our home in York Center where I lived with my brothers and sisters beside my dad’s stone quarry. He and my mother lived in a farm house seven miles away.

Since I was not expecting him to be around I was wearing the “forbidden” shorts.

But low and behold!! What do you know? My dad drove up and, wouldn’t you know it, parked by the house. I stopped walking, just stood very still, watching as he walked toward me. As he came to a small tree, he stopped, very slowly reached for his pocket knife, cut a small twig, and removed any notches.

I never take my eyes off him as he walks toward me waving his switch back and forth in the air. He stops just in front of me and switches my bare legs one time, and says, “Don’t you ever let me catch you wearing shorts again!”

Then he walked back to his car, opened the door, got in and left.

So you see, he was really quite generous about it actually! He gave me an out! So……….what did I do? Exactly what he said!!



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