If I did something really stupid, like ride my
bike across the busy main road and crash into a fence, Dad would
have to get my attention. He knew I hated the dark, so one
punishment was to stand in a corner with the lights out for what
felt like forever. Sometimes he made me touch my nose to the wall
so I couldn't cheat and look around. Sometimes the punishment was
harsher.One of my main chores was chopping the kindling. Baba (brother) and I alternated, so every other week it was my job to make sure the kindling box stayed full, even if it meant I had to go out to the chopping block four times on a Saturday in the dead of winter. Wood heated our stove, and that stove fed us and kept us warm. Not only was it mandatory to have a full box, but the wood had to be cut a certain way. There were three sizes. The thin pieces were the "starters" because they combusted quickly. The medium-sized ones were "fillers" and got the fire good and hot. The big chunks, the "overnighters" kept the fire burning until dawn.
I was really good when it was my week to cut the kindling because I knew how painful the product of my efforts could be. When I got into trouble, I had to pick my own piece of wood and hand it to Dad. Then I'd stand with my toes on this line in the kitchen, bend over, touch my toes, and get whacked. I'd always put my hand back there and get smacked on my hand, then get another spanking for having covered my butt. So I'd have a hurt hand and a hurt butt, but not for long, given my toughness and tolerance for pain. disappointing my parents was worse than the actual spanking.