THIS HURTS ME MORE THAN IT DOES YOU, SERIOUSLY?!

THIS HURTS ME MORE THAN IT DOES YOU. SERIOUSLY!?!

In my youth, my Daddy would administer the punishment and retribution for the most part. My Mother used his iron fist(actually is was a belt, and a damn fine one at that) much like an old cowboy would use his sidearm. If(I mean 'when') we would do something wrong, she would quick draw the statement, "If you don't behave, I will tell you Daddy when he gets home."
She had just fired a verbal warning shot so close to the seat of our pants that we almost always amended our wicked ways. Well, my brothers and sisters did anyway.
Most people find this hard to believe, but I am what the psychologists call "dumb ass". Apparently the symptoms are not knowing when to leave well enough alone. That and I inherited the "smart ass gene" from my Father, well, as Obama would say, "It's not my fault."
When you mix to two medical conditions together you get a childhood of eating of the mantle, if you know what I mean?
Until I became a responsible adult(I use that term with abandon), I never realized the weight of the world that my Father, as well, as most other husbands, carried on their shoulders daily. I suppose if I had known all of that I would have acted better, naaaa, "dumb-assness" in an incurable malady, doomed to follow the sufferer all of his life.
Because my Daddy took life so seriously, it never occurred to me to joke with him. I loved him, but I also feared him and never wanted to get on his bad side, which coincidentally turned out to be my back side!
My Mother, on the other hand, had a gentler side, more approachable, as Mothers are supposed to be. I could joke with her, to a point. On a few occasions over my childhood, my Mother would administer the punishment. On most occasions she would say those familiar words that most Mothers have uttered, "This is going to hurt me more than it does you." Huh? I was not a rock scientist then, but I knew that was a bunch of crap. I had whipped a few kids at school and it didn't hurt a bit, well, a little, if they landed a punch.
On one particular occasion(there were so many, who can count), when my Mother made that statement, while holding my left arm, with a clear shot at my derriere, I stood upright as tall as I could, clearly several inches towering over her, and exclaimed loudly, "Let me get a switch and whip you first, then we will compare notes and see who hurts who the most!" All the time I maintained eye contact and a serious face(had to my tender ass was on the line). She stood there, frozen in mid-swing. Then ever so slightly, a smile began to creep across her face. Just before she was about to burst into laughter, she released her grip and gave a gentle shove at the same time, saying, "Go out side and behave, or I WILL tell your Daddy."

Saved my young ass by being a smart ass!