Showdown at Ted Browns

He calls this his 'Mad Dangerous Face'

It was a really busy afternoon. My second son was due to start violin lessons the next day, and he needed a Suzuki book. I had just enough time to make it to the music store before I had to pick up the kids for car pool. As I began my mad dash, I was seized by indecision. "Do I drive all the way across town, or do I try the little music store in the other direction?" I couldn't resist the urge to try the smaller one. I made the detour, only to find that the store was only open a few hours that day, and this wasn't one of them. Could I make it to the other one now? Only time would tell. Have I told you that I get really, really anxious about being late? It gets me all cramped-up inside. Of course, I made it to the store in time, but I was still a bit ruffled. As I hauled my youngest two across the parking lot, #4 wanted to tie his shoe laces in the street. I frantically gesture for him to do it inside, so he slowly, slowly follows me. We finally made it through the doors, and I hear an audible gasp from the little one in my arms. Guitars, everywhere. Little six year-old dashes from instrument to instrument, wide-eyed, while the little guy watches longingly. Of course they have them down by the ground. I head straight to a clerk to make my request. K reaches out and begins softly plucking, and little L has had more than he can bear. While the clerk is searching the shelf in front of me, little L begins insisting that he must 'git dow'. Right now. I shush him and return my attention to the clerk, who in now searching the stacks behind. Then it happens. Have you ever been holding on to a hose when the water comes on with great pressure? It whips around in every direction, squirting like crazy. This is what he did right then. I had him securely by the hips, but everything above went whipping around at impossible angles, and instead of spraying water, he was spewing sound. Lots of it. The whole store turns to see what is making all that racket. The lady finally stands up to tell me that they're out of stock, averting her eyes from the squalling beast in my arms. I smile apologetically and thank her. I turn, holding him perhaps a little more firmly than is strictly necessary. He pauses to take a breath, and realizes that we're leaving. He blurts out, "No owie bop-bops!". My what a marvelous idea! He knew he was dead meat, and he knew he deserved it. I'm not big on corporal punishment. He's hardly ever been spanked. It seems the longer I've been a parent, the less it's needed. My poor oldest child had way more spankings and time outs by this age than my younger guys. There are times though, when it comes in quite handy. This was one of them. Somewhere, in his little brain, was recorded the rule "Act like a little rot, and you get spanked". I couldn't let him down.