Daddy’s Whackings

By Jim Hagarty

“I was beaten, as a child,
“But it was good for me.”
Said the mean old lonely senior,
Who lives down the street from me.

“My father never spared the rod
“And I knew where I stood.
“I’d go back and thank my Dad
“If there was some way that I could.”

“The kids today they don’t know how
“To work or show respect.
“My Dad would whup them good and hard
“If he saw them, I expect.”

My neighbour is a law-abiding man,
I have to say.
But he’s as nasty as a wolf.
What made him be this way?

He lives alone and never smiles
And complains day and night.
Maybe Daddy’s whackings
Have left him less than right.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.