Spare The Rod and Spoil A Child

My Parents Loved Me
(Poem 50 in Advantages of Hating Love)

When I was naïve and young/ in my naiveté and youth/ my loving parents loved me/ I was loved by my loving parents/ they loved me enough to give me a sjambok or a cane or canes/ when I needed it or it or them/ they loved me more than anyone would ever love me/

With love in their hearts/ they gave me what I needed every week of my life/ they beat me day and night/ because I was a child day and night/ doing things children do day and night/ that they weren’t supposed to do day and night/

With love in their hearts they beat me man-woman to boy/ to child/ they whipped my little body/ stripped me naked and canned my screaming skeleton all over/ the buttocks, the back, the thighs, the calves, the armpits, the arms and the hands when they acted smart trying to block the discipline

Some days and nights I ran away/ to my relatives’ house because I was afraid of their love/ I would slide under the rickety bed to hide and sleep there for the night/ far away from their love/ under the beloved bed/ where it was dark and welcoming/ warm and safe/ where Satan and his one-eyed goblins gave me temporary protection/ but my parents came/ full of love/ and I saw it in my cramped mind’s eye/ love flaming, raging, burning deep/ they came calling my name, lovingly/ out-loud for my stomach to hear, to respond/ they started shouting and my bowels crumpled/ squeezing out the gastric defence mechanism/ they shouted so loud the devil became scared, farted and ran away, leaving me in the dark with one-eyed goblins/ they searched each room one by one, searching and searching and not in vain/ they searched until they found me







Upon finding me my loving parents put the blazing weight of the sjambok where it belonged/ they beat me like they always did/ they beat me until my whole body swelled, s’true God!/ they beat me in a multitude of screams to which they were deaf/ they beat me until my relatives’ neighbours heard/ loud and clear/ I screamed because I believed I was dying/ I screamed hoping God would hear me and rescue me/ I screamed in serious prayer asking God to help me/ I screamed not knowing it was God who told them to beat me/ He told them to feed my flesh to the rod/ I shouted under the fire of the sjambok digging my body brutally/ I cried like victims of war as the monster cane rod put the disciplinary jaws on my soft body

Democracy was no where to be seen/ all I had was a bleating throat/ as I cried like a strangled goat/ the next day I moaned as it was painful to touch me/ when I sat my buttocks/ when I spoke/ when I remembered and cried

I spent holidays playing with my bad friends and being beaten by my loving parents/ for coming home late from playing with bad friends/ when the schools re-opened sent me to school to understand under loving teachers/ who beat me until my buttocks had bumps/ until my hands couldn’t hold a pen/ and beat me for failing to hold a pen/ they gave me correction when I misunderstood their instruction/ they called it physical motivation/ they beat me so much I believed they hated me/ I thought such was brutal discipline/ I thought maybe I was born to be beaten/ maybe I was/ they beat me until I hated the chair I sat on/ hating the conniving little teeth biting my buttocks/ hating the fire behind all of these beatings/ I feared their love/ I feared it for they beat me repeatedly for I repeatedly repeated my mistakes/ they caned me even during winter when I could see my own breath leaving my mouth

In the evenings when I arrived home late I took more love/ it was love that made them beat me/ I was beaten enough but it was never enough/ I was deaf/ it couldn’t be enough/ even my cousins shared my plight at their homes/ they were beaten enough, but never enough/ the only time they were beaten enough was when they finally ran away for days and weeks on end/ some are still running to this day/ some are filled with hatred and anger/ me, I’m filled with rebellion/ I refuse rules/ I hate a sjambok/ I hate discipline/ but I love my parents/ however, not enough to beat them like some of my friends do

My parents say democracy has ruined things for them for they can no longer love their children/ they say children of today have no respect and discipline/ they say the children of today need to be loved/ like they loved me/ like they instilled discipline and responsibility in me

My memories of childhood drift amidst serious beatings of sjambok and cane/ nightmares of discipline/ I remember a few laughters and playing and some bullies and my loving parents/ I remember repressively my loving parents/ who beat me for cooking late/ for being stupid, naïve, careless, disrespectful, childish/ they beat me for not washing dishes/ they woke me with a cane for not waking up in time/ they bought me clothes and beat me for making them dirty/ they sent me to church to learn respecting my parents/ who beat me for not listening to my Sunday School teachers

I grew up under the shade of beating/ under angry shouts/ under love/ they beat me so that I might grow strong and full of discipline/ they are still beating me/ even now when they are not/ I am beaten/ because I was beaten/ like my loving parents were beaten/ by their loving parents

I shall never be a parent/ for I do not have love for any child/ enough to raise my muscular cane-clutching hand high/ and reverberate it lovingly on my child’s buttocks with the violence of a Boer beating up a Kaffir/ I shall never be a parent for it hard being a parent/ with deaf children/ and a sjambok or cane to beat their ears open/ with lots and lots of parental love

Nevertheless I appreciate my parents for loving me/ even when I was deaf
-4kof Satan