More translated Chinese netizen comments about how they were disciplined by their parents when they were children, such as what “weapons” their moms and dads used. See Part 1 here. These comments were selected from the popular Chinese news portal and BBS discussion forum, NetEase. The original Chinese post topic was titled: “What weapons did your parents use to discipline you?”
Comments from NetEase:
Thin bamboo strips, broom, clothes hangers, basically I experienced anything my mother could get her hands on, but being beaten by both my mom and dad at the same time was rare. My old man basically use his palms, otherwise it would be bamboo strips. His slaps were really loud/strong, one slap and my face was all red. Bamboo strips were bad during the summer, I didn’t dare wear shorts.
I remember back in sixth grade I was unjustly and violently beaten by my old man’s leather belt, directly knocking me to the ground, and even the neighbors downstairs ran up. Later when my old man saw my butt at night, he himself shed tears. Before elementary school the washboard was frequently experienced by me, while my old man’s shoes was another frequent guest. Even so, I still consider myself lucky, the kid next door [had to experience] fresh hot coal cinders. Just looking made me cringe.
A wet towel~ I there pretending to be a hermaphrodite and my dad threw the towel he had just used to wash his feet, my face really stung…
Before the third grade I was beaten many times, beaten behind closed doors, beaten until not one part of my body was not bruised. Then my dad would remorsefully rub medicine on me and tell me to behave.
Later on, my mom had a fight with my dad over him beating me and from then on he never beat me again. However, replacing him was my mother, and my mom only had one method: “Shadow palm, I didn’t even get a chance to see it before my body was covered with palm prints.”
No mixed doubles [being beaten by both parents at the same time], almost always all just one of them. When the male-side [father] beats me, the female-side [mother] would feel heart-broken and scold the male-side. Then they would get into an argument between themselves, but the harm/suffering I experienced was worse. When it was just my mother, my father would be the observer…just my mother was the most frequent, and nothing was off the table, a thorny tree branch all shattered, lines of blood all over my back, almost like Guo Jing from The Legend of the Condor Heroes. Once I lost a book, it was winter, she found a thorny branch, the thorns on my body really hurt, from back to front, I was whipped 3 times by the branch, once it hit my eyes, but good thing it didn’t blind me. In addition, her wretched claws that twist into my face; even today, I still have many marks. Slaps to the face, knuckles, and sticks were basic weapons, and a few times even the fire-tongs…once they [parents] even ran out of things to use, so they took off their flip-flops and smacked me right in my face. They were the really hard kind of flip-flops and on my face immediately appeared a shoe print, completely red…Just my father was rare but it was life threatening, once I was thrown in the air, and good thing I landed on my butt…Looking back at my childhood, I really scorned my parents, basically a major beating occurred every few days and small beating occurred daily…In reality, I was actually very well-behaved as a child, starting to cook when I was seven, and my grades were pretty good, almost never got into trouble, and was never mischievous. But my biggest flaw was that I was really stubborn…my little brother was a lot worse than me, he misbehaves, and we both get beatings, but when he saw that the situation was about to get bad, he immediately leaves, waiting until their anger subdued before coming home and sweeping the floor…but for me, I get beaten. I wouldn’t cry, just stubbornly took it until they were done…later my mom told me that my stubbornness made her even more angry…A few years ago, I still jokingly asked my parents whether I was their real son. They were not happy…so now I stop mentioning these things. After all, they know they were too hard on me…In fact, regarding beating children, I still feel it is needed, but you can’t be too ruthless.
The 18 palms of the descending dragon, and the shadow kick of Foshan.
My dad seldom beat me but when he did, it was vicious。 My mother, on the other hand, often beat me but would cry every time afterward. Any tool/instrument could be used, as long as she could lay her hands on it. When I was young I would cry in a corner after getting beaten. When I was a bit older, they had to chase me to beat me (basically they couldn’t because they couldn’t run faster than me). After that [period], I would just stand there and let her beat me (not uttering a sound). One funny instance, my mother was chasing me with an aluminum ladle and eventually got so frustrated that she threw it at me, right onto the back of my head. Only after running further for a distance did I feel the cold wetness, and when I felt it was blood, I fainted. When I woke up, it was in a hospital, and it was almost New Years, and my head was covered in bandages, and my mother wouldn’t let me say it was she who caused it.
Clothes hangers (each time the plastic ones breaks; later every time my brother and I were beaten, my mother would hand [my father] metal ones. Every time they finished beating me, my brother and I would throw the clothes hanger out the window)
Feather duster (there was a lot of dust)
Electric cables (this was the most painful)
Lute (My dad was in the living room cheerfully playing his flute [instrument]. My brother and I were in the bedroom pretending to be Ultraman vs. monsters and fighting, and we broke the bedframe. As a result, he came in and it was straight to the beating. That one time really scared me. From that point on, you could beat me to death and I wouldn’t pretend to be Ultraman again.)
Books (Halfway finishing my homework, I started to play with my cell phone, immediately getting a hit on the head!)
Now thinking about, I feel ashamed. I as a girl getting beaten the entire day along with my little brother…
My experiences involve the combined torture of both flesh and spirit. Holding up chairs (depending on age, holding different sized chairs, this way it was more humane). Writing self-criticisms. Every morning before getting up out of bed, under my father’s supervision, I had to recite [the self-criticism] once, in addition to solemnly pledging to never commit [the mistake] again…it really hurt my self-esteem!
Breaking bed frames as Ultraman vs. monsters. chinaSMACK personals.