The Smack

“Don’t Fill Up On The Antipasta” (Possible Title for my autobiography)



Chapter II.

The Smack


My mother smacked me on the ass when I was a baby and the bishop smacked me on the face when I was a man. The smack was ever present in my early life. My Uncle John used to say about Aunt Gloria, “I’ll just smack er”, when he wanted to be funny. My father used to say, “Sit here, Joseph, next to me so I can smack you.” In Catholic school Brother Dominic would smack the crap out of your face so fast with repeated left and right blows that he left you stunned and wondering where you were after the ordeal.

The smack was a sign of hostility used by big people to alienate them from us, something they worked hard at doing because they knew that their thoughts were evil and always wishing the best for us were always afraid of polluting us with something they would be embarrassed if we copied or repeated ... except smacking of course.

Smacking on the ass had a special significance as did all ass related activities and humor. “I’ll smack your ass!!” echoed throughout our home as a continuous reminder of parental tyranny. Adolf Papa, and Mao Mama dictated our every living and breathing moment with threats of punishment easily administered, and promises of rewards difficulty delivered, if ever. Mostly, it was the smack that we received as a constant reminder of the omniscience, omnipresence and the omnipotence of our godlike parents every day of our lives until they transferred us to the clergy who applied those attributes to the eternal god who would smack us into the eternal fires of hell or the bliss of heaven for all those who had the will and ability to suffer enough to extricate themselves while nullifying the grace of God.

The smack across the face, ears ringing, jaw ajar, eyes twirling ... a frightening moment in the mind of a child. Adults striking us where we think and where most of our senses are located has the effect of closing down those senses when they are most needed such as when a threat exists. The smack prepared us for war and killing. The smack was what put you to sleep and what what woke you up. The smack across the back of the head lunged you forward. Is there symbolism here? The smack on the side of the head threw you off balance or simply taught you to turn your head sharply in the advent of hostility. Little wonder we see and feel so little of the violence in the world today.

There were weird smacks like the smack on the chest with the back of the hand and the light smacks on the back of the neck after a haircut. And the hard sharp smack on the scapula when you got it over on someone and they just had to show their vengeful appreciation.

The smack, although hostile at times, was in some senses a sign of peace because it was something delivered with an open hand. The open, receptive, giving and loving hand of mother could on a dime represent the judgement of god. The hand of comfort and healing which offered the tasty ladles of sauces and soups to the hungry mouth could in an instant turn into the karate chop of disapproval across the same mouth so eagerly stuffed with food. Smacking was intricately connected with growing up. And I guess that weaning from the loving smacks of my parents was the painful reality that adulthood brought ...that I would no longer be smacked. Instead, the punishment for disapproval would begin to take on other forms I was perhaps less accustomed to.