I kind of look back on my whoopins as a rite of passage. I remember one time as a kid, my dad was furious about something I did that I'd rather not relate on here. At any rate, the only thing I remember was him coming for me, and then, the entire room was upside down. The carpet was where the ceiling should have been and the ceiling was where the floor should have been. The whole time he was holding me in the air by the ankle and spanking me with a belt in his other hand. He lit me up that day. The last time he spanked me was somewhat funny. He took the belt and did his thing, and I just looked at him stoically. It didn't hurt, I wasn't in fear, I was kinda numb to the whole thing. Him and I both look back and laugh on it now. Thats when he had to switch it up and put me on room restriction or take the Nintendo away from me. Taking the Nintendo away really hurt.
I guess there's a fine line between abuse and discipline. I don't believe I was abused, although I concede maybe my discipline could have been meted out better.