As you well know from reading this blog, I think. A lot. For a being with only one stomach I do a heck of a lot of ruminating. And that got me to thinking. Of course it did.
When I was a kid, somewhere around age 5 or 6, my mother changed the way she punished my brother and I for our wrongs. Rather than just use corporal punishment, which was pretty common at the time, she gave us a choice:
1. You can choose to get a spanking right away and be done with it;
2. You can choose to "think about what you did" alone in your room and come out when you're ready to give a run-down on why what you did was wrong and apologize for it.
My brother always chose Number 1. I always chose Number 2. And so it began.
I remember going to my room so many times and hiding under my big desk in the corner of my room, huddled up in the fetal position, rocking myself, attempting to understand my heinous deed, why it was so heinous, and what I had to do to make things right again. Sometimes this process took minutes, sometimes hours. It was a bizarre form of self-flagellation. (My parents were Catholic before converting to JWism. I've got guilt in my DNA.)
Eventually I would emerge. Usually, my mother would come and get me out of my room. I was either too stubborn or too ashamed to come out on my own. I'd come out into the living room and have to share my thoughts on what I'd done. Sometimes that would be the end of it. Sometimes I'd have a further punishment like not being able to go over to a friend's house or watch my favorite T.V. show.
In hindsight, I think my brother got the better deal.