When my son was little, a running joke between us was me telling him when he got rambunctious, to go find a really big stick so I could beat him. Any time I would tell him to go find a stick, he would grin, run outside and find a twig, run in and announce loudly. “Okay, Mom, now you can beat me.”

The neighbors would give us funny looks, but we did it all the time with silly grins on our faces. One day we were at the mall and he was just antsy because he wanted to go get our Friday pizzas and then go home. I was looking for something — I can’t remember what it was. It’s been over 40 years since this happened.

He kept whining at me, so I told him if he didn’t behave, I’d send him to find a big stick. What I hadn’t paid attention to was the workers outside the store trimming trees. So my son disappeared from the store and a little bit later, he came in, dragging a branch three time times his height. In the loudest voice he had, he yelled, “hey mom! Is this a big enough branch to beat me with?”

Every head in the store turned toward this little boy standing in the doorway with the chunk of tree, grinning his head off. Then they all turned to me as I walked toward him. I pointed out that we were both laughing and no one needed to call CPS. He dragged the branch back outside, still laughing.

Every so often, if he tells me he messed up somehow, I still tell to go find a really big stick so I can beat him.