The Ledger

By Patricia McClellan 

Last Saturday I stumbled on an estate sale And I just couldn’t resist.

Some people hear “estate sale” and think, “Oh, how sad.” I hear “estate sale” and think, “I wonder what treasures they’re giving away?”

Anyone who knows me knows that rummaging through somebody else’s perfectly good stuff is my idea of fun.

Tucked away on a table in a back bedroom, I spotted a little piece of my childhood: one of those old paddle toys with a ball attached to a long rubber band. The object was to bounce the ball on the paddle as many times as possible. If you miss the paddle your count started over.

By today’s standards, it was probably considered educational. It taught hand-eye coordination and patience.

In our house, it taught something else.

Discipline.

Our paddle was missing the ball.

And the rubber band.

Mama had repurposed it which is possibly where I got my love for trash to treasure crafting.

The paddle lived on top of the refrigerator.

Let me tell you, that paddle did not need a ball to be effective. 

Mama didn’t threaten us with it. There was no, “If you do that one more time, I’m gonna get the paddle.

Nope. 

If Mama reached toward the top of that refrigerator, you had about three seconds to reconsider every decision you’d made that day.

And we reconsidered quickly.

There was no warning system. No three strikes. No lengthy discussion about our choices.

Mama told us once.

If we didn’t listen, the paddle came down.

Now, before anybody reports my childhood to the authorities, let me just say this: I survived.

More than that, I learned.

I learned Mama meant what she said. I learned actions had consequences. And I learned there were some behaviors that simply weren’t going to fly in our house.

Looking back, I realize that paddle represented more than discipline. It represented boundaries, expectations and a mama who loved her children enough to teach them right from wrong.

It’s educational value was in the lessons it taught.

We didn’t have perfect parents, and we certainly weren’t perfect children. But we knew we were loved. We knew what was expected of us. And we knew there were consequences when we chose not to listen.

Standing there at that estate sale, I smiled at that old paddle.

Funny how something that once made me nervous could bring back such sweet memories.

I didn’t buy it. I figured I’d already gotten my money’s worth out of one just like it.

I left it there and carried the memory home instead.

As I drove away, I whispered a little prayer of thanks.

Thank You, Lord, for parents who loved me enough to teach me.

And thank You that Mama didn’t have to reach for that paddle very often.

Because I may not be the brightest bulb on the tree…

But I wasn’t dumb enough to make her reach for on top of the refrigerator twice.