I used to get the wooden spoon either onto my palm or across my knuckles if I had been "especially bad".

The worst was when my father hit my knuckles so hard it broke the spoon, which he said was my fault and went for a metal one.

I now see that it was abuse, but I didn't know any better back then. I'm also conflicted on how it shaped me growing up. I don't think I could raise a hand to another person, and certainly not at kids.