If you were raised in any way like I was, when Mom or Dad either walked to their closet to get or start to take off their belt, you knew what would come next. Spanking, whoopin’, lickin’...whatever you want to call it, the one term that covers them all is discipline. To be honest, I don’t see the problem with it. But in this world we live in, it’s all about being friends instead of parents to your children. “It’s a violent and cruel punishment” or my personal favorite, “It’s destructive to the child.” I don’t think I became less of a human being when my dad tore my backside for back-talking or being disrespectful to any adult when I was I child. In fact, it’s been “Yes ma’am. No ma’am. Yes sir. No sir.” since I was 10 years old. Think I learned my lesson? However, I would not understand discipline for almost a decade after that.

I didn’t understand discipline until just days after my 18th birthday. I’m a huge movie lover and ever since National Treasure came out in 2004, I’ve always wanted to go see a movie in theaters around my birthday. So when I turned 18 in 2012, there were just two movies that caught my attention: Jack Reacher, and Django Unchained. I had seen the trailer for Jack Reacher, and it seemed like a movie I would like to go see with my girlfriend. But then my eyes watched the 30 seconds of TV time given to Django Unchained. Jamie Foxx and Leonardo DiCaprio in a Spaghetti Western-style movie directed by Quentin Tarantino. I HAD to see it. Then the rating of the film was shown….”R”.

I was torn. Up until that point, I had never been allowed to see an R-rated movie in theaters without my parents having seen it first. I wasn’t a sheltered child; however, my parents knew the influence films had on kids with minds that weren’t fully developed (and in case you’re wondering if that includes you, unless you’re 25 or older…yes it does). So I had been steered clear of the movies that I wasn’t fit for yet. But I was 18 now. A legal adult. My stupid, undeveloped mind had a thought right then…”I’m a man now. I’m grown. Mom and Dad can’t say what I can and cannot do, watch, or say.”

So I devised a plan: I would tell my parents I was going to see Jack Reacher, which was only rated PG-13, but go see Django Unchained instead. Genius right? They’d never figure it out. Unless I mentioned days before my bold idea that I wanted to see Django and they straight up said “No”… oh wait.

I never gave my parents enough credit for figuring out when I was doing something wrong. They asked when I would be back home and I said the time based on how long Jack Reacher was (2 hours and 10 minutes) not to sound suspicious. So I left the house, picked up my girlfriend, and drove to Corinth to watch Django Unchained. I bought my Coke and popcorn and sat the top row of the theater, eagerly awaiting for the movie to start. And then it did.

If you know about or have ever seen a Quentin Tarantino movie, then you know that they tend to run longer than the average film. I didn’t know that when I told my lie. Throughout the movie, I was checking the time and thinking of what lie to tell my parents for why I was home later than I said I would be. After a 165 minutes of my first Tarantino film, I raced back to McNairy County.

I was probably going 85 mph on Hwy 64 from Selmer to Adamsville. When I got home, I was a full hour late from when I said I would be back. The rule at the Brasher house is if you come home late, you have to go to Mom and Dad’s room to let them know you’re home. But they already knew I’d be late. What they did was look up the showtimes for both Jack Reacher and Django Unchained, and figured out what time I should be home based on which one I saw. Very clever.

They began with telling me that they told me not to go see that movie and that I was grounded. And that’s when my undeveloped brain entered the conversation. “I’m 18 now, and I can make my own decisions. Stop treating me like a little kid.” My dad calmly replied, “Alright.” He then grabbed my arm, walked me outside, then walked back in alone, locking the door behind him. I was outside with late December temperatures and my jacket inside where I took it off. But I wasn’t worried.

I sat outside confidently believing either my mom or dad would open the door and let me back in. I wasn’t planning on losing this argument by giving in and knocking on the door. Ten minutes passed and nobody had opened the door. I waited for the door to open after 20 minutes went by. Nothing. It had been a half-hour since my dad locked the door. I was freezing, and I was tired. I swallowed what little pride I had left and knocked on the door. I pitifully asked, “Dad? Can you please let me in?” And he did.

That was a perfect display of discipline. I was obviously in the wrong for lying and talking back. Everybody knows that when you’re 18, living at home, and expecting your parents to help pay for college, they have every right to “treat you like a child.” What I learned that day was that even though I was punished for talking with my mouth open (I already started talking back, so I just kept going), my parents still love me. It didn’t take my dad 30 seconds to open the door after I asked if I could come back in. I’m now 22, but I know that if I talk back to my parents even today, I could still get a whoopin’.