In the South, at some point, you’ve been introduced to a yellow bell bush—the one with the lush hickory switches. Every Southern mama had the same famous line: “You’re gonna get a whipping.”
A strange excitement would rush through your body when you found out you got to pick your own hickory from that eternal bush of everlasting stripes. It felt ceremonial, almost sacred, like being summoned for a ritual you absolutely did not want to attend.
There were rules, of course. You never—ever—picked a small hickory. That was an insult to the moment and an invitation for a second trip back to the bush. You had to return with an offering: the most robust, leafy switch you could find, heavy with promise and mercy all at once.
Hickories might be unfamiliar to some. In the South, they were an essential item—small enough to fit in a purse, important enough to be taken to church every Sunday, and often left on the dash of the car as a silent reminder to behave. I was no stranger to hickory sticks and wore stripes on my legs quite frequently.
Mamas looked for reasons to invoke their right to use the yellow bell bush from hell. I was around fourteen or fifteen when I received my last set of switching rites for skipping school. To add insult to injury, my mama called the school and told on me herself. I was sentenced to In-School Suspension (ISS). Lucky for me, Hurricane Hugo hit, and school was canceled. I didn’t have to sit confined to one room all day, staring at my poor life choices.
When I was much younger—around five or six—I was introduced to another disciplinary tool: the round hairbrush. Unfortunately, I have naturally curly hair. Depending on the weather, it can resemble Mufasa’s lion mane or an alpaca having a bad day. My mama worked third shift a lot, and she’d often get me dressed for church or school. I can’t remember much about where I was going—probably due to memory loss from the hairbrush (just kidding).
She brushed my hair the best she could, and I, of course, would not sit still. I still remember the whack of that hairbrush to my head. There was no time for a hickory—she already had her weapon of choice in hand. I don’t think I suffered brain damage or anything, just a solid memory of the blow and the knot it left behind.
Fly flaps—fly swatters—were another Southern essential and always handy when we were in a rush. Those waffle patterns left marks that looked like red plaid. They were a true fashion statement in the summertime, worn proudly with shorts or short dresses. Everyone—adults and children alike—recognized the identification marks of hickories and fly flaps.
In today’s culture, this type of discipline is considered abuse. I did carry on the tradition with my own children, and to each their own. You can usually tell the difference between those who were striped growing up and those who weren’t. They carry themselves differently. Children today are often downright rude, uncontrollable, and given endless excuses for their behavior.
The Bible shows many accounts of God disciplining His children. Honestly, after reading some of the ways He disciplined them, I’ll gladly take the hickory. I’ll also accept the hairbrush and the fly swatter.
Scripture reminds us:
- Hebrews 12:6 — Discipline as love and guidance
- Proverbs 22:15 — Correction rooted in wisdom
- Ephesians 6:4 — Discipline without provoking to anger
- Hebrews 12:11 — Discipline with purpose
Joyless or Joyful 
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