They grew up in different times just after ww2. They tried talking to me and if i didn't react, because i didn't get why i shouldn't do the thing they told me not to do, they beat me. In later years they started talking to me about my behaviour, but the first couple years were hard on my part. And i think it is the same for every kid, coupled to the circumstances of their upbringing, like if you lived in the City, suburbia or the countryside. Can't tell me that a six year old child has any concept of danger or dying and why it is forbidden to stick a stick in an outlet. You do it because you want to know what happens. In my case, the hand of my mother smacking my head. It took the death of my great grandma when i was 9 to give me grips on what dying means. Before that if they said, you could die, it was like, okay, but i can still do stuff.

At least they did not use sticks and whips like my grandpa always suggested. When one of us misbehaved, he suggested to put all of us siblings in a potatoe bag and beat the hell out of it, because you'd always hit the right one. And if i didn't want to help on the farm on weekends, because i had plans or just didn't want to dig in the dirt for hours on end while in scorching heat, i'd not only get beaten, i'd lose priviliges left and right. Like TV or pocket money or spending time with my friends, etc. It were different times and spitting or laying hands on a cop would've been my death sentence. Pretty Sure. And no, i don't live nor have i ever lived in the US. Visited a couple times though.