So as I was stropping my razor today I was thinking that this was my least favorite part of the ritual. Then I got back to making sure I was all there for the stropping. As I am returning to the shave den (aka, bathroom) I remembered my father asking me with an undercurrent of rage if 'I wanted the strop?' I'm pretty sure if I got an answer out it was no, but often I had to focus on choking back tears because I knew it was coming no matter what the answer was.
I can still see the two component strop hanging in his bedroom closet long after it was used as a tool of guidance.
Maybe I am still carrying those memories into and past my own whipping my kids asses which I did not do often....in fact, if you asked either one of them I'm sure they would not remember a single whipping and never with an object. Just a firm tap on the rump at the right time.
My father was in the generation that inherited their father's strops but probably used a safety razor all of his life. I wish I had his.