This might seem messed up to some people, but it was a punishment incredibly useful to me in the long run.
I used to get punished with drum rolls.
One of my brothers was an excellent drummer when I was growing up and he still is now. He was 14 when I was born.
I started drumming on a trap set at age five and he was my teacher. I’d practice 30–60 minutes a day with him.
By the time I was 9–10 years old, I was drumming for stage productions.
When he was in college, he’d babysit me sometimes.
If I didn’t follow his rules, specifically argue with my little sister (two years younger than me), he’d put me on the drum set and tell me to practice my drum rolls until they sounded decent as my punishment.
I remember sitting on the drum throne for what felt like long periods of time in the music room next to our living room calling out to him, “Is that smooth enough yet, Mick?” “Does that sound good yet, Mick?”
It’s an amusing memory and I wound up feeling quite proud of my smooth drum rolling skills as a little girl. It was uncommon.
Quirky moment in my family past. We were a creative bunch.