PhanTHomize

When we were little, the three of us kids, our dad had this skull ring that he wore on his pinky. It looked like it might have come from one of the many silver displays at the Sturgis biker rallies. I associated it with those, anyway, because collecting one silver ring for each time I went to the rallies with him was my thing. I had three by the time graduated that I wore on the last 3 fingers of my right hand. For show, of course. A rose, a pair of hands holding a heart, and one that looked like eagle talons wrapping around my finger.

(Not my hands, not my rings)

Our dad was creative, if nothing else, in both his artistic endeavors and in his discipline. Instead of the old-timey spankings, which used to involve the belt, a thin wooden dowel, a wooden spoon, or the metal ruler in the phonebook drawer, there was the occasional wall-sit, the rare kneeling with boots in the hands, and the odd lecture with presentation about needing to appreciate one another. That came complete with getting my little brother to slide underneath the glass coffee table, close his eyes and fold his hands so that we didn't have to use our imaginations to see what it would be like looking at him in a casket. Life is precious. You don't know if you have tomorrow.

This ring, this skull ring he had, was pretty cool looking, really, and it had a name. It was the "Phanthom". Yes p-h-a-n-t-h-o-m. With a tee-aych. T. H. Along with flicking us in the face with his middle finger and thumb for mouthing off or a knuckle whip-crack to the head for insolence was this skull ring on his pinky. And when he went to flick his wrist, using his hands as the whip-crack end of his flicking, the skull would thump on our heads.

None of the above methods were consistently used and rarely used the older we got. But as the clump of methods grew to be a memory in the distance, terms for them still reminded us of what used to be. The skull ring -- The Phanthom -- and subsequent flick-smack procured a new verb by our dad. This verb in our house was "Phanthomizing".


Now it would seem pretty terrifying in several respects, most obviously at the moment as a parent myself reflecting in theoretic sheer horror, and more broadly in the perspective of current-day mindsets about what is acceptable discipline and what is not. But I will tell you that the mispronunciation of the word "phantom", to me, has stuck out far more than the punishment, as much then as now, itself.

My mind would always correct him when he said phantom incorrectly, but never once out loud. Phantom, Dad. F-A-N t-u-m. My middle brother and I would heckle and laugh about it in the safety of the basement later, but never in front of him. We knew, however lightly, that correcting him and/or laughing at the quirky addition of a consonant would not be kind. Or tolerated.

We never once stopped to consider how English being his second language may or may not have been a factor. He wasn't the first parent we ever knew to use his or her own words. And he was exceedingly deliberate in his mastery of the English language and losing his accent since before we were even in the womb. There was no guarantee it was a culturally linguistic slip. Our dad prided himself on being able to speak English very well and was expressly good at raising us with proper English. But he was not exempt from our juvenile considerations just because he was Mexican. It was just a kid-to-parent thing. A pair of offspring doing what every other kid does -- rolling their eyes at their parents.