My mom (not often is at all my dad) would give me a potch when I deserved it, then when I started to cry, she would hold me lovingly in her arms and tell me she loved me and wanted me to be a “tayereh maideleh.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was something good, if she was hugging me when she said it. I did not get potched much in my childhood, but when I did, there was always a good reason, and I never felt unloved or traumatized.
