In my house, it wasn’t the belt that put the fear of God into you. It was the wait...
“Wait ‘til your father gets home!”
Yep...same here. Dad would have us sit and wait while he gave a suspense building performance worthy of an Oscar. He'd go through his closet carefully selecting just the right belt. Then he'd take a few warm-up lashes against the banister, before we were told to bend over. By that time the punishment was already effective, and while we got us a relatively light little lashing, the sound and the fury were more than adequate course corrections.
omg > Amen !