This prompt reminds me of my father. He used to call my daughter, whose name starts with a "k," Kookla. I believe that is Greek for "doll" but don't quote me on that.
My father. For many years, I have been very angry at my father. He could be quite scary. His face would darken without warning, and his very deep and resonant voice would start yelling, and once in a while he would do something absolutely ridiculous such as pour a whole bottle of red wine on the kitchen table because one of us had uttered a sound. One of the five of us, because it sure wouldn't have been my mother, she knew when to keep her mouth shut. But two year olds are another matter.
We would have been somewhere around 2, 4, 5, 8 and 9 on that day. We had been ordered to remain silent by you-know-who. But the two year old was messing with orange juice and something else on her high chair tray, and I had the gall to say "ugh." That was it. One syllable and the whole world went tipsy.
Wine spilling all over the table while my father glared at my silent mother at the other end of the table.
Belt removed. One or the other of his children whipped for the first and only time.
I tried to talk to my mother about this years later. I thought the offender was me, but she insisted it was one of my brothers.
I heard years later still that my mother pretty much regularly threatened to leave my father, and I was happy to learn that this was one of those times.
This is my entry to 