My childhood; I grew up in a family of sociopaths (didn't we all)
Punishment was usually swift and extreme for the usual mundane "bad" things kids do. One day, around the age of 8, I was hanged out of a second story window for arguing with my sibling by a parental figure. Made to hang on for dear life for what seemed to be an eternity out of an old Victorian era house, you know the ones with the 12 foot ceilings making the 2nd story height seem that more devastating to a young child if he were to fall.
You might be asking, why would this be a 'fond' memory? In short, the parental figure didn't let go.
In that moment I understood there was some good buried within all that 'psychotic' rage induced, generational abuse passed down from parental figure to offspring that went back in my family line as old as the stories themselves are told about it. A bit of good that was realized one day when this parental figure gave their life to the Christian God, Jesus, a few short years later. Still fallible and flawed, such is the human condition, but a total and marked change from the monstrous person that once was.
Ah, good times.
(Drinks are on me to whoever read that first paragraph in their best Dr. Evil inner monologue voice)