I remember being at church one Sunday when I was five or six. My mother was a volunteer in one of the children’s activity rooms that day.
While she was helping another child with a project, I was working on mine, when I needed some help. “Mommy, will you help me?” “I’m helping Tommy right now, honey. When I’m finished, I’ll come over and help you, OK?” “OK, mommy,” I replied.
I waited – and waited, and waited. Soon, it was time to go home.
“All right, Rob, it’s time to leave,” my mom announced. “Mom, you said you’d help me!”, I yelled. “Robert, you do NOT yell at your mother like that,” scolded mom, “now let’s go!”
“I wanted you to help me, mommy!” At this point, mom started pulling me by the arm, then picked me up, carried me under her arm and took me to the car.
As we drove home I was informed of what was going to happen. “When we get home, young man, you go straight upstairs to your room, find a board, bare your bottom, lay on your tummy on your bed and wait for me.” “I’m sorry, mommy,” I cried. “Be quiet, Robert!”
When we got home I did as I was told and waited. Mom came in, and knelt on the floor next to me. My bottom was propped up by my pillow. Mom grabbed the board, laid it across my bottom, and spanked me hard.
“Don’t you ever, EVER, do that again, young man – do you understand?” I nodded. Then I was stood up, led out of my room to ‘the corner’ down the hall and left there, as was always the case after a spanking, with my bare bottom glowing. I would remain there for what seemed like hours and would be ridiculed by my older sisters when they came in.
That was the typical routine for me when I misbehaved.