This occurred one day when my mother was fed up with me playing my music too loud. I was about 12 at the time. I forgot exactly what I was listening to, but it was loud. My mother came in and insisted that I turn it down or off. I then made a big mistake.
“Make me,” I said, turning it back up, after she turned it down.
“You leave me no choice,” she said, yanking me up by my arm. She led me to her sewing table in the living room and firmly bent me over. Afterwards, she preceded to pull down my pants and underwear. She went and fetched an old hairbrush that my grandmother had given her for exactly this type of occasion.
“You will get 20 strokes,” she announced. “Aw, mom, please…” I protested. “Fine then – 24, and not another word.”
Then the first stroke fell. About halfway through, I could take it no longer. I made my second mistake, got out of position and rubbed my burning bottom.
“That’s it!” she said furiously. “The rest of your punishment will be carried out with your father’s cane (my father had a school cane that I felt the sting of on a regular basis) and to prevent you from getting up again, I will bind your legs to the legs of the table.”
And she did just that.