I’d done something naughty – mom had hauled me in from play and was scolding me about it. At some point she must have asked me why I had done whatever I’d done. I told her she couldn’t blame me but had to blame God, because it was all predestined.
Mom dragged me into the bathroom, lathered up the bar of soap and washed my mouth out with it. I was busy spitting the soap out of my mouth so I didn’t see her pick up her hairbrush from the vanity unit. Before I knew it, I was being dragged back into the kitchen.
When I saw the hairbrush in her hand, I knew my troubles weren’t over. At that age I wore a crew cut, so the brush would do my hair little good. But I knew from previous experience that Mom thought it would do some good when applied to my other end.
She sat in a kitchen chair and began to lecture me about blasphemy. I doubt I heard a word she said, since I was still concentrating on the soap in my mouth and the brush on the table.
As usual, as she started the lecture she unbuckled my belt and unfastened my jeans, letting them fall to my ankles. This task finished, her hand (the one not holding me by the shoulder) could be used to punctuate her lecture with stinging spanks to my bottom.
“What (spank) have I told you about blasphemy?” This part seemed to go on forever. I’d want to dodge her spanks, but I’d see the hairbrush within easy reach on the table so I didn’t dare jump around too much, or cover my behind with my hand. If I did, she’d give me four or five smacks with the brush and ask me: “Now are you going to stand still and listen to me?”
When she finished her lecture, it was time for the actual over-the-knee spanking. Now, my mom was a very orderly person. There was a right way to do everything. Church was 9.15 every Sunday. Bedtime was 8.30 every night. When she brushed her hair she didn’t wear a hat, so logically when the hairbrush was applied to her son’s bottom, it had to be similarly bare.
While the jeans were no longer a problem, my undershorts were obviously in the way. Mom asked, as she always did: “Now, what happens to a naughty boy who doesn’t know how to behave?” I knew I was supposed to answer: “He gets his bare bottom spanked.”
I had to be specific. There were two key words – “spanking” and “bare”. Sometimes I’d just answer: “He gets punished.” Mom would then prompt: “How do we punish a naughty boy?” “A spanking.” “What kind of spanking?” “On the bare bottom.”
When I answered, Mom hoisted me over her knee, pulled down my undershorts and began the actual spanking. By this time I would usually be already crying.
She would never bare my behind until I was in her lap. I think this was probably because she considered nudity to be sinful, though unfortunately for me she didn’t consider it a sin to bare a naughty boy’s bottom for spanking.
Mom never gave me a specific number of spanks but she tenderised my behind thoroughly.
At the end of my spanking, it was time for the promises. She delivered another spank and asked a question like: “Are you ever going to do that again?”, or “Do you promise never to do that again?”
When the promises were all finished, she’d say: “Now, I want you to make those same promises to God.” She’d get up and make me kneel in front of the chair, fold my hands, bow my head, and say the Lord’s Prayer, plus whatever other specific promises seemed appropriate. Then there’d be five or ten minutes of silent prayer.
Since they were silent, she wouldn’t know what I prayed, or if I had prayed at all, but I learned not to look up until she said so. Once, when I tried that, the hairbrush landed a few more times and I had to start over with the Lord’s Prayer.
I knew I was ‘finished’ with my silent prayer when Mom asked: “You’ve promised me and you’ve promised God – what happens to a naughty boy who breaks his promise?” “A spanking.” (I didn’t have to mention ‘bare’ for some reason at this point – perhaps because I still was.)
With that, I was finished and could pull my pants back up and go to my room, where I would spend the next half hour or so.