When my husband left me for another woman, I was 31 years old with a son aged six. It was after this split that my previously good little boy began to act up.
Paul began to ignore my instructions, talk to back to me, and just be generally rude. I knew he was missing his father, so I cut him some slack at the time – I believed it was just a natural reaction to an upsetting period, so I put up with it for quite some time, thinking that things would eventually blow over.
Unfortunately, the reverse happened. Paul began to get into trouble at school, bullying other children and getting into fights – not to mention he was still very much acting up at home, easily losing his temper and generally making my life hell.
Up until that point in his life, I had never spanked Paul once. That all changed one day when I answered a knock on my door. It was the mother of one of my son’s friends. She told me that Paul had hit her son in the face during an argument.
I was naturally horrified, and profusely apologised to the boy’s mother. I told her that I would deal with the situation, and promised that Paul would be punished severely.
When my son got home from school, I told him about my visitor and ordered him to go straight to his bedroom, promising that I would be up to deal with him shortly.
He slunk off, and I went into the kitchen. I made a coffee, as I felt I needed to calm down before disciplining my son. Once I was feeling a little better, I took a wooden spoon from one of the kitchen drawers. I felt I had to make a point this time. Then I went up to Paul’s bedroom.
He looked quite scared when he saw the spoon. I guess many of his friends got spanked and he guessed what it was for. Then I said: “I’m very upset with you for hitting that boy. You have to learn what is right and what is wrong, and I’m going to punish you to help you learn your lesson.”
I sat down on his bed and ordered him to stand in front of me. I continued to scold him, as I unzipped his trousers, lowered them to his ankles and quickly did the same with his underpants.
I then put him firmly across my knee and began to spank his small bare bottom firmly with the spoon. Naturally, he began to cry and begged me to stop, but I hardened my heart and continued to mete out a thorough spanking.
After a few minutes, I put the spoon down and held him on my lap, his red bottom still facing up. I waited until the sobbing had subsided sufficiently for him to listen to what I had to say. “Paul, I never want to have to do that again, do you understand?” “Yes mummy,” came back in a tiny but respectful voice. I stood him up, hugged him and told him he was forgiven. I did make him go round to his friend’s house and apologise too, later in the day, with instructions that he was to tell them that he had been spanked for his trouble.
For the next few months, Paul was good as gold. But children are children, and I’m sorry to say that’s not the last time I had to put him over my knee!