One day, when I was 10 years old, my mom decided the entire house needed a good clean, and I was told to go to my bedroom and tidy it all up.
However, it was a lovely summer’s day and I this young man was in no mood to be inside and cleaning his room.
My room was in the basement of our house. As well as the stairs down to it from the main building, my room also had a door which led out into our back yard.
So, instead of cleaning my room as I had been told, I snuck out to the backyard and started to practice free kicks with my soccer ball by the end wall of our house. The only windows there were in the basement, so I couldn’t be seen.
I had been playing in the garden for about 15 minutes when my mother came out and saw me playing. She told me to get back inside and get on with the job I had been allocated. Then she went back inside to fetch some laundry to hang on the line.
I was in no hurry to work and thought I would just have a few more kicks. Unfortunately, after the third of these my foot slipped in the grass and the bar ended up cracking a small basement window. Instead of going to my mother to confess, I hurried back to my bedroom and tried to pretend nothing had happened.
When my mom came back into the garden I guess she was initially pleased that I had obeyed her and gone inside. But then she saw the broken window and the football, and put two and two together. She called my dad out into the garden and told him what I had done.
My father set to repair the damage and as he did so, he walked past the window to my bedroom, where I was now basically hiding. He knocked on it the window and shouted: “Get that room clean now!” Once he had repaired the damage, he must have gone to talk with Mom in the kitchen about my misdemeanour.
By this time, I was desperately working to clean up my room but I could hear footsteps on the basement stairs, and knew with a sinking heart that either Mom or Dad was on their way to deal with me.
It was Dad. He sat on my bed and began lecturing me about my behaviour. “Morten, when your mom or I tell you to do something, we expect you to do it.
“That means that when mom says clean your room, it means clean your room – not play football. Because of your disobedience, a window has been broken as well. What’s more, you have been warned many times about playing football in the garden. I’m very disappointed by your behaviour. Disobedient boys need to be spanked. So come here now, and bend over my knee.’
Us children were always spanked on our clothed bottoms (unless we had lied, in which case it would be on the bare) and our parents always only used their hands. Nevertheless, Dad was a big strong man and had no problems making my bottom sting through my trousers and underpants.
Once I was over his knee he adjusted me a little, then raised his hand and gave me 10 hard smacks. I began to cry after about the third – not only because of the considerable pain, but also because I was ashamed of my disobedience. When the spanking was over, Dad gave me a long hug while I cried. Once I had finished sobbing, he said: “You know, Morten, Mom and I love you very much but when you misbehave it’s our job to discipline you, and teach you right from wrong.”
I was then left alone to finish cleaning my room, still occasionally having a little cry and rubbing my very sore bottom. Once I had finished I called to my mom, who came in and inspected my work.
I told her I was sorry for disobeying her. She replied: “Well, Morten, you’ve had your punishment and it’s all forgiven now. But I hope you will think of that spanking in the future if you’re ever temped to disobey your father and I again.”