When I was eight years old, I spent part of the long school summer holiday with my maternal grandparents. I loved spending time with them – but I also knew that, being part of a devout Christian family, they had my parents permission to spank me if i misbehaved
It was a lovely summer, with a lot of sun, but this particular day it was grey and raining. Being a very active boy, the rain made me frustrated because I couldn’t play outdoors. Inside the house, there was very little for me to do. My grandparents did try to entertain me with board games wand drawing, but nothing really helped my mood and I was just bored.
After a while, my grandparents began to do a few chores around the house. To break the boredom, I began to play with a tennis ball. After a few minutes of that, my grandma came in and told me to stop playing with the ball inside, asI could very likely hit something and break it.
I stopped for a while but boredom got the better of me and I began to play with the ball again. This time it was my grandpa who came in to me. “Didn’t Grandma just tell you to stop that, Morten? You need to listen to what we tell you – stop playing with the ball now!”
For a brief period I did as I was told but once again boredom prevailed over common sense. I started to throw the ball around again. Well, you guessed it – I hit a lamp, which tumbled to the floor and smashed into several pieces.
At the sound of the crash, Grandpa came into the room. With a stern look on his face, he said: “You are a very naughty boy! You’re eight years old, Morten, and you you should know better.”
He took me by the hand: “You and are going to the bathroom now, and you are going to get a spanking!”
In tears by now, I was marched to the bathroom. Grandpa closed the door behind us, then sat down on the closed toilet seat. Then he bent me over his knee and put me in the punishment position.
Grandpa began to smack my bottom, giving me a spank for every year of my age. Even though it was administered on the seat of my trousers, it still stung badly and I was already crying steadily by the third smack. After the full eight, I was bawling like a much younger boy.
When it was all over, Grandpa sat me on his lap while I cried out the spanking. He rubbed my back as I did so, reassuring me that he and Grandma still loved me despite my naughtiness. Once the tears had subsided, we prayed together that the spanking would help me listen and do as I was told, and make me a good boy in future.
That wasn’t quite the end of the matter though. When my mom picked me up at the end of that week and heard what had happened, she gave me another big lecture, and when we got home I was sent to bed early as an extra punishment, and without my usual Friday candy treat too.