Insights into justice

For me, like so many others here, the stories posted bring back so many memories. My parents were caring and not abusive – but they spanked!

My most memorable spanking happened about the 56 years ago when I was around six. My two older brothers (by two and seven years respectively) and I stayed out until quite late. We had been in the woods behind our house. Anyway, it was decided that all three of us would be paddled.

My sister got sent to her room before we three boys got our spankings. My oldest brother went first. He had to pull his pants down and lie across Mom’s lap. Then Mom bared his bottom, but kept his privates covered.

Halfway through the spanking, my brother decided he’d had enough and stood up. This provoked an immediate intervention from Dad, who told him: “Either you let your mother finish the job, or I’ll step in.”

That was enough – back down over the knee he went, and once more got his bottom bared. Then it was my other brother’s turn – again, pants down and bottom bared. By this time, I was so scared I felt like I was going to pass out.

Finally, my own turn came around. I walked over and stood by Mom’s knee, then unbuckled my pants and pulled them down. From here it seemed as if events happened in slow motion. I felt Mom sliding my underpants down to expose my bare bottom, then somehow sensed the paddle being raised above my behind.

Then – spank, spank, spank. From experience I knew not to cry out too soon, as this would be taken as faking it. However, on the third stroke I did let out a little ‘ow!’ And then suddenly it was over – I remember thinking: “That’s it?”

Years later, Mom told me that the only reason she spanked me at all on that evening was because my brothers would have picked on me for being the only one not having his bottom warmed. Mom judged that I was too little at that point to be responsible for coming in myself. Even, I learned an important lesson, and I never stayed out like that again. 

My second story is of a spanking that never happened. I was about 10 years old by then and with such a large family to feed, we kids weren’t allowed to raid the refrigerator anytime we wanted.

On this day, while Mom was out grocery shopping. I looked in the fridge and spotted a bottle of maraschino cherries. I took the top off the bottom and plucked out a cherry, enjoying the sweet taste. Then I had another. And another. And before I knew it, the jar was empty.

I was so assuaged with guilt that when Mom got home, I literally ran down the porch steps and said: “I ate the cherries!” To my surprise, Mom just said: “OK.” I couldn’t understand her reaction. I got a little closer and repeated my confession. Again, all I got back was: “OK.”

Finally, I put my face so close to Mom’s our noses were almost touching. “Mom – I ate the cherries!” With a touch of asperity in her voice, she said: “I heard you the first time, Douglas. What do you want me to do? Beat you?”

I shook my head and walked away. No, I didn’t want to be beaten. But a few sharp spanks on my bare bottom would have made me a happy boy. I would have had my punishment and paid for my sins. Instead, I walked away burdened with a guilty conscience, secretly aching for justice to be served.

That particular experience gave me an insight into the nature of children’s feelings that has been valuable to me as a father. Yes, I spanked my own kids, and I can honestly say they usually felt better in the long run for having been punished.

Contributor: Doug