I have read your site for a while now, and I think it is time I gave back a little. Growing up in the late 80s/early 90s, my parents were prolific spankers, even as it started to go out of fashion in some circles.
As a mother, I perhaps go easier on my kids, two of whom are in college and two of whom are still at home, but I am still a firm believer in spanking.
We moved around quite a bit when I was a girl, but we mostly stuck to college towns in the Northeast US. A couple years were spent in Montreal and we spent time in a couple other places a bit farther afield, so me and my siblings got a fair amount of cross-cultural exposure. At the same time, we were fairly sheltered, as my father worked as a professor and we generally stuck to the local Jewish community.
I know studies say that spanking is particularly rare these days both in the Northeast and among American Jews, but my parents were both immigrants, so that basically overruled those trends, which were just starting in that period anyway.
My memory is that as a little kid, at least half of my Jewish playmates would sometimes admit to being spanked in some way at home, while most of my non-Jewish peers got it at some point and even bragged about it. In retrospect, while my family was more conservative, I find it interesting that these ostensibly progressive families were happy to spank their little tyrants just as thoroughly as we got it.
One of my earliest spanking memories was from preschool or kindergarten, so I would have been four or five. We were playing some game about learning different emotions and respecting them, sitting in a circle on the classroom rug.
The teacher asked us each to share something that made us cry, and I naturally blurted out something to the effect of ‘when Mommy and Daddy give me a spanking!’ To the teacher’s credit, she didn’t make a big deal about it, but I saw some of the other kids’ eyes grow wide, either remembering their own spankings or registering interest in mine. At recess, a little boy came up to me and told me that he was sorry I got spankings because he got them as well, then ran off.
That was the last of that for a week or so, until one fateful day I threw a little tantrum over some silly thing I have long forgotten. Mom had enough of it but was busy, so she called out to my dad to come take care of me.
Dad came in to the living room and in one swift motion, drew me over to the couch. Standing me in front of him with both hands holding me fast, he lectured me on respecting my mother and some other drivel of that variety, as I held back tears and put on my best pleading face.
Before I could get out those pleas, he turned me over his lap and yanked my flowery dress up over my hips to reveal my even more flowery panties, with me whining the entire time. As usual, he began to methodically spank the seat of my undies with his firm hand, barely needing to move it around to cover my whole little bottom.
When I started to sniffle, he paused to carefully peel back my panties to reveal what must have already been a pink little tushy before discarding them on the couch. With that, he picked up the small wooden spoon he had brought with him, and really went to town on my poor bum. Like every time, I must have cried and screamed and howled like bloody murder until he deemed my bum sufficiently red and my face sufficiently covered in tears and snot.
With a gentle rub, he stood me up, and hugged me close, telling me I was forgiven and that he loved his special little princess so much, even when he had to give her ‘spankies’. Eventually, he helped me back into my panties and I ate a quiet dinner.
The next day at school, I was a bit down in the dumps given the previous evening’s experience, and the little boy from the previous incident must have noticed. He approached me at recess and asked if I was OK and for some reason, I actually told him what had happened. He gave me a hug and said he hoped I felt better soon, and as embarrassed as I was of my spanking, it felt really nice to hear that.
I told him to follow me, and I dragged him to one of those hidden spots in the playground where all the drama goes down. Turning away from him, I pulled up my dress and quickly yanked down my panties, showing him my presumably blistered bottom for just a few seconds before restoring my modesty.
Suddenly ashamed of myself, I remember I was about to run off, but he gave me another hug, and I just stood there as he turned around and walked away. He and I would have a few other spanking-related encounters over our elementary school years both before I moved and after I moved back.
As a mother, I have spanked all my children, both grown and still at home, although I think I’m a bit more merciful than my parents.
Contributor: Rachel