When I turned 13, I mistakenly thought that I was far too “adult” to be subjected to childish punishments like spanking. Admittedly, I had grown up as no stranger to bare bottom, over-the-knee spanking.
But while both of my parents had long been definite believers in the corrective benefits of a persuasively-welded hairbrush or folded strap, after my 10th birthday mom agreed to leave such chores up to my dad, so as to avoid embarrassing me. And, while not unknown, even bare bottom sessions over my dad’s knee were at least rarer.