I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, and while spanking was, I think, still in common practice in my neighbourhood, it had already gotten a certain stigma attached to it, mainly from well-intentioned liberals who could not differentiate between abuse and discipline that came from a loving place.
My folks were (and are) progressive liberals with strong social consciences, but they also are very old-fashioned in their beliefs about raising thier offspring.
I have a set of cousins, the offspring of my Mother’s sister, who also grew up in a spanking household and whose parents shared the same views on it as my parents did.
Like my Mother, my aunt was a ‘first response spanker’. Though she tended to let more things slide than my Mother spankings were not rare and unlike my house, they were always done in the open in front of whatever family happened to be there.
With the exception of the youngest boy, I’d seen each of my cousins on the receiving end of a spanking at least once, bent over and getting the paddle applied to their bottoms. My aunt also believed in the principle of ‘while you are a guest here, I expect you to follow the rules’ – and I had found myself in that bent over position a handful of times when I stayed there over the years.
My Mother called me on a Friday and asked if I wanted to spend the weekend at her house.
At first I thought Mother just wanted to offer me some company so I wouldn’t be all by myself – but while that may have been in true in part, I subsequently found out that she was watching three of my cousins that weekend, in addition to my youngest brother, so perhaps she may also have been looking for ‘reinforcements’!
The oldest girl, my cousin Judi, was at college. The oldest male cousins, who were twins, were on a travelling hockey team and my aunt and uncle were acting as chaperones at some tournament taking place over the border in Canada. My dad was there, too, because the older of my younger brothers was on a team in a different age division.
My sis was at a sleepover, so that left my brother Peter, Janet, Jonathan, and Jeremy for my mother to corral.
The evening started out well. Though I was not of legal age, Mother let me drink while I was there and I was enjoying some sparkling wine. Mother was making pasta with meatballs, a fave of her offspring. My little brother seemed to be enjoying having Jeremy around, maybe because it meant he was not the youngest for a change.
That left Janet and Jonathan. Janet was in the midst of her ennui and everything in her body language, tone and expression said she wanted to be anywhere else but where she was. I tried to engage her, but the monosyllabic responses I was getting caused me to throw in the towel.
Jonathan was always moody and sullen, even on a good day, and his mood that night was apparently compounded because he was missing out on some outing with his school buds. His face was planted into the screen of the Gameboy he brought with him and he barely acknowledged anyone else’s existence.
My Mother called everyone down for dinner around five, and while Peter and Jeremiah were eager eaters and answered the bell the first time, it took some additional cajoling to get Janet and Jonathan to the kitchen table.
Janet was playing the ‘I’m not hungry’ card and asked to be excused. Mother was being unusually patient, but shot down the request with a terse: “No. If you don’t want to eat, fine – but you can stay here until we have.” That engendered a huff and some mumbles that again Mother let pass, although I could sense her growing agitation.
Perhaps as a passive-aggressive way to get herself away from the table, Janet started fussing with Jonathan, whom she was seated next to. First, she said she wanted the Gameboy after dinner. That started an argument over what their Mother had said about sharing it. My Mother refereed that one and the table fell silent for a few moments.
Then Janet piped up that Jonathan was kicking her under the table. Jonathan said he wasn’t. Then Janet told Jonathan to move over and stop crowding her, punctuating the request with an elbow to Jonathan’s ribs. Mother intervened again, telling them both to knock it off and settle down.
The sniping kept up in muted tones for a few more minutes before erupting again when Janet shrieked ‘stop kicking me!’ She thrust another elbow into Jonathan. He in turn slapped her forearm and she made a move to slap him back. Their voices were raised and there were several words used by both that definitely were not appropriate.
I can’t say for sure exactly what happened next but in the scrum that ensued, someone’s hand made contact with the glass milk pitcher on the table, tipping it over onto a porcelain salad bowl. The collision broke the handle of the pitcher, put a significant chip in the bowl, sent salad flying and a gusher of milk spilling across the table.
Mother jumped up and shooed everyone away from the table in case there was any broken glass. Then, very calmly, she took command of the clean-up, dispatching me for paper towels, clearing away broken dishes and inspecting the floor and table for any stray shards. Satisfied, she turned her attention to Janet and Jonathan, who were standing a few feet away against a wall, both with expressions of fear frozen on their faces. Janet especially was trembling and there were tears in her eyes.
Mother pointed at her. “I want you to go upstairs to the closet and bring down the paddle that’s in there,” she said firmly but in a very even tone. Janet dissolved into sobs and began begging forgiveness. “It’s too late for that, young lady – I warned you both and now there are going to be consequences.”
She turned to Jonathan and told him to take one of the kitchen chairs and place it in the middle of the room. Janet returned in a few moments with the paddle – a firm plywood ping pong bat that had the rubber removed from one side and then sanded and varnished. Janet shakily handed it over to Mother.
Mother sat in the chair and had Janet and Jonathan stand side by side. By this time, the other boys and I had returned to the table and were about six feet from where Janet and Jonathan stood. My mother waved the paddle at both. “I warned you both”.
Jonathan and Janet stood to Mother’s right, hands at side and heads down, avoiding eye contact. “Look at me,” Mother snapped. “Get your heads up so I can look you in the eye.” With that, the pre-spanking lecture began in earnest – an event that always seemed longer to me when I was a ‘feature player’ than when I was just a spectator.
My own experience with Mother’s lengthy and elaborate spanking routine had found this part to be the worst of the whole ordeal, even beyond the physical discomfort of the pending spanking. The pre-spanking lecture while you stood there exposed was the ultimate in embarrassment, especially on those occasions where it was witnessed by others.
My mother motioned for Janet to come over to her. All of the spankings my aunt gave were with you bent over grabbing the seat of a chair. Over the knee spankings were foreign to my cousins and it took a few seconds for Janet to get in position.
Mother did no talking once the lecture ended and you went over her knee. When Janet was properly positioned, the paddle went up and then landed with a firm thwack on her bottom. Her legs did a small ‘fish tail’ and she croaked out: “One, ma’am.” Like at our house, they had to count swats at their house, but my aunt insisted on the ‘ma’am’ after each one.
My Mother had a set cadence of swat, count, pause, pause, thwack. She definitely was not using maximum force but the swats were firm enough to elicit yelps, squeaks and ouches and have Janet swim kick and buck from time to time. Her behind was rapidly moving from hot pink to hot red and I noticed her voice getting higher pitched with each swat.
Mother gave swats in groups of 12, and this day Janet took two dozen before Mother let her up. She started doing the spanking dance with her sweats and panties now bunched around her knees. After a few moments, Mother sent her back to trade places with Jonathan and called him over.
Jonathan shuffled over to Mother and draped himself across her knee.
I don’t know for sure if Mother was paddling him harder, but the swats sounded louder and Jonathan seemed to buck and twist more under them. I could tell he was trying to be macho and tough it out but there was a distinctive grunt that he made with each swat and his breathing was becoming more rapid.
He too earned two dozen swats and when he was told to get up, he stood in place, giving both cheeks a vigorous rub, which made his now more deflated equipment bob up and down.
Mother banished Janet to an empty corner of the kitchen and Jonathan to a corner between the pantry and the refrigerator.
Mother had us clear away plates and load the dishwasher, and during that time she disappeared upstairs. She called down for me to get dessert – chocolate eclairs – out and put them on the table.
When she returned, the eclairs were on the table and Janet and Jonathan were still planted nose first in their respective corners. From her apron pocket, Mother pulled two small hotel size bars of Ivory soap and a wooden hairbrush – the rectangular mahogany one that had been so often used on my bottom, including for my last spanking not more than a year and a half earlier. I felt my own butt tighten and I shifted in my seat just seeing it.
Mother sat down again in the kitchen chair and called Janet and Jonathan out. Seeing the brush, Jonathan gulped and Janet started to tremble and cry again. “I heard some highly inappropriate language from both of you; language that I don’t allow in this house.”
She summoned over Janet, who mini-stepped her way over and was a mess of tears even before she went over Mother’s knee. In terms of impact, these swats were definitely more firm and produced a crisp smack that echoed around the room.
The brush, from my own experience, packed a wallop. It was probably four inches long by three or so inches wide, with a long handle. Mother kept that same cadence and brought swat after swat down, sometimes on the opposite side, sometimes in the same spot.
Swats six and seven were reserved for the tops of Janet’s thighs where they met her bottom. She let out a throaty howl with each and scissor kicked her legs. After delivering the 12th firm smack, Mother told Janet, now a mess of snot and tears, to stand up and for Jonathan to come and take her place.
Jonathan climbed over Mother’s lap.
I don’t think he was anticipating the intensity of the brush and he let out a clear gasp after the first swat and found it increasingly difficult to hang on to his macho persona as the brush found its target, especially the two that landed at the tops of his thighs. Those swats broke him and he began to cry openly. When he had gotten his dozen, he was allowed to stand up and he vigorously rubbed his now crimson bottom.
Janet and Jonathan had one further indignity to suffer. Mother unwrapped the Ivory bars and popped one into each of their mouths.
