On this particular occasion, I had been a terror all day. It started early on when I destroyed one of Brendas books. I had torn it apart bad and she was mad. She scolded me and cleaned up the mess. A bit later, I tried to stick my finger in an electrical outlet – she saw that, swatted my hand and explained to me how dangerous electricity is. She knelt down to my level, her eyes serious, and told me that electricity could hurt me very badly. I remember her words clearly: “Electricity is not a toy. It can hurt you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
While playing outside, I ran into the street. Brenda yelled for me to stop but I continued. She then ran and scooped me up, and said it was time for me to sit in the corner. She proceeded to lecture me about cars, and how I could be hurt in the street. She pointed to the cars passing by and explained how fast they were going. “They can’t stop quickly,” she said. “If you run into the street, they might not see you in time. You could get very hurt.” Her voice was filled with concern, and I could see the worry in her eyes.
After she put me in the corner, I refused to stay there and just got up and started playing again. Later, while eating, I was about to dump my food on the floor when she saw what I was doing and said: “Don’t you dare spill your food – it is for eating!” I proceeded to dump my food all over the floor anyway. Brenda got angry and told me that if I didn’t shape up, I was going to get a spanking. I didn’t think much of that threat, because I had gotten away with just about anything up until now. However, soon my luck would change. Brenda’s face turned red with frustration, and she took a deep breath before speaking again. “Food is precious,” she said. “There are many children who don’t have enough to eat. You should be grateful for what you have.”
A bit later, I was colouring in my colouring book and decided that the white wall would be a good place to draw a picture. A few seconds after I started my there, Becky came into the room and said: “No! You don’t crayon on the wall!” I continued, so she grabbed the crayon out of my hand. “I said, the wall is not for colouring! If you touch this wall once more with a crayon, you will get a spanking – now you will clean this up.” She handed me a cloth and some cleaner, showing me how to scrub the crayon marks off the wall. “This is your mess,” she said. “You need to take responsibility for it.”
With that she went to get some cleaning supplies. But I had my drawing half-finished. I just had to finish it – so that’s what I decided to do. When Brenda came back into the room, she saw me colouring again. “That’s it, young man – you are going to get a good spanking.” Her voice was firm, and I could see the determination in her eyes. She was not going to let me get away with disobeying her again.
With that, Brenda grabbed me by the arm and led me into the dining room. She kept a firm hold on me while she pulled out a chair and sat down. She started to lecture me. “You have repeatedly disobeyed me all day. I told you not to colour on the wall – now you are going to get a spanking on your bottom.” She thrust me over her knee and said: “You need to learn some discipline. I told you not to crayon on that wall. When I say no, I mean no.” Her voice was calm but stern, and I could feel the weight of her words.
She then gave me a series of hard smacks. Each smack landed with a sharp sting, and I could feel the heat building on my bottom. I yelled and tried to get off her lap but she held me down firmly. “You don’t crayon on the wall!” she repeated, her voice stern and unwavering. With each smack, my cries grew louder, and tears streamed down my face. The pain was intense, and I could feel the weight of her disappointment in every strike. Brenda’s hand was strong, and each smack seemed to echo in the room, amplifying the pain and the lesson she was trying to teach me.
Brenda’s hand came down again and again, each smack echoing in the room. She was determined to teach me a lesson, and I could sense her frustration and resolve. My bottom felt like it was on fire, and I squirmed and kicked, but she held me in place, her grip unyielding. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions,” she said, her voice filled with a mix of anger and concern. The spanking seemed to go on forever, each moment stretching into an eternity of pain and regret. I could hear the determination in her voice, and I knew she was doing this because she cared about me.
After what must have been about five minutes, the spanking ended and now I was crying uncontrollably. Brenda stood me up and said she was sorry she had to do that, but I needed to listen better. She told me to go to my room and think about what I had done. With that, she sent me on my way. As I walked to my room, I could feel the sting on my bottom and the weight of her words. I knew I had to change my behavior.
I never again touched the wall with a crayon. The lesson Brenda taught me that day stayed with me for a long time. I learned the importance of listening and following rules. Brenda’s strictness was balanced with her care, and I knew she only wanted the best for me. Her discipline helped shape me into a more responsible and respectful person. I often think back to that day and the valuable lesson I learned. It was a turning point in my childhood, and I am grateful for Brenda’s guidance and love.