Back in my formative years, getting in trouble always felt like a strange, swirling storm inside me—a mix of giggles and dread, like my tummy was full of butterflies and my knees wanted to run away, but my mouth wanted to laugh. Even the tiniest things seemed enormous and mysterious, like shadows that stretched across the whole room. I want to tell you some stories from when I was a kid, when the world was full of secrets and every day felt like a new adventure, or a new disaster.
We moved to Scotland when I was really small, just when I was learning how to write my name and tie my shoes. Everything felt new and a little bit cold, like the air was always nipping at my ears. I didn’t have many friends yet, but there was one boy named Cameron who lived just a few houses away. His Mother was a teacher, and his Father worked at a college, which sounded very important to me. Cameron had a big sister named Marie, who always seemed to know everything and could draw the prettiest flowers I’d ever seen.
One day, Cameron came over to my house and we played with my toys in my room. I remember the sun coming through the window and making funny shapes on the carpet. I hadn’t seen Cameron outside for a while, so I asked him why. He looked down at his shoes and said he was naughty and had to stay inside as a punishment. I wondered what he’d done, and if it was something really bad, like stealing biscuits or saying a rude word.
I wanted to know more about what happened when he was naughty, so I told him, “When I’m really bad, my Father smacks my bottom with a slipper.” The slipper at our house was big and brown, with a floppy bit at the end and a funny rubbery smell, like old balloons. When Father picked it up, it made a soft slapping sound if he waved it in the air, and I always felt my heart thump-thump-thump in my chest, like a drum in a parade. My cheeks would go hot and prickly, and I’d try to look brave, but inside I felt like a wobbly jelly. When the slipper landed, it made a loud “SMACK!” and my bottom would sting and tingle, like I’d sat on a patch of nettles. Sometimes I wanted to cry, but sometimes I just wanted to giggle because it was over so fast, and the sound was so silly. Cameron got a little red in the face, but then he whispered, “We get the belt.”
I was super surprised! The belt sounded way scarier than a slipper. In my mind, it was long and black, with a shiny buckle that could catch the light and maybe even a scary snap when you pulled it tight, like a snake waking up. I imagined it hanging on a hook, waiting for someone to be naughty. I wanted to know more, so I kept asking questions, my voice all squeaky with excitement and nerves, like I was about to burst.
“Where do you get it?” I asked, because at school, youngsters got smacked on the hand with a ruler. But Cameron thought I meant something else and said, “Father takes us to the bathroom for it.” I pictured Cameron and his sister being marched to the bathroom, their faces all serious and their feet shuffling on the cold tiles, and the door closing with a click that sounded like the end of the world. I imagined the echoey sound in the bathroom, like everything was louder and scarier in there, even the drip-drip of the tap.
“No,” I said, “I mean, do you get it on the hand, like at school?” Cameron turned even redder and mumbled, “No, on the bum.” I was so curious, I asked, “On the bottom?” He just nodded, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. It felt like we were sharing a giant secret, the kind that makes your heart beat so fast you think it might jump out of your chest. I felt like a detective, uncovering the mysteries of grown-up punishments.
The next time I went to Cameron’s house, it was sunny and we played in the garden. The grass was cool and tickly under my feet, and there were daisies everywhere, like tiny white stars. His Father was at work, but his Mother was there, reading a book with a cup of tea, and Marie was sitting on a blanket, drawing flowers with colored pencils. Marie was really good at drawing, even though she was still a kid, and I always wanted to peek over her shoulder to see what she was making.
Marie showed her picture to her Mother, and Mrs. McGregor smiled and called us over. “Isn’t it good?” she asked. “Andrew, are you interested in botany?” The word sounded strange and important, like something you’d find in a grown-up’s book.
I didn’t know what “botany” meant, so I thought she said “bottomy!” My face went bright red, like a tomato, and I suddenly felt like everyone was looking at me. I didn’t want to talk about bottoms in front of everyone! I was worried they’d ask to see mine, or that they’d start laughing. I tried to hide behind Cameron, but he was too busy looking at the picture to notice.
Another time, I was at Cameron’s house again, and we were upstairs in his room, which always smelled a bit like crayons and toast. I asked him, “Where does your Father keep the belt?” He said, “It’s in the bathroom.” I asked, “Can I see it?” He just shrugged, like it was no big deal, and took me to the bathroom. The bathroom was cold and echoey, with blue tiles and a little window that let in a square of sunlight. There was a little drawer under the sink, and he opened it with a creak that sounded way too loud.
Inside was a big, scary-looking belt with two ends! It was dark brown and shiny, with a heavy buckle and a funny leathery smell, like old shoes and rain. It looked like a snake coiled up, waiting to jump. “Does it hurt?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. Cameron nodded really fast, his eyes wide like saucers. Then he said, “You can try it if you want.” My tummy did a flip, like I was on a rollercoaster, but I was so curious I said, “Okay,” even though my knees felt wobbly.
Cameron told me to bend over the toilet seat. I felt silly, like I was pretending to be a grown-up in trouble, but I did it anyway. The cold seat pressed against my legs, and I could hear my own breathing, all loud and shaky, like I was about to do something very brave or very stupid. The bathroom felt even colder now, and the light from the window made everything look sharper and brighter, like in a dream.
Cameron lifted up my jumper, and then—WHACK!—the belt hit my bottom! It made a loud, echoey “CRACK!” that bounced off the bathroom tiles and seemed to fill up the whole house. The sting was sharp and hot, like a bee had zapped me right on my skin, and for a second I couldn’t breathe. I yelped and jumped up, my face burning and my eyes all watery, but I didn’t want to cry in front of Cameron. He burst out laughing, and I felt my cheeks go even redder, like they might catch fire. I quickly pulled my clothes back down, my heart thumping so hard I thought it might shake the floor. Part of me wanted to try again, just to see if it would feel the same, but I was scared his Mother would catch us and we’d both be in real trouble! I kept glancing at the door, half-expecting her to burst in and shout at us.
All afternoon, my bottom felt warm and tingly from that one smack. It was a funny, fizzy feeling, like when you touch something too hot and it keeps buzzing for ages, or like the aftertaste of lemonade on your tongue. I didn’t really mind, but I kept thinking about the sound and the sting, and how brave I’d been to try it. Every time I sat down, I remembered the “CRACK!” and wondered if I’d ever be that brave again. I felt like I’d done something secret and important, like a knight passing a test.
But when my Mother gave me a bath that night, she saw the red mark. “Andrew, what’s that on your bottom? Did someone hit you?” I got so embarrassed! I just mumbled, “It was Cameron—we were playing.” My Mother looked at me funny, her eyebrows all scrunched up, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. I thought she might be angry, or maybe she’d laugh, but she just shook her head and didn’t ask any more questions. (short pause) Phew! I sank down into the warm water, feeling the sting fade away, and wondered if I’d ever tell anyone else about the slipper, the belt, and the secret world of being a kid.
