One of the most unforgettable spankings I ever witnessed happened to my older cousin, Barbara. Barbara was the oldest cousin in our family, and she was spoiled rotten by her wealthy parents—especially her father, who gave her everything she wanted. She was rude, petulant, and had a knack for acting like a miniature Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
But Barbara’s mother was a different story altogether. She came from humble beginnings, growing up in a small, working-class family where every penny counted and luxuries were few and far between. Even after marrying into money, she never let the trappings of wealth go to her head. In fact, she often seemed a little out of place in their lavish home, sometimes quietly longing for the simple comforts she’d known as a child—homemade meals, hand-me-down furniture, and the kind of honest, straightforward discipline she’d grown up with. She remained entirely grounded, never impressed by the latest gadgets or fancy vacations, and she was determined to keep her children—especially Barbara—rooted in reality, no matter how much money was in the bank. Sometimes, that meant resorting to old-fashioned discipline when necessary.
Barbara and I get along great now, but when I was little, I found her stuck-up and insufferable. I hate to admit it, but watching her get an extremely embarrassing spanking actually put a smile on my face.
At the time, my mother took myself and my two brothers to Barbara’s house so we could swim and visit. We weren’t exactly thrilled to see Barbara, but we were happy to see our other four cousins.
The real trouble started before we even arrived. That morning, Barbara was determined to go to the mall with her friends. She started off by asking her mother in her usual demanding tone, “Can you take me to the mall? I need to meet everyone there.” Her mother, calm but firm, replied that she’d already been to the mall several times that week and needed to stay home to welcome family.
Barbara didn’t take no for an answer. She tried pleading, her voice rising in pitch as she insisted, “But Mom, you promised! Everyone’s going to be there. I’ll be so bored if I have to stay here.” When her mother shook her head, Barbara’s frustration grew. She stomped her foot, pouted, and crossed her arms, her face turning red with anger. She tried every trick she knew—whining, promising to do chores, even threatening to sulk all day if she didn’t get her way.
The more her mother refused, the more dramatic Barbara became. She threw herself onto the couch, sighing loudly and muttering under her breath about how unfair everything was. She even started to cry, hoping her tears would change her mother’s mind. But her mother stood her ground, telling Barbara that family came first and she needed to help welcome the guests.
Realizing she wasn’t going to win, Barbara’s anger boiled over. She slammed doors, glared at everyone, and made a big show of sulking in the corner. She refused to help set up for the visit, dragging her feet and rolling her eyes at every request. By the time we arrived, the tension in the house was thick enough to cut with a knife. Barbara’s mood had soured completely, and she was determined to make sure everyone knew just how unhappy she was.
This tantrum set off a chain of events that would only get worse as the day went on. Barbara’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, and she took it out on the rest of us. She was bossy, snippy, and quick to snap at anyone who crossed her path. Her mother warned her several times to be civil, but Barbara just couldn’t let go of her anger. Every little thing seemed to annoy her, and she made sure everyone felt her bad mood.
The afternoon sun was blazing, and we all gathered around the pool, eager to cool off. Barbara, of course, claimed the best lounge chair for herself, stretching out with a magazine and sunglasses, acting as if she owned the place. She barked orders at the rest of us, telling us to keep the noise down and not to splash her. My younger brother, oblivious to her demands, was playing near the edge of the pool, his back to Barbara as he built a little tower with pool toys.
At first, Barbara tried to ignore him, but as the minutes ticked by, her irritation grew. She shifted in her chair, sighing loudly and shooting daggers at my brother with her eyes. The sun was moving, and soon enough, my brother’s small frame was blocking the sunlight from hitting Barbara’s prized spot. She huffed and called out, “Can you move? You’re in my sun!” My brother, lost in his game, didn’t even notice her.
Barbara’s entitlement was on full display. She sat up, tossed her magazine aside, and glared at my brother as if he’d committed a personal offense. “Seriously, you’re ruining my tan!” she snapped, her voice sharp and impatient. When he still didn’t move, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot, her annoyance building with every passing second. The rest of us exchanged glances, sensing that Barbara was about to lose her temper.
Unable to tolerate being ignored, Barbara’s frustration boiled over. She stood up abruptly, marched over to my brother, and without a word, shoved him from behind—right into the pool. The splash was enormous, and my brother’s surprised yelp echoed across the yard. For a moment, everyone froze, stunned by Barbara’s impulsive outburst.
My aunt had seen enough—she ordered Barbara into the house for a belting.
Now, the belt my aunt used was infamous in our family. It was a thick, heavy strip of dark brown leather, worn smooth and shiny from years of use. The edges were slightly frayed, and the brass buckle was tarnished but sturdy, a testament to its age. The belt had a faint, unmistakable creak when it was pulled from the closet, and the scent of old leather seemed to fill the room whenever it appeared. It was the kind of belt you could tell had been around for decades, passed down or kept for just such moments—a relic of old-fashioned discipline that everyone in the family recognized on sight. There was no mistaking it: when that belt came out, you knew someone was in real trouble.
My aunt turned to my mother and said, “She’s become quite uncooperative about her spankings recently.” My mother then told us kids that since there was no adult outside to supervise us, we’d all have to get out of the pool and play in the yard until she returned.
Oh well, we figured…if we have to. We decided we’d all just wander over to the big kitchen window to see what we could see. Well, what we could see was…everything!
Barbara’s mother was lecturing her while Barbara stood with her arms crossed, looking every bit the unrepentant, spoiled child. We had a pretty good view, but we couldn’t hear what was going on.
But we could see the intensity on my aunt’s face as she began her lecture. She pointed at Barbara, her voice stern and unwavering. “Barbara, I am at my wits’ end with you,” she said, her words sharp and deliberate. “You have become so spoiled, so ungrateful, and I don’t know what else to do with you. I have tried talking, I have tried reasoning, but nothing gets through to you. You think the world revolves around you, and you treat everyone else like they’re beneath you. That ends today.”
My aunt continued, her voice rising with emotion. “You have everything a child could want, but you act as if it’s never enough. You are rude to your family, you refuse to help, and you throw tantrums when you don’t get your way. I am tired of it, Barbara. I am truly at my limit. If you don’t start changing your ways, if you don’t start showing some respect and gratitude, I will have no choice but to send you to boarding school. Do you hear me? I will pack your bags myself and you will go. Maybe then you’ll learn what it means to appreciate what you have.”
Barbara’s face was a mixture of shock and defiance, but my aunt was not finished. “This is your last warning. I want you to think about how you treat people, and I want you to remember this moment. Because if you keep this up, you won’t be living under this roof much longer.”
Then, with the lecture finished, my aunt grabbed both of Barbara’s hands and held them flat on the table. Barbara tried to pull away, but my aunt’s grip was firm and unyielding.
Now that her compliance was forced, Barbara’s mother proceeded with the punishment. She pulled the belt back and brought it down hard across Barbara’s bottom. The sound of leather meeting fabric and skin was sharp and unmistakable. Barbara reared back and howled, easily audible outside even though the windows were closed.
My aunt didn’t let up. She delivered another hard stroke, and then another, each one punctuated by a stern reminder: “This is for your attitude. This is for your disrespect. This is for the way you treat your family.” Barbara’s cries grew louder, but my aunt was relentless, determined to make her point.
Barbara struggled to pull away, but my aunt held her firmly in place to take her punishment. Whack! followed by more histrionics from Barbara. Whack, whack, whack! Three more. Barbara managed to pull her hands away from my aunt. My aunt got her back in position, then started in again. Altogether, she took eight mighty whacks with that wide leather belt, each one echoing the seriousness of her mother’s words.
When my aunt finally let go of Barbara’s hands, they flew immediately to her backside to try to rub away the pain.
After about 30 seconds of this, Barbara must have finally realized what a spectacle she was making.
Still crying, she ran to go hide in her room. Those of us spectating outside decided that was our cue to scatter. The parents came back and we went back to swimming.
