Old Lady Kellar was a woman in her late 70s who tolerated no nonsense. The neighborhood kids and even some parents were afraid of her. We had learned that Old Lady Kellar was a retired teacher, and we could only imagine the punishments she had handed out in her time. She had lived through two world wars and knew real hardship. She still wore clothing that seemed to be utility clothing left over from the war years. No one ever dared go near her house, so to play knock down ginger on her door was not just a dare, it was a suicide mission.
On my third attempt, she caught me. She grabbed me by the ear, dragged me into her house, and sat me on her bed. She pulled out a long leather strap from her dresser and told me to bend over.
Trying to be brave or just plain foolish, I refused. Old Lady Kellar told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t bend over immediately, she would inform my mother and the police. I didn’t want to upset my mother, who had been widowed some years ago, and I certainly didn’t want the police involved. It was no secret that the authorities were already concluding that I was beyond parental control, which in those days meant an approved school. With this in mind, I reluctantly complied.
The strap came down on my bottom about a dozen times, each lash stinging through my trousers. Old Lady Kellar was relentless, making sure each strike was firm and deliberate. She ensured I felt every bit of the punishment.
As she administered the punishment, she lectured me about respect and discipline. She spoke of the hardships she had endured, the value of hard work, and the importance of proper behavior. Her voice was stern, and her words cut deep, making me realize the seriousness of my actions.
I screamed, cried, kicked, and yelped. Then the doorbell rang – five of her friends had come over to play bridge. During the whole time, she made me stand in the corner.
Her friends entered the room, their eyes immediately falling on me standing in the corner, sniveling. They exchanged knowing glances and approving nods. One of them, a stern-looking woman with silver hair, commented, “It’s about time someone taught these youngsters some respect.”
Another friend, adjusting her glasses, added, “Good for you, Kellar. They need to learn discipline the hard way.”
The third woman, with a voice as sharp as a whip, looked directly at me and said, “Stop sniveling and take your punishment like a man.”
Their comments stung almost as much as the strap. I felt a mix of shame and anger, but deep down, I knew they were right. I had been trying to show off in front of the other children, proving I was brave. But deep down, I knew I was still immature for my age and what happened that day proved it.
