I had a best friend in elementary school called Kerry Smith. Her parents were older than mine and they lived in a beautiful house in a more affluent neighbourhood.
I was one of five siblings and my parents could be described as somewhat abusive. My parents would hit us when we were annoying, but not really as consistent discipline, although we were actually more neglected than abused.
It was the early 1980s, and I would spend a lot of time with Kerry.
Kerry and I were in her basement, colouring with the magic markers that smelled like fruit. At some point I grabbed one, smelled it and said: “This one smells like poo!”
About a minute later, Kerry’s Mother came downstairs and asked me: “What did you say, young lady?” I just looked at her and froze. Mrs Smith told me to go upstairs to Kerry’s bedroom and wait for her there. Without a word I did as I was told.
After I’d been in the room for about 15 minutes, Mrs Smith walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Very calmly, she scolded me about the language I had used. She told me: “I know that you are a good girl, but you used some very naughty words. Good girls don’t use those words.
“You are pretty much part of our family, Amanda, so you will be treated like Kerry would be in the same circumstances. That means I’m going to have to spank you to teach you a lesson.”
I think it was the first time I had heard the word ‘spank’. I flinched slightly as Mrs Smith gently took my arm and pulled me towards where she was sitting on Kerry’s bed. Firmly, she put me across her knee. her. Then I felt her begin slapping my clothed bottom with her open hand.
At first I wasn’t too concerned. I remember thinking: “This is nothing – I can handle this.”. But then Mrs Smith paused the spanking. Mrs Smith repeated in that same calm voice: “Good girls don’t use words like that, and you are a good girl.”
She then continued spanking me, and of course the smart was much keener across my bottom. I remember crying – but strangely not so much because of the smart, but because I felt so bad that Mrs Smith was disappointed in me. She carried on disciplining me for what felt like 10 minutes, although it was probably much less.
After the last slap, Mrs Smith helped me to my feet, put her arms around me and told me: “You’re my good girl again.” She never once called me a name, She didn’t injure me, there were no marks on my bottom.
As Mrs Smith hugged me, I had honestly never felt more loved than at any other time of my life. I wanted to be her good girl. I wanted her to be proud of me. She told me that it was all over, and that I could go back to colouring with Kerry again.
When Kerry and I were in third grade, Mrs Smith took a job closer to the city and the family moved away. I was destroyed when they left – I never felt that sense of safety and security anywhere else in my childhood.
She did spank me one other time (along with Kerry this time). On another few occasions I acted up because I wanted her attention, although not necessarily another spanking. For the most part, I just wanted to be her ‘good girl’.
