I grew up in New York in the late 50s and early 60s.

At a time when many African-American mothers – including my own – had moved up there from the southern United States.

Corporal punishment for unruly offspring was extremely common among our community.

My own mom was a firm believer in the belt when the situation called for it.

I also had a close friend whose mother and grandmother also belt spanked him.

One day, my friend and I went to the movies and ended up staying way past the time when we were supposed to have gone home.

The first thing we knew about the trouble ahead was when an usher shone a flashlight onto our seats.

We looked up and saw two mothers with crossed arms and angry faces.

Obviously, they were relieved we were both OK.

However, we also knew we were in deep trouble.

Perhaps more surprisingly, though, I was more than a little curious.