In the gentle countryside, my twin sister Jenny and I grew up in a small, cheerful home. We were generally obedient children, but, as with all young people, there were moments when we made mistakes and had to learn important lessons. Our mother was a kind and loving lady, but she believed that discipline was necessary for children to grow up to be good and honest.
When we misbehaved, Mother would sit upon a sturdy chair, draw us gently but firmly over her lap. Then, with her strong right hand, she would deliver a proper, b spanking. Each time, she would give exactly twelve sharp smacks, each one landing with a crisp sound. By the end, our bottoms would be warm and tingling, and our eyes would be filled with tears. Mother always explained, in a calm and loving voice, why we were being punished, and reminded us that it was for our own good, so that we might grow up to be honest and upright.
There was also a wooden paddle, which hung on a hook in the kitchen. This paddle was reserved for the most serious misdeeds. It was broad and flat, polished smooth by many years of use, and it served as a warning to us both. Jenny and I each felt its sting only twice in our lives, and I remember each occasion very well.
One summer, when we were nine years old, my cousin James and I did something very wrong. We took a packet of cigarettes from Uncle Ted’s coat pocket without asking. We crept away to the woods, lit a cigarette, and coughed and spluttered, feeling both ill and rather daring. Jenny, who was always sensible, refused to join us and warned us that we would make ourselves sick or worse.
The day before I was to visit a school friend for a week, I realised with a start that the half-empty packet of cigarettes was still in my room. I knew that Mother would likely clean my room while I was away, and no hiding place would be safe from her careful eyes.
Hoping not to be discovered, I crept into Jenny’s room and slipped the cigarettes under her mattress. I meant to tell her, but in the excitement of packing and thinking about my trip, I quite forgot.
When I returned a week later, I found Jenny cold and distant. She would not speak to me, and when I tried to approach her, she left the room at once. I puzzled over her behaviour until, at last, I remembered the cigarettes.
I found her in the living room, watching the television. Before she could leave, I whispered, “Did Mother find the cigarettes? Is that why you are cross?” “Yes!” she replied, her eyes flashing. “I am very angry with you!”
“I am so sorry!” I pleaded. “I meant to tell you, but I forgot…” At that moment, Mother entered the room, and we fell silent until she had gone.
“Come with me,” I said, and led Jenny upstairs to my room. She folded her arms and glared at me. “How could you do that to me?” she demanded. “Oh, Jenny, I meant to warn you, but I forgot!” I replied, feeling most wretched.
“What happened?” I asked. Jenny’s face fell. “Mother made my bed and found the cigarettes. She asked me about them, but I would not tell on you or James. So she took me to her room and gave me a spanking.”
My heart sank. Jenny had not been in trouble for years, and now, because of me, she had been punished. She described the scene in detail, her voice trembling. “She sat on the bed and put me over her knee. She gave me twelve very hard smacks on my bottom. Each one stung dreadfully, and by the end, I was crying. She told me she was disappointed in me, and that she hoped I would remember this lesson. I felt so ashamed, especially as I had done nothing wrong.”
Jenny’s anger was fierce, and she refused to forgive me. As twins, we had always been close, and this rift was agony. My guilt was overwhelming, for I had caused her pain and humiliation.
I tried everything to make amends, but nothing would do. At last, I said, “Jenny, if I confess to Mother and she spanks me, would that make it better? Then she would know you were innocent.”
Though I dreaded the thought, I felt I deserved to be punished. Perhaps, I thought, the sting of a spanking would ease my guilt.
Jenny considered. “You ought to be spanked, but it should be worse than what I received. If you get the paddle, I shall forgive you.”
The paddle! I shuddered. I had only felt its bite once before, when I had taken another boy’s lunch money. I remembered the sharp, burning pain of each of the six smacks Mother had given me, and how I had sobbed into my pillow afterwards.
That night, I resolved to confess. I would tell Mother everything, and if she did not fetch the paddle, I would ask for it myself. I imagined the ordeal: lying across her lap, the heavy paddle raised, and the resounding smacks that would follow. It would be dreadful, but it would set things right.
The next morning, I told Jenny my plan. She looked doubtful, but agreed to come with me. Together, we went to the kitchen, where Mother was preparing lunch.
“Mother,” I said, my voice trembling, “I have something to confess.” She turned, her eyes kind but searching. “I was the one who put the cigarettes under Jenny’s mattress. I was the one who smoked them. Jenny never would. She told us it was wrong.”
Mother listened gravely. “Did you know Jenny was spanked for that?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “That is why I am telling you the truth. Jenny did nothing wrong.”
Mother removed her apron and sighed. “I am proud of you for telling the truth, Tommy. But you must be punished. Come upstairs with me.”
I stopped her. “Mother, please. I not only smoked, but I got Jenny into trouble. I deserve worse than she received. Please, use the paddle.”
Mother frowned. “The paddle is very painful, Tommy. Are you certain?” “Yes, Mother. I have thought about it, and I deserve it.”
Mother and Jenny exchanged a look. Then, without another word, Mother took the paddle from its hook and led the way upstairs. Jenny followed, her face solemn.
This time, unlike other punishments, Jenny was allowed to watch. Mother sat on the bed, and I lay across her lap, my bottom exposed, and gripped the bedspread tightly.
Mother placed her left hand firmly on my back. Then, raising the paddle, she brought it down with a loud smack. The pain was sharp and immediate, and I gasped. She delivered exactly twelve firm, even smacks, each one stinging more than the last. By the fourth, I was sobbing, and by the twelfth, tears streamed down my face. Mother paused after each smack to remind me, in a gentle but serious tone, that honesty and taking responsibility for one’s actions were the marks of a good person.
When it was over, Mother helped me up and left the room quietly. I flung myself onto my bed, weeping into my pillow. My bottom throbbed and burned, but beneath the pain, I felt a sense of relief. I had paid the price for my wrongdoing, and my conscience was clear.
After a while, my sobs subsided, and I realised Jenny was still there. She knelt beside me and gently placed her cool hand on my sore bottom. “Now we are even,” she whispered. “We can be friends again.”
She left the room, closing the door softly behind her. I smiled through my tears. It had been the hardest punishment I had ever received, but it had taught me a lesson I would never forget: that honesty, courage, and making amends are the true marks of character..
