I was raised in Canada within the embrace of a devout Irish Catholic household, blessed with two sisters—one my senior by a year, the other my junior by the same margin. My father served as a police officer, while my mother dedicated herself to the noble vocation of homemaking.
My parents upheld the highest standards of discipline and propriety, believing firmly in the value of correction for serious misdeeds. On such occasions, corporal punishment was administered, always with the intention of imparting a moral lesson and guiding us toward upright conduct. My father, in particular, undertook this solemn duty, though my mother, too, would not hesitate to correct us when necessary.
The act of discipline was conducted with dignity and privacy, most often within the confines of our bedroom. There, we would await the arrival of the parent entrusted with our correction. Upon entering, the parent would deliver a measured and thoughtful lecture, impressing upon us the gravity of our actions. Seated upon the bed, they would then require us to position ourselves across their knee, and a firm spanking would be administered by hand. No implement was ever used, for my parents believed that the hand alone sufficed to convey both the seriousness of the infraction and the love that underpinned the correction. These spankings, though never cruel, were thorough and intended to leave a lasting impression upon our character.
The final occasion upon which I received such discipline occurred when I had, regrettably, been discovered in the company of two other boys, partaking in the vice of smoking upon school grounds—a transgression that resulted in our suspension. My mother collected me from the school and instructed me to remain in my room until my father’s return, as she wished to confer with him regarding the appropriate course of action. Having not been disciplined in this manner for over a year, I was uncertain as to my fate, and wondered if perhaps a period of grounding would suffice.
On that particular day, my elder sister Elizabeth and her close friend Heather were engaged in a school project, which they had chosen to complete at our home. As I was confined to my room, I was unaware of their presence and did not encounter them.
My father returned from his duties at approximately five o’clock, and both he and my mother entered my room to address the matter at hand. My mother began by expressing her profound disappointment in my conduct, her words measured and grave. In a moment of youthful insolence, I allowed my frustration to show, responding with a dismissive gesture and a careless remark.
I recall with clarity my mother’s dignified yet resolute response. She declared, “Young man, you have been cultivating an unbecoming attitude, and today you shall receive a lesson in humility and respect.”
Without further ado, she guided me to my feet, seated herself upon the bed, and administered a most thorough and memorable spanking. The correction was delivered with firmness and purpose, each stroke a reminder of the values she sought to instill: respect, obedience, and self-control. Though I endeavoured to maintain my composure, the lesson was so effective that I was moved to tears, a testament to the sincerity of my mother’s intentions. Thereafter, I was instructed to remain in my room for the remainder of the evening, to reflect upon my actions and the lesson imparted.
Although such corrections were invariably conducted in private, the atmosphere within our home would subtly shift, and my sisters and I would always be aware when one of us had received a spanking. In those moments, we felt a sense of compassion for the one who had been corrected, understanding that the discipline was an expression of our parents’ love and concern for our moral development.
The morning following my mother’s correction, Elizabeth entered my room to express her sympathy and inquire after my well-being. It was then that she revealed Heather had been present in the house and had, quite unintentionally, overheard the proceedings.
I confess I felt a measure of embarrassment at this revelation, but Elizabeth reassured me that Heather would maintain discretion, for she herself had experienced a similar correction only six months prior, having been disciplined for the serious misdeed of shoplifting. It is important to note that, during the late 1970s, such methods of discipline were still regarded as both common and appropriate for the moral upbringing of children.
Several years later, Heather and I developed a close friendship, which blossomed into a courtship. On one occasion, as we strolled together in a nearby park, Heather broached the subject of the day she had overheard my correction. Though I was initially abashed, she spoke with understanding and proceeded to recount, in detail, her own
