My mother was a woman of quiet strength and unwavering standards. She dressed simply and practically—always in plain blouses and sensible skirts, her hair neatly brushed and pinned back, never a strand out of place. Her appearance was unadorned but tidy, her face open and calm, with a steady gaze that seemed to see right through any nonsense. She moved with measured, deliberate motions, often folding her hands in her lap or across her chest, and her voice was gentle but left no room for argument. There was a quiet authority in the way she stood, her posture straight and composed, making her expectations clear without ever needing to raise her voice. She stood for no nonsense, was firm but fair, and balanced discipline with a sense of care and justice that I would only come to appreciate years later.
(short pause) The world of my childhood was shaped by her presence—her footsteps echoing softly on the linoleum, the scent of starch and soap that clung to her clothes, the way she would pause at the window to watch us play, her eyes always alert for mischief or danger. Even in the chaos of our crowded council flat, she was a calm centre, a steadying force. I remember the way her hands would smooth my hair or straighten my collar before school, her touch gentle but purposeful, as if she could will me into being the best version of myself.
(pause) One of my more memorable spankings came in seventh grade, a year when I was teetering between childhood and adolescence, desperate to prove I could handle responsibility but still so easily tempted by distraction. I was struggling with my math class—pre-algebra, a jumble of numbers and symbols that made my head spin. Mother knew this and made sure I was doing all of the practice tests and workbooks, her expectations as solid and unyielding as the kitchen table where I sat each evening, pencil in hand, the radio murmuring in the background.
(short pause) The Sunday before a full exam, she asked me if I had been studying and if I thought I was sufficiently prepared. I remember the way her eyes searched my face, gentle but piercing, as if she could sense the truth beneath my words. I lied and said I had, but the truth was I had wasted the whole weekend—lounging on the settee, daydreaming, sneaking out to kick a football with friends, never once opening my workbook. The guilt sat heavy in my stomach, but I pushed it aside, hoping somehow I could skate by.
(pause) When the test came, I failed it badly. The numbers blurred on the page, my mind blank except for the echo of my mother’s voice reminding me to study. When the teacher handed back the paper, her lips pressed in a thin line, I felt a cold dread settle over me. I had to bring the paper home for Mother to sign—a ritual that usually meant a quiet word of encouragement or, at worst, a disappointed sigh. But this time, I knew I was in major trouble. The evidence was there in black and white, and I had no excuse.
(short pause) Panic took hold. I decided to forge—or attempt to forge—her name on the paper, my hand shaking as I tried to mimic her careful script.
On Tuesday, my teacher gave me a hard stare when I handed it back to her.
Unbeknownst to me, she called my Mother at lunch and told her what I had done. When I came home from school, my mother confronted me and I was forced to confess everything. She sent me upstairs to change and bring down the paddle.
While my brother and sister sat at the kitchen table and did homework, I had to go over Mother’s knee for a healthy dose of the paddle, followed by corner time.
About 20 minutes later she went upstairs, came down and called me out of the corner. She held the strap in her hand, which we always got for lying.
First, she made me hold out my right palm and she took a piece of the strap and gave me six licks for forging her name. Then I had to bend over and grab the seat of the kitchen chair while she gave me a dozen licks across my bottom with the strap for lying to her.
I was finally banished to the corner – but not before she took out a small bar of soap and had me hold it between my teeth.
