One day, when I was playing at my friend Amanda’s house, we heard agitated yelling from her next-door neighbour’s home. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and the distant aroma of someone’s dinner cooking. It sounded like the neighbour lady was lecturing her son, Tony, who was one year ahead of us in school.
We decided that we wanted a closer look, so we crept forward and hid behind the bushes by Tony’s house. The leaves rustled softly as we peeked over the top of the bushes and caught a glimpse of Tony’s Mother yelling at him. He had a look of dismay on his face and was pleading his case, but it was to no avail – Tony’s Mother proceeded to wallop her son’s backside with a wooden hairbrush.
Amanda and I couldn’t believe our luck. We stifled our giggles, so as to not give our position away, and watched as Tony’s butt was transformed from white to pink, and eventually bright red. Tony went from crying to frantic screaming, and his Mother had to hold him in place with one of her legs. The sound of the hairbrush meeting flesh echoed in the small courtyard, mingling with the distant chatter of other children playing.
When she finally let him up, Tony jumped off his mother’s lap and ran around, rubbing his butt – he gave us quite the show. His Mother then dragged him by the ear and deposited him in the corner. The look of sheer embarrassment on Tony’s face was something I would never forget.
We decided that we’d better get gone while the getting was good, so we stealthily retreated from Tony’s yard back to Amanda’s house – and we would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn’t for Amanda’s big fat mouth. The thrill of our secret adventure made our hearts race as we slipped back into the safety of her home.
Later that day, after I had gone home, Amanda saw Tony outside and unwisely teased him about his spanking. She told him that we had both seen him getting spanked and crying like a baby. Tony got agitated and started yelling at Amanda. The noise drew the attention of his mother, who showed up just as Amanda was teasing him about how we saw his weenie flopping around after his spanking.
Needless to say, Tony’s Mother was none too happy about all this. She escorted Amanda back home and informed my friend’s mother about our eavesdropping. The stern look on her face was enough to make anyone’s blood run cold.
The first thing Amanda’s Mother did was dish out a hard spanking to her daughter with the belt. The second thing she did was call my Mother and report on my own misbehaviour. The anticipation of what was to come made my stomach churn.
Mother called me into her room. She told me what she had discovered and informed me that I was about to receive a big spanking. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as I stood there, heart pounding.
Mother lectured me for a while on how wrong it was to spy on someone, and then I went over her lap. She hand-spanked me about 30 times and then stopped. Each smack felt like fire on my skin, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
I couldn’t believe my luck – I was going to get off easy! Nope – she informed me that she was going to get the paddle. I had to stand up, bend over, and wait while she went to get it. The wait felt like an eternity, each second stretching out painfully.
There was a mirror in the room. I glanced at myself in it – hands on knees, tear-streaked face, bottom sticking out – and was humiliated by how ridiculous I looked. The reflection seemed to mock me, adding to my shame.
Mother returned with the paddle and gave me five powerful cracks. I jumped out of position each time and finished the fifth one with a dance that rivalled Tony’s. Then I too was deposited in the corner. The sting lingered, a constant reminder of my misdeeds.
After my corner time, there was one more indignity for me to suffer. Mother made me write an apology to Tony, and she made me include the phrase “I got paddled on the bottom” in the letter. How I cringed when I gave Tony that letter! The words felt like they were burning a hole in the paper.
That was the first time that I was ever hand spanked and then paddled, but it would not be the last. My Mother never gave more than five swats with the paddle – a hangover, I think, from her days as a teacher, where five swats was the maximum that could be given to a child. So from that point on, if she thought I had been really bad, it was hand spanks first and then five of the paddle to finish. The lessons learned in those moments were etched deeply into my memory, shaping the person I would become.
