I knew I had done wrong, but I also knew I was loved

(gap: 2s) Once, long ago, on a blustery Sunday by the sea in a town in Devon, I learned a lesson that has stayed with me all my days. The wind danced along the promenade, carrying the laughter of children and the scent of salt and sand. Our family’s holiday guesthouse, with its cheerful floral wallpaper and neat chenille bedspreads, was filled with the happy bustle of summer.

(pause) That morning, the sun shone bright and the world seemed full of promise. My sister and I played on the beach, our jumpers flapping in the breeze, and Mother watched us with a fond smile. But as the afternoon wore on, clouds gathered, and a little mischief crept into my heart.

(pause) Mother had spoken very clearly, as mothers do: “No ball games in the house, Bobby!” Her voice was gentle but firm, like the starched linen on our beds. Yet, temptation is a strong thing for a boy, and the red-and-white beach ball was so very inviting. With one wild kick, disaster struck—a crash of glass, and the pretty window, with its lace curtains, was broken.

(pause) My heart thumped as Mother’s face grew stern. She took me by the ear and led me down the narrow corridor, her slipper in hand. The linoleum was cool beneath my feet, and I could hear my sister’s worried whispers from the stairs. The air was thick with the smell of boiled eggs and the faint, comforting scent of the sea.

(pause) Just as Mother was about to begin my well-deserved punishment, the doorbell rang—a sharp, unexpected sound that echoed through the guesthouse. She paused, slipper raised, and glanced at the clock. “That must be Sarah, the babysitter. Stay right there, Bobby,” she said, her eyes kind but firm.

(pause) Sarah soon appeared, her hair neatly brushed and her shoes polished. She was older than I, but not by much, and she always wore a gentle smile. Mother explained what had happened and, with a sigh, said, “Sarah, I must see to the tea. Would you kindly see that Bobby receives his punishment? He must learn that rules are made for a reason.”

(pause) Sarah nodded, and I felt my cheeks grow hot with shame. She sat on a straight-backed chair and patted her lap. “Come along, Bobby,” she said, her voice gentle but resolute. I shuffled forward, my heart pounding, and lay across her knees, just as a naughty boy should when he has done wrong.

(pause) Sarah lifted the slipper and brought it down with a firm, fair smack. It stung, but not cruelly. She paused between each spank, giving me time to think about what I had done. The room was quiet except for the sound of the slipper and my sniffles. I tried to be brave, but a tear or two escaped, and I buried my face in my hands.

(pause) When it was over, Sarah helped me up and gave me a kind smile. “There now, Bobby,” she said, “all is forgiven. But remember, it is always best to listen to your mother and obey the rules.” My bottom smarted, but my heart felt lighter, as though a heavy cloud had passed.

(pause) That evening, as the fairy lights twinkled along the seafront and the day faded into dusk, I sat quietly at the breakfast table, a little sore but much wiser. I knew I had done wrong, but I also knew I was loved, and that every mistake is a chance to learn and grow.

(long pause) And so, in that little guesthouse by the sea, I learned that even when we make mistakes, we can always do better next time. A spanking, given with kindness, is not just a punishment, but a lesson in honesty, obedience, and the gentle art of growing up.