gap: 2s) Every summer, when the days were long and the air was filled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle, my mother would send me to stay with my aunt and uncle in North Carolina. Their house was a grand old place, with creaking floorboards and sunlight that danced through lace curtains, making pretty patterns on the floral wallpaper. For a boy of my age, it was a place of great adventure, especially because my two cousins, Peter and David, lived there. Peter was a year older than I, and David a year younger. The three of us became fast friends, our laughter ringing through the house as we played games and made up stories together.
My aunt and uncle always welcomed me kindly, and I was never made to feel like a visitor. At their table, I was treated just like another son. But with this came a very important rule: I was expected to follow the same rules as Peter and David, and if I misbehaved, I would receive the same consequences. I felt proud to be included, but I was also a little nervous, for I knew that discipline in their house was taken very seriously.
At home, my mother was strict but loving. If I was naughty, she would give me a firm scolding and, if necessary, a quick smack with her paddle. My aunt, however, was known for being even more strict. When she spoke in her serious voice, everyone listened. I had heard my cousins whisper about “the switch,” but I did not quite understand what it meant.
One hot afternoon, when the air was heavy and tempers were short, I made the mistake of speaking rudely. My aunt’s eyes grew stern, and she looked at me with great seriousness. “Michael,” she said, “go and fetch me a switch.” I was quite confused, for the only switch I knew was the one that turned on the lights. I looked around, puzzled, and pointed to the light switch on the wall. For a moment, my aunt’s stern face softened, and she gave a gentle laugh. “No, dear,” she said, “not that kind of switch.”
She called up the stairs, “Peter! Please come and show your cousin how to pick a switch!” Peter came down, smiling knowingly, and led me outside to the garden. My heart fluttered with worry as we walked to a tree at the edge of the yard. Peter chose a thin, bendy branch, stripped off the leaves, and handed it to me.
“Take this to Mother,” Peter said quietly. “You must be brave.” My hands shook as I took the switch and walked back to the house. My aunt was waiting, with David beside her and Peter just behind me. I realised, with a sinking feeling, that both my cousins would see what happened next.
My aunt took the switch from me and said, “Michael, turn around, place your hands on your knees, and present your bottom.” Though I was terribly embarrassed, I did as I was told, for I knew it was important to obey.
(pause) The room was very quiet. Then, with a sharp sound, the switch came down across my bottom. The pain was sharp and stinging, and I gasped. My aunt gave me six firm strokes with the switch, each one a lesson to remember. With every stroke, I tried my best to be brave, but tears soon filled my eyes. My cousins watched in silence, and I felt very sorry for my misbehaviour.
(pause) When the punishment was over, my aunt’s voice became gentle again. She led me inside and placed me in the corner of the dining room, where I was to stand and think about what I had done. The pain from the switch was a reminder to behave properly, and I promised myself I would try harder to be polite and respectful.
(pause) After some time, my aunt returned. Without a word, she sat down and took me over her lap. My heart beat quickly, for I knew another lesson was coming. She gave me twelve firm smacks with her hand, each one a reminder to always speak kindly and obey my elders. I cried, but I knew it was for my own good.
(pause) “Will you remember to be respectful, Michael?” my aunt asked, her voice both stern and caring. Through my tears, I promised, “Yes, Aunt, I will be respectful.” She gave me one last, strong smack, and then told me to go to my room and think about my behaviour.
(pause) I hurried upstairs, wiping my tears, to the bedroom I shared with Peter and David. The room was quiet, and I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing the red marks from the switch and the smacks. I felt a mixture of shame and determination to do better.
(pause) Soon, Peter and David came in. David looked at me with sympathy. “I am sorry you were punished, Michael,” he said softly. I managed a small smile and replied, “Thank you. I think I would rather have a paddling than a switching.”
(pause) Peter nodded wisely. “Mother is very fair, but she is also very firm. If we are naughty when we are away from home, she takes us to the bathroom and gives us six smacks with her hairbrush, and then six more with the switch. It is always best to behave well.”
(pause) We all understood that rules were important, and that discipline was given with love, to help us grow into good and respectful children. I never spoke back to my aunt again, but there were times that summer when I received the double punishment—six smacks with the hairbrush and six with the switch—just as Peter had described. Each time, I remembered the lesson: to be polite, to obey, and to treat others with respect.
(pause) As the years passed, I looked back on those days with understanding. Even the most painful lessons can help us become better people. And so, dear children, remember always to be kind, to listen to your elders, and to learn from your mistakes, for that is how we grow up to be good and happy adults.
