(gap: 2s) My childhood was spent in a charming little town, the sort of place where every neighbour greeted you by name and the air was always fresh with the scent of cut grass and the distant peal of the church bell on Sunday mornings. Our days were filled with the laughter of children playing in sunlit fields, the cheerful ringing of bicycle bells along cobbled lanes, and the gentle, comforting rhythm of family life. In those days, discipline was considered an important part of growing up, just as much as hopscotch or collecting conkers. The idea of a spanking was not unusual, and every child knew that mischief would be met with a firm hand.
My mother was a woman of strong principles and gentle hands. She believed that a well-timed smack could teach a child right from wrong far better than any long lecture. I grew up at a time when most parents still believed in the hairbrush or slipper, though some new ideas about gentler discipline were beginning to appear in the city. Yet, in our home, the old ways remained.
I must admit, I never enjoyed a single spanking from my mother, but I was always fascinated by the ritual of it. There was the warning, the solemn walk to the bedroom or bathroom, and the knowledge that a lesson was about to be learned. My curiosity about discipline began in the second grade, when my teacher, Miss Rose, a tall and imposing lady, took me over her knee during recess for talking out of turn. She gave me six firm smacks with her hand, each one stinging but fair. I did not cry, but I felt the lesson keenly, and I remembered it for many years. I often imagined being called to her side again, my heart beating fast, but I never misbehaved in her class again.
In truth, I only received one proper bottom spanking as a very young child, and I remember it more from my mother’s stories than from my own memory. I had been very naughty, and my mother gave me four sharp smacks on my bottom. The embarrassment of being the subject of family gossip was almost as bad as the spanking itself, and I learned that mischief would always be discovered.
The last spanking I ever received from my mother came as my childhood was ending. It was not the last spanking of my life, but it was the last from her hand, and I did not know then how important that would be.
As I grew older, I became more interested in the idea of spankings. There was a certain excitement in seeing another child called to account, the hush that fell over the room, the sharp sound of a hand or brush, and the red cheeks and watery eyes that followed. Sometimes, I even found myself wishing to see someone punished, though I knew it was not a kind thought.
On one particular evening, my mother was hosting a card party. The grown-ups sat around the table, playing ‘500’ and laughing together. I was left in charge of the younger children, as I was the oldest. Most of the children played happily with toys and games, but there was one girl who stood out. She was a year or two younger than I, with a quick temper and a sharp tongue. Her mother was known to be very strict, and I had once seen her taken out of the room for a sound paddling. Her mother always gave her six smacks on the bottom, and everyone knew that she would not be spared if she was naughty.
That night, I decided to see if I could make the girl misbehave, just to see what would happen. I whispered to her, encouraging her to say a forbidden word. She did so, and her mother’s eyes flashed with anger. At once, she took her daughter by the arm and prepared to give her six hard smacks on her bottom, right there in front of everyone. My heart beat quickly, but before the first smack could fall, my own mother intervened.
My mother spoke calmly and firmly, explaining that I was the true culprit, for I had led the girl astray. The room became very quiet, and everyone looked at me. My cheeks burned with shame as my mother questioned me. I tried to deny it, but she saw through my excuses. At last, I admitted the truth: I had wanted to see the girl punished.
My mother then asked the girl’s mother what would have happened if she had not stopped her. The answer was clear: the girl would have received six smacks on her bottom, as was always the rule in their house. My mother nodded and said that such a punishment was only fair.
Without another word, my mother left the room and returned with the heavy, old-fashioned hairbrush. She made me stand in the centre of the room, with all the children and adults watching. My face was very red, and I felt quite ashamed.
My mother sat down, straight and tall, and called me to her side. She scolded me for my unkindness and for leading another child into trouble. Then, with a firm grip, she pulled me over her lap. The room was silent, and I knew that everyone was watching.
My mother raised the hairbrush and gave me twelve hard smacks on my bottom. Each smack was sharp and stinging, and I could not help but cry out. The pain was real and lasting, and I knew that I had truly deserved it. My mother counted each smack aloud, so that everyone would know the lesson was being learned: “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.” By the end, my bottom was very sore and my cheeks were wet with tears.
When the spanking was finished, my mother spoke to me kindly but firmly. She reminded me that it is wrong to lead others into mischief, and that honesty and kindness are always best. I apologised to the girl and to her mother, and I promised never to behave in such a way again.
That night, as I lay in bed with my bottom still sore, I thought about what had happened. I knew that my mother loved me, and that her firm discipline was meant to help me grow into a good and honest person. I never forgot the lesson I learned that evening, and I always tried to do what was right from that day forward.
remember: it is never kind to lead others into trouble, and it is always best to tell the truth. If you are ever tempted to do wrong, think of the lesson I learned, and choose the path of honesty and goodness. A spanking, though painful, is meant to teach us to be better, and we must always strive to do what is right.
