(gap: 2s) The memory of that day is etched in my mind, as vivid as the faded wallpaper in our council house. It began with a trip to the department store, a place that always seemed impossibly large and full of mysterious treasures. My mother, determined and weary, shepherded me and my younger brother and sister through the bustling aisles, the clatter of shoes on linoleum echoing around us. My grandmother, with her gentle smile and sensible shoes, worked behind the counter, ready to help us find school clothes and, more importantly, to offer my mother a much-needed discount.
The air inside the store was thick with the scent of new fabric and perfume, mingling with the faint aroma of the bakery counter nearby. At first, we tried to behave, but the endless racks of clothes became a playground. My siblings and I darted between the hangers, giggling as we hid in the folds of heavy winter coats and behind the velvet curtains of the changing rooms. Our laughter bounced off the high ceilings, drawing disapproving glances from the grown-ups. My mother’s voice, strained and tired, called out for us to behave, but we were swept up in the thrill of mischief, our energy boundless and our patience nonexistent.
By the time we reached the cash register, our excitement had curdled into restlessness. We whined and tugged at my mother’s skirt, our faces flushed and sticky with the heat of the store. Two other mothers stood ahead of us in line, their eyes sharp and their lips pursed as they watched our antics. They exchanged knowing looks, their silent judgment hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
Suddenly, one of the women broke her silence. She bent down, her face level with mine, her eyes steely and unyielding. “Young man, if I were your mother, I’d spank your bottom when we got home! You are out of control – how dare you act like this for your mother?” Her words struck me like a slap, and I froze, my heart thudding in my chest. The world seemed to shrink to the space between her glare and my shame.
She straightened up, folding her arms with finality, and my mother, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, tried to apologize for us. But the woman cut her off, her voice ringing with certainty: “No, don’t you apologize. He needs his bottom spanked real good!” The other mothers nodded in agreement, their faces stern and unyielding.
I could see something shift in my mother’s eyes—a mixture of relief and resolve. She looked at me, her voice low but firm: “You know what – that’s a real good idea.” The words hung in the air, heavy with promise and threat.
The mothers launched into a conversation about discipline, their voices rising and falling like the tide. They spoke of the importance of keeping children in line, of the lessons that must be learned, of the times they’d taken their own children over their knees. My brother and sister, still too young to understand, continued to fidget and giggle, oblivious to the storm gathering over my head. But I understood. I felt the weight of their words settle on my shoulders, cold and inescapable.
I tried to compose myself, standing straighter, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. I hoped that if I behaved perfectly, I might escape the fate that now seemed inevitable. But it was too late. The decision had been made, and I could feel the eyes of every adult in the store on me, their judgment burning hotter than the summer sun outside.
The ride home was a silent, tense affair. The car rattled over the cobbled streets, the engine’s hum a low, ominous drone. My mother’s voice broke the silence only to scold us, her words sharp and direct, most of them aimed at me. “You embarrassed me today, Laura. You know better. You’re the oldest—you should set an example.” Each word stung, and I shrank into my seat, my cheeks burning with shame and fear. She warned me, again and again, that a spanking was waiting for me at home, her threats growing more vivid with every mile.
I stared out the window, watching the familiar streets blur past, my stomach twisting into knots. The memory of the woman’s words in the store echoed in my mind, mingling with my mother’s scolding. I felt exposed, as if the whole world knew what was coming. It was humiliating, knowing that a stranger’s opinion had sealed my fate, that I was to be punished not just for my own misbehavior, but for the spectacle I had made of my family.
When we finally arrived home, the air inside our little house felt thick and heavy. My mother sent my brother and sister to their rooms for a nap, their protests fading quickly as they tumbled into bed. Then she turned to me, her face set and serious. She led me into the living room, the familiar space suddenly strange and foreboding. The coal fire crackled in the grate, casting flickering shadows on the floral wallpaper. The wireless radio murmured softly in the background, a distant comfort.
(short pause) My mother sat on the edge of the settee, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. She fixed me with a look that was both stern and sorrowful. “If you want to act like a spoiled little brat, I’m going to spank you like a spoiled little brat,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. The words cut deep, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
(pause) The room seemed to close in around me, the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece impossibly loud. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. My mother patted her lap, her gesture both invitation and command. “Come here, Peter,” she said, her tone gentle but unyielding. My legs felt heavy as I shuffled forward, my cheeks burning with shame, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. I could feel the heat of embarrassment rising up my neck, the weight of my mother’s disappointment pressing down on me.
(pause) She guided me over her knee, her hands firm but not unkind. My face pressed into the scratchy lace of the antimac.
Mother smacked my bottom good and hard while scolding me for showing her up whilst out shopping.
I probably got at least a dozen good smacks that day with the promise of a taste of her slipper if i ever behaved in such a way again.
I knew I was wrong, and I knew I deserved what I got. When mother was done, she sent me to bed.
