(gap: 2s) In the gentle town where I grew up, the days were filled with the laughter of children and the kindly watch of grown-ups. The school gates stood tall and proud, their iron bars cool beneath my fingers as I waited for my mother. The air was fresh, tinged with the scent of rain and the sweet promise of summer. Mothers and fathers gathered, their voices soft and polite, while children in neat uniforms chattered and played, their shoes shining in the golden afternoon light.
On this particular day, I, Peter, had been rather naughty. I had run off without telling my mother, dashing away in excitement and forgetting my manners. When she found me, her face was grave, her lips pressed together in a firm line. She took my arm gently but firmly, and I knew at once that I had done wrong. Her eyes, usually so kind, were now filled with disappointment and resolve.
(short pause) “Peter, I have told you many times,” my mother said quietly, her voice trembling with worry and frustration, “you must not run off. It is dangerous and very rude.” (pause) I looked down at my shoes, ashamed. “I am sorry, Mother,” I whispered, but I knew an apology was not enough.
The world seemed to grow very quiet. I could hear the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant sound of a dog barking. My mother turned me around, and with a swift, practiced motion, she took hold of the waistband of my shorts. “You must learn to listen, Peter,” she said, her voice clear and steady. Then, in front of the gathered parents and children, she gave me a proper spanking—six firm, stinging smacks upon my bottom. Each smack was sharp and loud, echoing in the stillness, and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as much from shame as from the pain.
(short pause) “Mother, please—” I gasped, but she did not stop until all six smacks had been given. My bottom smarted terribly, and my eyes filled with tears, but I tried my very best not to cry. I knew I had been naughty, and I must take my punishment bravely. The lesson was clear: when one disobeys, there are consequences, and it is best to listen to those who care for us.
I looked up and saw the faces of the other parents and children. Some mothers nodded in approval, while others looked on with sympathy. A teacher stepped forward, her voice gentle. “That is quite enough, Mrs. Carter,” she said. But my mother replied, “Thank you, Miss Evans, but I must see to my own child.” The teacher stepped back, understanding that a mother knows best how to guide her son.
My mother’s face was stern, but I could see a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. She did not enjoy punishing me, but she knew it was her duty. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and I felt the strength of her love, even in that difficult moment. We stood together, both of us learning a lesson—she about the pain of discipline, and I about the importance of obedience.
The silence was heavy, and I stood very still, determined not to let a single tear fall. My bottom still stung, but I held my head high, knowing that I must be brave. My mother leaned down and whispered, “Do not cry, Peter. You brought this upon yourself.” I nodded, understanding that she was right.
Around us, the other parents began to talk quietly. “That is how children learn,” one mother said softly. The children, seeing that the matter was finished, began to play once more, and the teachers returned to their duties. The world seemed to return to normal, but I knew I would not soon forget what had happened.
My mother took my hand, her grip gentle now, and led me away from the school gates. “Come along, Peter. Let us go home,” she said kindly. As we walked, the sounds of the town returned—the ring of a bicycle bell, the cheerful voices of neighbours, and the soft patter of my own footsteps. My face was still hot with shame, and my bottom ached, but I knew I had learned a valuable lesson.
As we turned the corner, my mother spoke again, her voice calm and steady. “There will be no television for you this week, Peter. You must learn that actions have consequences.” My heart sank, for I loved my programmes, but I knew she was right. “Yes, Mother,” I replied, my voice quiet but sincere.
That day, I learned that it is not only the pain of a spanking that stays with you, but the lesson behind it. I learned that mothers and fathers discipline their children because they love them and wish to keep them safe. I learned that it is important to listen, to be polite, and to accept the consequences of one’s actions with courage and dignity.
And so, dear children, remember this: when you are tempted to disobey or run off without telling your parents, think of Peter and his sore bottom, and remember that it is always best to do as you are told. For those who listen and behave well will find that life is much happier, and those who do not must be prepared to accept their punishment bravely and learn from it.
