I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, when spanking was still common, though it was starting to carry a stigma, especially among well-meaning liberals who couldn’t always distinguish between discipline and abuse.
My parents were progressive in their politics but old-fashioned in their approach to raising children. My cousins, the children of my mother’s sister, were raised much the same way.
My aunt was a ‘first response spanker’ like my mother, though she let more things slide, probably due to the sheer number of kids. Spankings at her house were never private—they happened in front of whoever was there, and I’d found myself in that position a few times as a guest.
This particular incident happened when I was already married, living above my in-laws’ garage. My husband was away on reserve duty, and my mother invited me to spend the weekend at her house. I thought she wanted to keep me company, but it turned out she was also watching three of my cousins and my youngest brother—she may have needed reinforcements.
The older cousins were away at college or a hockey tournament, so it was just my brother Patrick, and cousins Julia, Jason, and Jeremiah for my mother to manage.
The evening started well. Mother was making pasta and let me have some sparkling wine. My little brother enjoyed having Jeremiah around, happy not to be the youngest for once.
Julia, deep in her teenage moodiness, wanted to be anywhere else. I tried to talk to her, but she barely responded. Jason, always sullen, was glued to his Gameboy, missing out on a night with his friends.
Mother called everyone for dinner. Patrick and Jeremiah came right away, but Julia and Jason needed extra coaxing. Julia claimed she wasn’t hungry and asked to be excused, but Mother insisted she stay at the table.
Julia, perhaps trying to escape, started picking at Jason about sharing the Gameboy, which led to an argument. Mother refereed, and things quieted for a moment.
Then Julia accused Jason of kicking her under the table. He denied it. She elbowed him, and Mother told them both to settle down. The bickering continued until Julia shrieked, “Stop kicking me!” and the two started slapping at each other, voices raised and language turning inappropriate.
In the chaos, someone knocked over the milk pitcher, breaking a bowl and sending milk and salad everywhere. Mother quickly took charge, shooing us away from the table and cleaning up the mess. Julia and Jason stood against the wall, faces pale with fear.
Mother pointed at Julia. “Go upstairs and bring down the paddle,” she said, calm but firm. Julia burst into tears, begging forgiveness, but Mother was resolute: “It’s too late for that. There are consequences.”
Jason was told to bring a chair to the middle of the room. Julia returned with the paddle—a sanded, varnished ping pong bat. Mother sat, had them stand side by side, and began the pre-spanking lecture, which always felt longer when you were the one in trouble.
Julia was called over first. She bent over the chair, and Mother delivered the first swat. Julia had to count each one, adding “ma’am” after each number. The swats were firm, and Julia’s voice grew higher with each one. She got two dozen before being sent to the side, red-faced and teary.
Jason took his turn, trying to act tough, but the swats made him grunt and squirm. He too received two dozen, and when it was over, both were sent to stand in separate corners while the rest of us finished dinner.
After dinner, Mother disappeared upstairs and called for me to get dessert—chocolate eclairs. When she returned, she brought with her two small bars of Ivory soap and a wooden hairbrush, the same one she’d used on me not long before.
She called Julia and Jason out of their corners. Seeing the brush, Jason gulped and Julia started crying again. “I heard some language I don’t allow in this house,” Mother said, and called Julia over first.
The hairbrush swats were sharper and louder. Julia howled and kicked as the brush landed, especially on the tops of her thighs. After a dozen, she was sent to stand, sobbing, and Jason took her place.
Jason tried to be stoic, but the brush broke his composure, and he began to cry openly. After his dozen, he was allowed to stand, rubbing his now crimson bottom.
For the final punishment, Mother put a bar of soap in each of their mouths and sent them back to their corners while we ate dessert. When we finished, she rinsed their mouths and had them help clean up before sending them to bed early.
The next morning, Julia and Jason were subdued and polite at breakfast, wincing as they sat. Mother never mentioned the previous night, nor did she tell my aunt what happened.
But word got out anyway—Jeremiah told my aunt, and on Sunday night, Julia and Jason each got another dozen licks at home with “The Stick,” the infamous vinyl blind wand. That was the only time I ever saw a girl and boy spanked together.
