(gap: 2s) In the bustling heart of West View Estate, amidst the soot-stained terraces and the laughter of children at play, I was the second youngest of six in our cheerful, if modest, council house. Ours was a home where love and discipline walked hand in hand, and where every lesson, however stern, was given with a gentle heart.
(short pause) My dear mother and father, like many parents of their day, believed in the wisdom of a firm hand. If a child neglected his sums, Mother would set extra arithmetic; if a bedroom was left untidy, toys would vanish for a spell. Yet, for graver mischief—cheek, fibbing, quarrelling, or defiance—a sound spanking was the order of the day, delivered not in anger, but in the spirit of correction.
(pause) As we grew older, the spankings became fewer, reserved for only the most serious of offences. Still, the knowledge that a trip over Mother’s or Father’s knee was possible kept us mindful of our conduct, right up until we left the family nest.
(short pause) In those days, a spanking was no secret shame. It was a matter of course, accepted by neighbours and kin alike. To be chastised before one’s siblings was not unusual, though rarely did it occur before cousins or friends. Only Mother’s sister and our stern grandmother were ever permitted to administer such discipline, and even then, it was a rare event indeed.
(pause) I, however, was a child set apart by circumstance. Born with meningocele, a form of spina bifida, I faced challenges unknown to my brothers and sisters. My legs were weak, and I did not walk unaided until I was four, with the help of a sturdy frame and much perseverance.
(short pause) There were many visits to the hospital, and I wore nappies long past the usual age. Yet, my family never mocked or pitied me. At school, Mother would visit each class to explain my condition, so that no child would misunderstand or tease.
(pause) At home, however, I was treated no differently. My parents, ever fair, insisted that I be held to the same standards as my siblings. If I misbehaved, I too would find myself across Mother’s lap, my bottom exposed for a brisk application of the wooden spoon—a tool as familiar in our home as the teapot or the rolling pin.
(short pause) I recall once, in a moment of desperation, attempting to plead my case on account of my disability. Mother’s response was swift and certain: “A lesson is a lesson, my dear, and you must learn it as well as any other child.” I never tried that argument again.
(pause) There were, of course, certain peculiarities to my discipline. While my brothers, upon reaching a certain age, would await Father’s return for their punishment, and my sisters would be dealt with by Mother, I remained under Mother’s care for such matters, owing to my special needs.
(short pause) It took me some time to find the courage to speak of the embarrassment I felt at being spanked by Mother, especially as I grew older. When at last I did, Mother was mortified to realise she had not considered my feelings. She and Father apologised, and it was agreed that henceforth, any necessary chastisement would be given in the privacy of my own room.
(pause) Thus, my dignity was preserved, and I learned that even parents, wise as they are, can make mistakes and are willing to make amends. It was a lesson in humility and understanding, as valuable as any other.
(short pause) There were but two occasions after this when I was spanked before others, and on one of these, I must confess, I had sorely tried Mother’s patience.
(pause) It was a sweltering summer’s day, and we were visiting my aunt’s house. I was recovering from a troublesome water infection and forbidden from joining my cousins in the paddling pool. Restless and cross, I argued and sulked, ignoring Mother’s gentle warnings.
(short pause) At last, after a final warning and a cooling period by Mother’s side, I did the unthinkable: I pushed my younger cousin into the pool. The commotion was immediate, and Mother, her face set with resolve, took me firmly by the hand.
(pause) With all eyes upon us, she led me to her chair, sat down, and, with practiced efficiency, lowered my shorts and nappy. Over her knee I went, my bottom exposed to the summer air and the gaze of my cousins. Out came the wooden spoon from her bag—a trusty implement, smooth with use and polished by many a lesson.
(short pause) The spanking was swift but thorough, each smack a reminder of the importance of obedience and kindness. I wept bitterly, not from pain alone, but from the shame of my misdeed and the public nature of my correction.
(pause) When it was over, Mother gathered me in her arms, soothing my tears with gentle words and a cool flannel. She changed me into fresh clothes and laid me down for a nap, her hand resting lightly on my back until I drifted into sleep.
(short pause) My cousins, well-schooled in kindness, did not mock me for my troubles. Yet, as Mother turned away, the cousin I had wronged entered, holding my nappy and offering it with a sly smile. “I brought his nappy in case he needs it,” she said sweetly. Mother thanked her, and I, knowing I had earned my lesson, said nothing.
(pause) Alone at last, I wept a little more, not from the sting of the wooden spoon, but from the knowledge that I had let myself down. Mother, ever patient, returned with the flannel and stayed by my side until I slept.
(short pause) And so, dear reader, I learned that discipline, though sometimes hard to bear, is given out of love and a desire to see us grow into good and thoughtful people. A spanking, when deserved and delivered with care, is not a cruelty, but a lesson—a reminder that actions have consequences, and that kindness and obedience are virtues to be cherished.
(pause) In our little house on West View Estate, amidst the laughter and the tears, I learned the value of honesty, humility, and forgiveness. These are the lessons that endure, long after the sting has faded, and the wooden spoon has been set aside.
