This is a memory and lesson that lasted. I had stolen some cookies that morning out of a jar that sat on the kitchen counter.
Early that same afternoon, I was taking a bath. I remember the water was warm and I didn’t have a care in the world. Suddenly, my mother burst through the closed bathroom door, her face set with determination. “I told you what would happen if I caught you stealing again!” she declared, her voice echoing off the tiles.
She reached under my left arm and, in one swift, practiced motion, yanked me up to my feet. The air was cool against my wet skin, and I barely had time to register what was happening before she gripped me firmly, making sure I wouldn’t slip. I never saw the kitchen spatula she had in her right hand, but the next moment, I felt it—sharp, stinging, and unyielding—landing squarely on my warm, bare bottom.
The first smack was a shock, a sudden burst of pain that made me gasp. Then came another, and another, each one delivered with a crisp, deliberate snap of her wrist. The spatula left a hot, tingling sting that seemed to spread and intensify with every blow. My mother’s grip was unbreakable, and I was utterly helpless, my right hand flailing in a desperate attempt to shield myself. But everywhere I tried to protect, she found a new spot, her aim unerring. About a dozen hard, quick smacks rained down, each one punctuated by the sharp sound of wood on skin and my own yelps and sobs.
When she finally paused, I stood there, tears streaming down my face, my bottom throbbing and red. I thought it was over as she told me to get out of the tub, but as I stepped onto the cold bathroom floor, she pulled me toward her again. Without warning, the spatula came down another dozen times, even faster than before—so rapid that the sting from the first few hadn’t even faded before the next ones landed. The pain seemed to catch up all at once, a fiery ache that made me dance from foot to foot, unable to escape.
As she turned and walked out the door, I was left standing, trembling and crying, the echoes of the spanking still burning on my skin. I sat down gingerly, whimpering and sobbing away the pain, the lesson seared into my memory. I never stole another cookie after that day.
