) In the days of my childhood, when the world seemed both grand and small, my mother kept our home as neat as a pin. Each morning, the sun would glint off the polished windows, and the scent of lavender polish drifted through the tidy rooms. Mother believed that a well-ordered house was the mark of a well-ordered life, and she took great care to see that everything was just so. Her hair was always set, her dress pressed, and her shoes shone as bright as the morning dew.
(short pause) She cared for me with the same gentle thoroughness. Each day began with a warm bath, where she would scrub behind my ears and under my chin, humming softly as she worked. She dressed me in my best—shoes buffed, socks pulled up, shirt crisp and white, and sometimes a little bow tie that made me feel ever so grown up. There are old photographs of me, standing straight and proud, cheeks rosy from the washcloth, hair neatly combed. Even when I changed into my play clothes, Mother insisted I look tidy and presentable.
(pause) But, as all little boys know, the world is full of adventure and mischief. There were puddles to jump, corners to explore, and, yes, noses to pick. One day, I gave in to temptation and picked my nose in plain sight. Mother saw me, her eyes narrowing with gentle reproach. “Edward,” she said, “that is not the behaviour of a well-mannered boy. If you do it again, I shall have to give you a proper spanking. We must always strive to be our best selves.” Her words were firm, but her love was clear.
(pause) The next morning, the sky was grey and the air was damp, as it often was in Belfast. I sat cross-legged on the carpet, watching the flickering television, feeling quite alone. Mother’s voice floated in from the kitchen, asking what I would like for breakfast. Forgetting her warning, my finger crept up to my nose.
(short pause) Suddenly, Mother’s voice rang out, clear and bright as a bell: “Edward, stop that at once!” I turned, startled, to see her standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, her eyes full of disappointment. She crossed the room in a trice, lifted me up, and I clung to her, my heart thumping. “Put your arms down, dear,” she said, her voice gentle but resolute. I knew then that I must face the consequences of my actions.
(pause) With practiced care, Mother turned me over her arm, my legs dangling, my head low. “Hold on to my arm, and do not let go,” she instructed. I had never been spanked in this way before, and I felt very small indeed. But Mother was always careful—she made sure I was safe, and that only my bottom would feel the lesson. It was as if she had read it in a book of good parenting, and perhaps she had.
(short pause) My bottom was perfectly positioned, and Mother began the spanking. Her hand came down, firm but not cruel, first in the centre, then on each side, then back to the middle, in a steady, measured rhythm. The sound echoed in our little house, and I bit my lip, determined to be brave.
(pause) The spanking continued, each pat a reminder that good boys must mind their manners. I tried to be strong, thinking, “Mother is cross, but she loves me, and I must learn to do better.” Mother was never harsh—she was thorough, and she wanted me to remember this lesson well.
(short pause) At last, my strength gave out, and I went limp, my head drooping. Mother seemed to know, and for a moment, her hand moved a little faster, as if to finish the lesson. The whole affair lasted only a few minutes, though it felt much longer to me. When she stopped, my bottom was sore, and I knew I would not soon forget.
(pause) Mother set me gently on a soft cushion. “Sit, Edward,” she said, her voice kind but firm. I tried, but the pain made me wince. “Sit down, or I shall have to spank you again,” she said, and so I did, tears prickling at my eyes. I thought only of the lesson I had learned.
(short pause) Mother went to the kitchen and returned with a cool cloth. She wiped my face and hands, her touch gentle now, her anger gone. After a while, she told me I could get up. I hobbled to my room, each step a reminder of my mistake. I lay down on my side, then on my stomach, for my bottom was far too sore for any other way. The world seemed very quiet, and I felt both sorry and ashamed.
(pause) After a time, Mother came in and turned on the light. “Get up and take off your pyjamas,” she said. My heart fluttered—was I to be punished again? But Mother only sat on the bed and patted the space beside her. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “Today, I shall teach you how to dress yourself, like a big boy.” She watched as I fetched my socks, underwear, trousers, and shirt, and my shoes from the closet. I moved slowly, but I did as I was told, and Mother smiled with pride.
(short pause) As I dressed, I realised Mother was watching to see if I had learned my lesson, and if I was growing up as she hoped. She wanted me to be independent, to care for myself, and to remember that every action has its consequence.
(pause) Sometimes, looking back, I wondered if Mother worried she had been too strict, or if she might have to explain my sore bottom to the doctor. But our family doctor believed in discipline, and he often told parents that a proper spanking, given with care, was a good lesson for a child. I did not know this then, but the doctor was kind, and I always liked him.
(short pause) In America, at the county fairs, people show off their prize-winning pigs and cattle. That day, I felt as if my own little bottom was on display, red and sore for all to see. Mother inspected me, nodded with satisfaction, and told me to get dressed. “We’re going shopping,” she said, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
(pause) I never picked my nose again, not even in secret. The lesson had been learned, and learned well. Years later, at a family dinner, my father absentmindedly picked his nose at the table. Sitting on Mother’s lap, I piped up, “Mother should spank you too!” Mother laughed and hugged me close, whispering that some things are best left unsaid.
(short pause) And so, dear reader, I learned that mothers, like the finest heroines in storybooks, teach us not only to be clean and tidy, but to be good and thoughtful as well. Their lessons may sting for a moment, but they are always given with love, and with the hope that we will grow up to be our very best selves.
