(gap: 2s) In the days when I was a little girl, our home was a place of order and kindness, but also of firm rules. My father, my mother, my older brother and sister, and my younger sister Sarah and I all lived together. We children knew exactly what was expected of us, and we understood that if we were naughty, there would be consequences.
My brother, being the eldest, was almost like a second father to us, but it was Mother who was in charge of discipline. She was always fair, but she believed that a good, sound spanking was sometimes needed to teach us right from wrong.
One bright summer morning, I was feeling rather cross and restless. My hands could not seem to keep away from things I ought not to touch, and Mother had to tap my fingers more than once to remind me to behave. I am sorry to say, I was also quite unkind to my little sister Sarah, who had fallen earlier and was being comforted by Mother. I think now that I was jealous of the attention she received.
My sisters and I played in the garden, the sun warm on our faces as we built sandcastles and laughed together. I wore my favourite blue sundress, and the air was full of the scent of fresh grass. But soon, my patience ran out. Sarah came over and took my toy without asking. I felt very cross indeed, and before I could stop myself, I snatched it back and pushed her into the sand. Poor Sarah began to cry at once, her face covered in tears and sand.
Mother, who had been reading on the porch, hurried over at once. She picked Sarah up and comforted her, brushing the sand from her cheeks. When Sarah was calm, Mother gave her to my older sister and turned to me. Her face was serious, but not unkind. She took my hand and led me into the cool, quiet sitting room.
Mother sat down on the sofa and looked at me very sternly. “Stephanie, you have been warned all morning, but now you have been truly naughty. You know it is wrong to push your sister. You must learn that such behaviour is not allowed.” My heart beat very fast, and I felt dreadfully ashamed.
Mother lifted my dress and placed me over her knee. She held my hands so I could not wriggle away. My underpants were the only thing between me and the spanking I knew I deserved.
Then Mother gave me a very sound spanking. She smacked my bottom hard, six times in all—one, two, three, four, five, six—each smack stinging more than the last. I tried to be brave, but I could not help wriggling and crying out as the smacks landed. Mother’s hand was firm, and she meant for me to remember this lesson.
When the spanking was over, my bottom was sore and hot, and my eyes were full of tears. Mother helped me up and pulled my dress back down. “Let this be a lesson to you, Stephanie,” she said. “You must never push your sister again, and you must always keep your hands to yourself.”
There was no cuddle, for Mother wanted me to think about what I had done. “Go to your room and reflect on your behaviour,” she said, her voice calm and steady. I walked slowly up the stairs, my bottom still stinging, and my heart heavy with regret.
As I walked down the hallway, I began to cry quietly. I had not meant to hurt Sarah, but I had let my temper get the better of me. Now I had to bear the consequences of my actions.
I passed my brother’s room and paused. He had always been kind to me, even when I was in trouble. I went inside and found him reading on his bed. He looked up and saw my tearful face and the way I rubbed my sore bottom.
“Come here, Stephanie,” he said gently. I went to him, and he lifted me onto his lap. “What has happened?” he asked kindly. I buried my face in his shoulder and whispered, “Mother spanked me.”
He stroked my hair and let me cry for a little while. Then he sat me up and said, “Mother would not have spanked you unless you had been very naughty. Tell me what you did.” I told him, “I pushed Sarah, and I touched the flowers after Mother said not to.”
“That is not like you, Stephanie,” he said, his voice serious but gentle. “We all feel cross sometimes, but it is never right to hurt your sister. I hope you will remember this lesson. Do you understand?” I nodded, feeling very sorry indeed.
My brother hugged me and said, “Mother told you to go to your room, did she not?” I nodded again. “Then you must do as you are told,” he said, and he carried me to my room and tucked me into bed. “Take some time to think, and remember to be kind next time.”
And so I lay on my bed, my bottom still sore from the six hard smacks, and I thought about how important it is to be good and gentle, especially to those we love. I knew that Mother’s spanking, though harsh, was meant to teach me to be better, and I promised myself I would try my very best from that day on.
