We are predisposed to remember our firsts: first date, first kiss, first car, etc., all of those life changing first experiences. We struggle to remember the last of a series of common events. With all of the anticipation of the last day of high school one would expect to remember minute details forever. I don’t remember a thing about it. Neither do I remember the last day of college or graduate school.
I do remember my last spanking. At twelve, I was too old and too big, so I thought.
Jimmy, Shirley and I were in my parent’s bedroom for some reason. We were laughing and cutting up, having a really good time, joking about who was the best. I said some brash thing like, “I could spank both of you.”
At that moment my mother walked in to join the fun. She was laughing and said she could spank us all. Then she gave me a false spanking and walked out of the room. As soon as she was out of sight I boasted “I let her do it.” The Lord watches out for fools, but the foolish exhaust His patience. You can quote me on that.
From down the hallway came a resounding “You let me do what?”
Like a streak of lightening she was back in the room grabbing my Dad’s belt off the hanger in the wardrobe and swinging furiously. She left stripes from the soles of my feet to the middle of my back. I mean there were specks of blood. When she finished she was out of breath, gasped and exhaled, “did you let me do it that time?”
Sniff, sniff, “No, Mam.”
“Don’t you ever think you’re too big for me to spank.”
In this instance, Mom wasn’t fair, just, or appropriate. I wasn’t disrespectful or belligerent. My last spanking wasn’t justified; it wasn’t reasonable, and it certainly wasn’t administered with my wellbeing in mind. It was memorable and effectively preemptive. Although Alethea may disagree, it taught me restraint in discipline. I learned from the experience and I never questioned my mother’s love for me because of it, just her lack of humor and her sense of aim.
April 20, 2010