History of My Spankings -- Part 1

by Jake Teneby <Aok4otk@aol.com>

I have had spanking in my life since I was a young boy. My mother and father had a very straightforward, simple approach to dealing with three children close in age (we were 6 years apart). My little sister came into the picture 8 years later. My brother, older sister and I were basically informed -- by just being around -- that misbehavior was handled with a paddle that hung in the water heater's closet just off the kitchen. In that closet, my parents kept a real paddle that had a psychological effect all of its own. I kind of love, due to this interest of mine, that this is a true part of my life.

There was also a hairbrush in the blue bathroom off the kitchen and a yardstick in the cupboard as well. Often quick swats were doled out with a hand, but more willful disobedient behavior was handled with more formal paddlings and old fashioned hairbrush spankings. The ones I recall vividly were:

1. for inducing a gag response in front of all the other cousins (there were 7 of us kids around the table -- 3 of us and 4 boys from my aunt's side) -- I was far too old to be doing this. I was about 11 or 12. (7th or 8th grade) 2. for threatening my sister (who was taunting me for being a picky eater) with a fork in her gut at the table (I was about 8) 3. for punching my best friend in the face (we were about 10) 4. for running into the middle of the street and nearly getting done in by a Buick that Mr. Caplan drove. (about 5 years old) 5. for getting really drunk on Creme de Menthe with my friend David in 7th grade. 6. for using language that I said my brother used. I used the work "fu^&*" in the house at the dinner table. Oh my lord, that sent dad over the edge because my mom was so upset that a boy my age (I couldn't have been more than about 11) was already coming home with a mouth like that. Um, I never said that word in their house again. I can taste the soap from here!

At home, we didn't have to go get the paddle, because it hung high enough that as children we were not supposed to be on chairs high enough to reach it. My dad in particular used this, because my mother usually had her cooking spoon. Dad always started with a smart smacking on my bottom. As my recollection serves me, "March!" was his favorite phrase after that.

Although my mom always said that too.

That's when I'd have to get to my room and sit there until they were ready. This was their primary way of handling discussions about behavior. If there was no discussion necessary or if it was fruitless trying one more time to reason with me, my dad just spanked me right there in front of the other kids in the neighborhood or my sister or brother or my cousins.

My friends would be sent home, but particularly Darin my best friend from across the street would hang out in the garage (which was right outside the kitchen door) to talk with my brother as I got my spanking. The kids in the neighborhood would always be listening. I know this, because I did the very same thing with the neighborhood kids whenever my older brother got his spankings. My dad was always firmer and more disciplinary with him -- because I always copied his behavior and that drove him crazy.

My dad in particular was very big into corner time after spankings or after getting bawled out. There was no polite "time out" like kids get now. Back then it was, "Go stand in the corner, now! You heard me, young man, march."

It was a part of the punishment that required you to stand there, and not squirm too much. Otherwise, you'd get sent to your room and might not get to play for the rest of the day. When Darin was around, I did not want that to be the option. So, I was a pretty reliable boy for the punishment to be corrected. It didn't last for long when Darin was around, but the knowledge we both had that we could be spanked, old fashioned hairbrush spanked (there is a great story about Darin and I listening to Shawn his older brother getting the hairbrush -- I will save that for later), or paddled right in front of the other, kept the subject on our lips.

But, I did punch him once. Why? Who the hell knows. I really liked him. Worse than the spanking was that I didn't get to see him for a week or more. It really hurt both of us greatly. It really affected the way we played together after that.

Additionally, Darin and I were both students of Mrs. Rice's first second mixed grade class. She had a complex daily (and I mean daily!) ritual of having misbehaving children write their names on the blackboard. At the end of the day, those children had to line up as Mrs. Rice sat on her chair and the boys and girls who had been bad were required to get their spankings. All of the other children were required to watch. I am not making this up. Darin got a lot of spankings. I only got one.

I do remember that this sent Darin and I into a weird spiral of about 2 years of reenacting this with his older brother Shawn when we played in my room. We used to really yuck it up, enjoying this playtime immensely. We were in 3rd, 4th and probably even 5th grade. I also remember we got into it more than we were supposed to, and one day Darin just drew the line and said I couldn't pull his underpants down. Ever again. That was so disappointing. But we were pretty deep in pre-adolescence and I think that he was aware there was something different about my interest in the dropping-his-pants thing. He was keen to spank, but didn't want to see my fanny either during or afterwards. I was different that way. I love to see other red fannies and compare which of us got it worse.

We both wore Carters, Sears, Newsberrys, or Towncraft underpants for boys -- neither of us were "husky" but I also recall how we both found that a hot description. They had double rows of dotted lines of two different colors around the waistband. These underpants are a big part of my recollections, because I remember them serving as "spanking pants" whenever I got my paddlings.

I was such a little brat that if my dad yanked down my pants and ended up pulling my underpants down with them, I'd go ballistic. He often would say, "OK, OK, OK, but the pants are staying down!" My loud cries for mercy drove him beserk. My mother was less forgiving. She was a stay-at-home mom and had to deal with that sort of belly-aching all the time. The underpants came down when she said they came down. And they stayed down.

As I say, there were about 5 or 6 particularly memorable spanking moments in my life. Ones that were not just random swats, but complicated emotional periods that were accompanied with corner time, one mouth-washing-out-with-soap and discussions with me with my pants down in my underpants having to explain myself.

Our paddlings were not overly ritualistic or anything. They were part of life in a family and neighborhood with lots of children around. Other kids respected my parents because they never yelled at them, they called their parents and knew that my parents were serious about it. My parents weren't yellers. My dad did when my brother and I did things that upset my mother. That was the only time. His voice would rise and then he would just grab us off the floor or out of our chair at the dinner table and take us to the little washer dryer area as he reached into the drawer in the bathroom for the hairbrush or in the water heater closet for the paddle. Then we either got our disciplining in the washer dryer area or he would grab our upper arm and make us walk quickly to our rooms. Usually there was no supper after that. Sometimes, which was worse, we'd have to come to the table and eat with the other kids (of my siblings only). It was so difficult. We'd also have to apologize to any non-family members who had to listen to the spankings.

It's so great to be able to write you about this. There are so many small details I recall about each of my major spankings. I hope to have more time soon to write you about them.

It's terrific to tell you guys about all of this. I love that all of these memories don't bring back anger. I have very fond memories of the parental control in my parents' household. My parents weren't yellers. They were sound, logical people who had your standard, ole illogical kids. They handled things in the very best way possible:

"Don't over analyse 'em. Just keep 'em happy, fed, doing their homework and paying attention to the elders that are worth paying attention to!"

Fierce libertarians, those folks. Like 'em, like 'em a lot.

More stories by Jake Teneby