I lived in a modest, but upscale, residential area outside of De Buys, Mississippi, where I have lived since becoming widowed in 1997. My late wife and I raised two sons, who are married and live in North Carolina and Tennessee.
In August 2003, hurricane Daphne was headed northwest in the Gulf, with a path for landfall right somewhere between Gulfport and Biloxi. I had never experienced a hurricane, and did not truly know how to prepare. My neighbors on the left – to the east – were a lady in her early forties, her husband in his mid-to-late forties, Dr. and Mrs. Dickinson, and their youngest son, Jonathon. Their other two sons had already moved and lived in towns within a 45 mile radius of Gulfport.
It turned out that the lady was Jonathons mother, but that his father had died when he was 7, and his mother had married my neighbor a couple of years later, when Jonathon was 9. For 12 years, Jonathon had been raised by his stepfather and his mother.
In mid-August, on a Friday morning, driving winds and rain began pummeling the Gulfport, beachfront area. My office closed early that afternoon, and was closed until after the storm had come ashore or bypassed us. I came home early, about 3 p. m., to make some hurried, but last minute, preparations. Early Saturday morning, I was awakened by the howling winds of overpowering force. Torrential rains were drowning the area. I quickly showered and fixed a pot of coffee. I sat down to read the newspaper, when I was startled by a loud, cracking sound.
Getting up quickly, I raced into the sunporch, to a window, and saw that one of three, huge oak trees in my neighbors front yard had fallen over, uprooted by the fierce force of the winds. I was shocked. It was pouring so hard, that I pulled on some rain pants and a rain poncho, and ventured outside to look at the damage. The tree was stretched across my neighbors yard and lay partly into my yard as well. Everywhere, debris had fallen and continued falling – including some large tree limbs.
As I walked closer, beset by pounding rain and winds, a young man looking about 16 or 17, came off the porch of my neighbors house, walking towards me. He was barefoot, about 6', probably 160 lbs, with blue eyes, brown hair, wearing navy basketball shorts, a white t-shirt, and an orange baseball cap on backwards. He was at once becoming soaked from the rain. "Boy, that one stunned me!" he called out.
"Me, too," I replied. "I heard it crack and fall, but I didnt realize it was this one."
"I didnt even hear it," he answered, "but my Mom told me it had just fallen and said to go out and take a look at it. Man, this has me worried! That one, hanging there," – and he pointed to one of the remaining, two oaks – "is right over my room." As he spoke, there was another crack under the gales of wind, and I turned to see a magnolia tree split and fall in the front yard of our neighbors across the street. "Wow! Did you see that?!" the young man exclaimed.
"Yeah, thats another close one. Wed better high tail it back inside, before more things happen in this wind and downpour." I stated.
"Jonathon! Get in here right now!" I heard the voice of my neighbor lady call out. He turned somewhat towards the house, then back to face me against, appearing to be slightly embarrassed. "Jonathon! Do you hear me?! Get in here immediately!"
"You better get inside – me too," I spoke up, to relieve the discomfort of the situation.
"Ah, yeah," he answered. "See yah later."
Only minutes after I retreated from the onslaught of wind and rain, a gigantic explosion occurred and the electrical power ceased. I got out flashlights and candles, feeling glad about the extra ice I had gotten for the freezer and refrigerator. I turned on a battery-powered radio and sat back down to finish reading the paper by the window.
The storm only continued to surge and increase in force. I began to wonder if the houses in this neighborhood could withstand the fury of being in the direct path of a category 4 hurricane. Hours later the winds and rain continued unabated. Finally, about 7 p. m., the wind and rain began quickly subsiding, until calm prevailed. At that point, I stepped into my hiking boots, wearing hiking shorts and a t-shirt, and walked outside to survey the damage.
Immense amounts of debris was everywhere scattered. My neighbors whose tree had fallen came out into the yard at the same time. We met at their fallen oak tree, and agreed that this had to be the eye of the hurricane, and we could expect the same or worse in the latter stages of it after the eye. We did not know how long we had before the eye passed, but decided to walk around the four streets that comprised the neighborhood, to survey the damage. Mrs. Dickinson turned to Jonathon, who was standing with her talking with me, and said, "You wait here, Jonathon. I dont want you wandering around out here while things can still fall, and the back of the hurricane is coming."
He said nothing, but looked frustrated and irked to be told to stay at home.
Dr. Dickinson came out and joined his wife. As slender and petit as Mrs. Dickinson was, he was a bulked up hulk, probably 6'4", maybe 250 lbs or more. We began walking throughout the neighborhood. As we walked, we were astonished to see trees that were uprooted or that had snapped and broken, one falling on service lines from a transformer to the house. At one house, the family had set up their propane barbecue grill on the front porch and were heating up coffee. They called to us, and offered us fresh, warm cups of coffee which we meandered over to sample. In the long, wet, miserable day without power, it was a wonderful refreshment. We stood talking with them for a while, thanked them for the coffee, and resumed the survey of the neighborhood.
Before we had completed the tour, the winds and rain began again, and we trudged on back to our respective homes in increasing gales and downpour. I walked into my house, took off my wet shoes, dried off with a towel, and walked into the sunporch at the right front of my house, where the light would last longer. From the window, I could see the Dickinsons front yard and porch. A drowned figure in familiar looking, navy basketball shorts, a white t-shirt, and backward basketball cap was running down the street, towards the driveway and front yard of the Dickinsons house.
Suddenly, Dr. Dickinson appeared on the front porch. I could hear his shouts to the approaching young man. "Jonathon! We told you to stay put, at home! What were you doing out there?!"
"Oh, ah, Dad, I was just looking around. You and Mom and Mr. Evans were out looking at the damage, and I wanted to too." He came racing into the front yard, circumventing the fallen tree, when Dr. Dickinson stepped off the porch to meet him. The older man seized the young mans arm, snatching him up off the lawn onto the porch. In another instant, Dr. Dickinson had pulled Jonathon over to the porch railing, forced him downward, across it, and began swatting the seat of the overturned boys drenched shorts.
The swats were not taps, because I could hear them pop against Jonathons wet seat. Nor were they a few. Instead, the popping continued in intensity, but increasing speed, as Dr. Dickinson punished the young mans bottom. Jonathons face registered his shock, then discomfort building towards pain.
"Ouuuumph! Ooooo-aummmphaaa! Noooo, Dad! Stop! Ow! Stopit! Staaahp! Aaaa-ooo-ow! Ow! Dad!" Struggling, wriggling and twisting, trying to get away or to elude the endless volley to his backside, he slipped around and under, and loose of, his fathers grip, sitting his smarting behind down on the porch railing.
Without hesitating, Dr. Dickinson grabbed both arms of the boy, jerked him to his feet, and yanked him along with him as he sat down on wicker bench. He then dragged the resisting young man across his lap, dumping the boys head, shoulders, and arms across Dr. Dickinsons left leg. With his left arm, he pushed the fighting boys back downward, and reaching with his right hand, he tugged the boys drenched shorts and boxers off his hips and buttocks, down his legs, to fall at his feet on the floor.
The young mans gasping shout could be heard across their yard and mine. "Nooooo, ah, Daaaaad, nooooooo, ah, aaaaaaaaaaa!" He was bumping, humping, and bucking around on his fathers lap.
"Its not safe to be out there in this right now. Thats why your mother told you to stay here. Once again, Jonathon, you did not listen to what she told you."
The cracking sound of Dr. Dickinsons hard hand against Jonathons bare, wet, overturned bottom resumed. The young man shrieked more protests against the smacking of his butt, upper legs, and thighs. "Nooooooaaaaaa! Daad! You caaaant, ah, dooooo this! Aaaaarghaugh! Uh, uh, noooooooaaaaa! Stop it!" He kicked his feet and legs, as he writhed around all over his fathers lap, fighting against the grip that held him there and the swats that were stinging with mounting heat and pain.
Dr. Dickinson did not reply, but continued to fire up the exposed bottom of the upended boy before him. In only a couple of minutes, the young mans whole attitude and tone changed. He had gone from shock and resistance to whimpering and gasping, while apologizing and pleading, and begging and promising, trying to get out of the spanking that was being administered to him. Involuntarily, he thrust and bucked, back and forth, up and down, trying to twist and wrest around and away. His shorts and boxers flew off, falling to the floor of the porch near the door, as his feet and legs still thrashed about and kicked violently.
"Ow! Ooooaaa-ow! Uummmmuh, Dad! Ow! Dad! Okay, okaaaay! Ow! Im sorry. I shoulda listened! Ugha! Pleeez! Im sorry. I wont do it again. Ow! Ooo, uh, pleeeez! Im sorry! Uh, ow! Ow! Ill be good! Dad! Ill listen! Oooo, uh, ow! Ow! OW! Pleeeez! Pleeeez! Ill do what you, uh, and Mom, uh, uh, saaaaaay! N-noooo, uh, staaaahp! Ow! Ow Augh-uh-nnngh-uh! . . ."
He became silent, while arching his head, neck, and back upwards and backwards. Then, suddenly, caved in and collapsed, draped dangling across his fathers knees. From deep within erupted unintelligible sobbing, choking, and gagging, as he tried to breathe amidst the hard, fiery swats peppering his torched bottom. "Waaaa-waaaa! Nnnnghaugh-uh-uh! Waaaaaa! Oooooo, uh, uh, waaaaaaaa, uh, ow! Uh-uh-uh, waaaaaaaa! Oooo, uh, ow! Uh, waaaaaaa! Its hurrrrrting! Uh, uh, noooo, uh, moooor! Ow! Ooooo, uh, waaaaa-ow! Ow! Unghuh, waaaaaa, uh, waaaaaa! Puh-leeez, uh, Daaaad! Uh, waaaaaaa!"
He surrendered the fight, quickly becoming contrite, sobbing and weeping helplessly. It had taken only a very few minutes to wring out the bravado, pride, and fight, and to break him into a squalling, bawling, naughty kid whose bottom was being punished.
"Well see how much you mean it, Jonathon," Dr. Dickinson finally answered. "In the meanwhile, youve been asking for this for a long while, young man, and now youre getting what you deserve, . . . maybe itll help you to remember to listen and do what youre told."
I felt embarrassed standing watching from my sunporch, even though the weather had become extremely gray and overcast, and the winds were howling almost as much as Jonathon. I sat down, to be less visible, as I continued observing the steady onslaught of my neighbors tanning his sons behind. Then, all at once, it was over. The lean young man lay dangling over his fathers knees, sobbing and choking for many minutes.
Dr. Dickinson finally lifted the boy off his lap, onto his own feet. Still sobbing and bawling, he bent forward, clutching and rubbing his fiery bottom furiously. Dr. Dickinson stood up crisply, grabbed the boys arm, and swiftly steered him through the front door into the house, stopping to retrieve the boys shorts and boxers, who had preceded his father into the house.
The next day, still without power, I was out in the yard picking up debris. Mrs. Dickinson and Jonathon were on the porch. They left it and walked over to me. "Were heating up coffee and hamburgers on the grill, and youre welcome to come on over and join us, and help us eat up this food before it spoils," she offered. Jonathon stood quietly smiling at me. He was dressed basically the same the preceding day – different basketball shorts and t-shirt, still barefoot, and still wearing the backwards baseball cap.
"Thanks, I may take you up on it," I replied. "I think I need another jolt to shoot me into gear again after all this work out here! A fresh cup of coffee would be wonderful! There is so much of this, and therell be more before this thing moves away inland."
Then I looked at Jonathon. "I guess you dont mind missing school," I said, "Schools are closed for the whole week."
"Im not in school," he answered.
"Oh, really?" I asked perplexed. "How come?"
"I graduated three years ago."
"What?! Youre kidding. Id guessed you were a junior in high school," I replied.
"Hes 21," Mrs. Dickinson spoke up. "He hasnt wanted to go to the junior college yet. Hes looking for a job right now – especially in construction."
I looked from Mrs. Dickinsons face to the youthful resemblance of Jonathons face, then at the slender, lanky build of the young man, and then back to his mother. "Wow! I guessed 16, mayber 17. He sure does look young," I remarked to Mrs. Dickinson. She just smiled. So did Jonathon.
"Hes talking about heading out to Colorado, to live with is uncle – my brother – and work in his construction business."
"Its a long way to go," I commented.
"Thats what Ive been telling him," Mrs. Dickinson joined in.
"Yeah, ah, well, Im gonna wait until I help with all of this clean up, after the storm is finally over, before I leave," Jonathon added.
"Thats a good thing for you to do," I complimented him.
"Yeah, well, theyre gonna need help," he responded.
I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. He followed suit, saying, "Jonathon Chastain."
"Chastain?" I asked.
"Ah, yeah, my Dad died when I was 7. Andys my stepdad. My Mom married him when I was 9, so hes been the Dad Ive had for the past 12 years."
"Oh," I mumbled, mentally kicking myself for stumbling into the kids family history. "Well, you both look like father and son, so thats good," I added.
"Yeah, . . ." he paused. "Ah, its good," he hesitated before saying.
"Well, Im glad to meet you, Jonathon," I volunteered.
"Yeah, me too," he retorted. "Funny how it takes something like this monster storm to get people to meet each other."
"It is," I agreed. "Well, Im gonna finish up and then go wash up and come back for some of your Moms coffee -- and maybe a hamburger." I left, spent another hour and a half in the windy drizzle picking up fallen branches and tree limbs, and then went inside to wash my face and hands in cold water. After that, I walked back outside, turned left, and headed over to the Dickinsons house. They were all on the front porch, Dr. and Mrs. Dickinson sitting in plastic patio chairs, Jonathon leaning against a porch pillar.
Mrs. Dickinson got up, poured a cup of coffee and asked how I liked it. "Just black," I said, and she handed it to me. The first sips were exhilarating. Then I smelled the wonderful smell of hamburgers cooking on a grill.
"Jonathon, get him a paper plate and a hamburger bun and a hamburger, will you please." Without reply or delay, the young man stepped forward and walked to the grill, picked up a paper plate, placed a bun on it, and then lifted off a charcoal-grilled hamburger onto it.
"You want ketchup, mustard, onion?" he asked.
"Ill take all three if theyre there." He piled them on the plate next to the hamburger and bun, then turned and carried it over to me, handing me the plateful.
It smelled wonderful, and as I ate I realized I had not eaten in many hours, and was hungry. Dr. Dickinson remarked how lucky they were that the tree that fell was one leaning away from the house. We agreed that it would be quite a while, once this storm had finished, before any tree trimming crews would be available for private contract.
He commented that he had small chain saw that would take care of a lot of the limbs, but hed have to get something bigger for the huge trunk. I told him I had a big chain saw that would handle the trees trunk, but it would take two people to handle it safely.
"If we survive this one, I can help you with it either on a day while my office is still closed, or on the weekend," I offered.
"Thanks," he returned. "In the meanwhile, as soon as this storm has blown through, I can get busy on the limbs with my little saw." Dr. Dickinson stated. I nodded in agreement.
"I can help too, Dad," Jonathon spoke up. "Ive got lots of time on my hands – especially since I dont have a job, and now with the 7 p. m. curfew since the storm."
"Yes, you can," Dr. Dickinson agreed. "Theres a ton of debris – from this tree and from a lot of others – to pick up. As soon as its safe to be out, you can do it. But your mother does not want you using the chain saw. So, leave that alone – and leave it to me."
I could discern the somewhat embarrassed, rebuffed, and belittled feelings of the kid reflected in his eyes and on his face. "But, Dad. Im not a little kid anymore. Mom knows that. You do too."
"I do, Jonathon. But your mother is insistent, and so thats got to be the rule. You leave the thing alone. Understand me?"
"But, Daaad, . . . "
"Jonathon! Do you hear what Im saying?! Leave the chain saw alone!"
It had rapidly become an intense, confrontational moment, and the young man was caught in a no-way-out trap. He simply, but tersely, replied. "Yes, sir."
Just then the rain began pouring down heavier, and all of our attention was diverted to the regathering winds and rain. "Thanks so much," I spoke up. "This was really great, tasted so good. Id better head back before it gets worse, though."
"Okay," all three of them called back. "Anytime. Come back."
"Thanks." I called back over my shoulder as I sprinted back to my house. Inside, I shed my soaked clothes for drier ones, and sat down again in the sunporch to read for the rest of the daylight. That night, I slept in a dark house, with the windows open, with the winds incredible in force and duration – incessantly, overpoweringly. All night long, periodically, I heard cracking and snapping as trees were broken and uprooted around the neighborhood. Throughout the night, I lay awake, waiting for one of the cracks and snaps to produce a tree falling on my house.
By early Monday morning, I had fallen asleep, and awoke startled at 8:30 a. m. (by my watch). Jumping up from bed, I bathed and shaved in a cold shower, then put on clean, dry clothes. At that point, my head was demanding coffee, so I went to the back door that leads to my garage, opened it, and walked out into the garage, looking for the little grill I had. I could always heat up some water on it for instant coffee.
Rrrrrrrrng! Rnng! Rnng! . . . Rrrrrrrng! Rnng! Rnng! . . . I hurried back into the house to answer the phone that obviously still worked. It was the Dickinsons, offering me more fresh coffee if I could venture out to get over there for it. My need drove me instantly to assure them Id be there. Then, I put a poncho on over another pair of hiking shorts, t-shirt, and ran through the torrents to the Dickinsons front porch.
Sure enough. They had their big grill going, with a big pot of coffee on it being brewed. That was sure going to be better than instant! As I stood dripping on their porch, they poured me a cup of black coffee that was a gfit from the heavens. It tasted so good, and had such an invigorating effect on my brain and body.
We talked and laughed for way past an hour. Agreeing that we were lucky to have gone this far into this storm without any serious damage or injuries, we all acknowledged that this day would not be one for much work of cleaning up debris or cutting limbs. We were basically pinned down here for at least the next 24 hours.
I went back to my house, to my sunporch, to read. The time passed quickly, while the rains and winds continued unrestrained. In early afternoon, I dozed off for about an hour and a half, then awoke. That night, I pulled some ground beef from my thawing freezer, telephoned the Dickinsons, and offered to make spaghetti, if I could use their large grill to heat the beef, heat the water and pasta, and then heat of the sauce. They agreed enthusiastically, and in a short time I was a chef on my neighbors porch.
Mrs. Dickinson brought me a frying pan, and a couple of pots in which to cook. Jonathon was on the porch, firing up the grill so that it was red hot for use. I fried the ground beef, added it to the pot with the sauce in it, along with some chopped onions, green pepper, and mushrooms, while boiling the water in which the pasta was heated. That evening, with the still-heavy winds and rain blowing and falling, the four of us dined with spaghetti on the Dickinsons porch.
Afterwards, I retreated to my house, and by 9 p. m., falling into bed and quickly to sleep shortly after that in the wind-blown, open windows of the darkened room. About 1:30 a. m., I was awakened by a torrential, flooding rain that was so heavy and loud, I began to think it would penetrate my roof and come pouring in on me. It did not, but the downpour continued the rest of the night until about 6 a. m. Tuesday.
Once more, I got up, encountered a cold shower and shave, and dressed in clean, dry clothes. I turned the radio on and heard that the worst of the storm was now past. Some businesses were opening at 9 this morning, even though much of the surrounding area had still had no power. By the time I walked out onto my sunporch – although the day was obviously going to continue overcast – I saw that the cars of my neighbors, Dr. and Mrs. Dickinson, were gone. They had obviously gone to his office.
Well, I knew my office was still closed because neither it, nor I, had any power yet. I decided to use my little grill to heat up some water for coffee. In about 40 minutes, I had it heated hot enough that I could add instant coffee to it. The aroma was almost intoxicating. I decided to cook up a couple of eggs on the grill as well, and sitting on a lawn chair in the garage I drank my first cup of coffee and devoured two, over-easy, fried eggs.
I left the water heating on the grill, although I raised it higher off the coals, after I had poured myself another cup. Then, I made my way back into the house, turned on the radio, and sat down in the sunporch to read. At lunchtime, I cooked up a couple of hotdogs on the grill, and drank some more coffee. After lunch, I headed out into my backyard to begin the clean up of debris that had fallen there.
As I was wheeling piles of debris from the back to the front, my attention was diverted to my next-door neighbors yard, by the sound of a chain saw. I looked over and saw young Jonathon, standing barefoot between massive limbs of the fallen oak, cutting some of the smaller limbs with the saw. He was wearing his customary clothes -- light blue basketball shorts, with a white trim down the sides and around the back across his upper buttocks. He had on another t-shirt, and the same orange, baseball hat, worn backwards.
He would saw through some smaller limbs, then stop, pick up the pieces hed cut, and toss them across the tree to the general area of a pile that he was accumulating. I thought to myself that he probably was pushing the limits by doing this, but it was not my place to speak up. He continued for nearly an hour, when suddenly I heard him shout! "Oh! Ow! Yikes! Ow! Ow!" I set down my wheelbarrow and jogged over to the next lawn where he was hopping up and down.
What happened? I wondered. This is what his mother and stepdad were intent on avoiding, I recalled. Then, I saw that what had happened was hurtful, but not nearly as serious as could have happened. Jonathon had been sawing a limb that was above his shoulders, when suddenly the heavy, severed piece fell -- right on his left foot! He was jumping up and down from the pain of the bloc that had fallen on his foot.
I couldnt stop myself. "Youd better be careful there, boy," I called out. "You dont need a broken foot, or a severe cut. Maybe youd better wait until your Dad and I are able to help out with this," I offered. He looked up sheepishly, his face still contorted in pain. But he just stood there hopping on his good foot, without talking. I decided to take the initiative and keep this kid from harming himself.
"Here, come on," I said, as I picked up the little chainsaw. "Lets put this back in the garage for now. Tell me where you keep it," I called back to him while carrying it into the garage. Jonathon followed me, limping, and joined me in the garage, pointing out a cupboard where the chainsaw was kept. "You go on in now and get off that foot. Put some ice on it, and keep it elevated," I directed the young man.
He did not resist, but started hopping towards the door. I walked rapidly along side him, grabbed his chest and back, stopping his movement.. Then, slipping my right under his left arm, around his back and onto his right shoulder, I leaned in and assumed the weight of his body as he slowly hopped along. Reaching the door, I opened it and held it while he walked in. "You gonna be okay?" I asked hesitating.
He called back, "Yeah, thanks."
"Put ice on it right away, and get off it!" I instructed.
"Okay. Yes, sir," he replied. Then the door closed, and I left to return to cleaning up my backyard. I had finished, gone in and washed up, and was sitting back in the sunporch between reading and dozing, when I Dr. Dickinsons SUV drove up. He exited quickly, walked over to the tree, and examined numerous smaller limbs that had fallen to the ground where they had been cut, as well as the pile of sawed limbs. Then, he walked into the garage.
A couple of minutes later, I heard shouting from the boys open, bedroom window. "Jonathon! You had the chain saw out didnt you?! Whats wrong with your foot?! Look at it! How did that happen? What did we tell you? You may have broken it! Let me look at that foot! Move it around, up and down, to the sides. Its probably just bruised real good."
"Im sorry, Dad."
"You will be, young man. Sorry doesnt get it. You could have really hurt yourself!. Thats why your mother didnt want you touching the chain saw. You just decided to ignore and disobey, didnt you?" Without waiting for an answer to what was plainly a rhetorical question, he added, "Well, youre going to learn, even if it takes more painful lessons to sink into your rearend."
"No, Dad! No! No! Not the belt! Noooo, please! Not the belt! Not the bellllllllllt!!!!"
I heard a scuffle, and suddenly Jonathon burst out the front door, limping and hopping in his flipflops, racing over into my yard. He crouched down, hiding behind large azaleas around the open windows of my sunporch. Dr. Dickinson came out the front door and stood looking around to ascertain where the boy had fled. Just as he began looking and walking toward my yard, I spoke to the hiding young man.
"Whats going on, Jonathon?" I asked softly. He jumped up, startled, and turned around to stare at me looking through the window at him. In just that moment, Dr. Dickinson spied his stepson, and pounced on him. He grabbed the young man around the waist, scooping him up, upside down, off the ground, head and arms hanging down, butt and legs facing forward.
"Oooooo-noooooooo, Daaaad!" Jonathon moaned his opposition. But his stepfather did not hesitate. Carrying the dangling young man, he trod back across to his own yard. As Jonathon wriggled and kicked to try to get loose, Dr. Dickinson pummeled the seat of the upended young mans shorts. WHAUMP! WHAUMP! WHAUMP! WHAUMP! . . . And the chastened young man soon stopped fighting against being transported involuntarily in his stepfathers grip.
To my surprise -- and obviously Jonathons -- Dr. Dickinson did not carry his stepson straight into the house. Instead, reaching a large, long limb that stretched out along the ground, he sat down on it, depositing the hanging young man across his knees. Immediately, he yanked down the basketball shorts and boxers, baring the overhanging boys backside. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! . . . he peppered the boys bare behind.
Jonathon again began kicking his legs. His flipflops dropped off his feet, and his shorts and boxers flew off again onto the ground. Dr. Dickinson reached down, picked up one of the flipflops, and began wielding it briskly and sharply all over the young mans exposed buttocks and thighs. Jonathon shrieked from accumulating embarrassment and pain. "Aaaaaa! Ow! Ow! Owww! Uh, nooooooo, Dad! Noooooooooo! Aaaaaieee-ow!" Jonathon shouted. "Ow! Ow! Not out here. I cant taaaaake this! I haaaaaate it! Oh, _s_h_i_t_! Uh, ow! Ow! Oooo, uh, _d_a_m_n_ it! Uh, ow! Uh, oooooo, uh, _d_a_m_n_it! _d_a_m_n_ittohell! Ow-ow-ow! Uh, uh, I need to get away from this place! Ooooooo, uh! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow1 Ooooooooo-ow!"
Jonathons right hand and arm flew back trying to shield his backside from the smarting, fiery spanks. Grabbing the boys arm, and pulling his hand away from the targeted rump, Dr. Dickinson forced it up against the bared back of the young man whose t-shirt had slipped up to his underarms, securing the kid in place on his lap. Plainly aware of what was happening, the young man burst into a fresh flow of tears, weeping helplessly, crying like a child. He protested that the spanking hurt too much to bear; he uttered profuse, repeated apologies and ridiculous promises to always behave from now on, and even proffered pitifully sincere assurances that he had really and truly learned his lesson.
Dr. Dickinson obviously discounted the boys pleas as transparent attempts to end the pain prematurely -- before the lesson has been fully administered and learned. He did not speak. Instead, he intensified the speed and force of the snapping flipflop against the boys butt, intent on demonstrating to his willful son that unbearable pain will continue to be the unavoidable consequence of disobedience. The boy just buck and shrieked through weeping tears.
When Dr. Dickinson did speak, he informed his trounced stepson: "I know what you need, young man. You need your bottom blistered and your naughty mouth washed out with soap. And youre about to get exactly what you need." He continued paddling the boys rearend with the stinging flipflop, while Jonathon screamed and begged and promised, finally capitulating into squalling sobs and gagging gasps.
"Ooooo, uh, yeow! Ow! Ow! Uh, uh, ooooo, uh, nooooo! Im sorry! Im sorry! Uh, Ill, uh, taaaake the belt! Uh, uh, waaaaaa! Dad! Uh, uh, Daaaad! Stop, please! Ooooo, uh, waaaaa! Inside! Uh, ooooo, uh, ooooo, waaaaaa! Uh, uh, ow-ow! Waaaaaaa! Uh, please! Insiiide! Uh-uh-waaaaaa! Ill, uh, taaaaake, uh, the bell, uh, uh, el, uh, uh, elt! Uh-waaaaaaa! Ooooo, just stopit! Uh, uh, waaaaaa! Stopit! Stopit! Uh-uh-uh-puh-uh-leeeez! Oooo, uh, waaaa-uh-aaaaaa! Ill, uh, taaaake, uh, the bellllllt, uh, uh, waaaaaa! Uh, uh, oooooo, uh, ow! Ow! Ow! Uh-uh-uh-waaaaaa-uh! Insiiiiide! Uh, uh, pleeeeez! Uh-uh-waaaaaaaa! Uh, uh, Ill, uh, beee, uh, goooood! Uh, uh, waaaaaaa! I willllll! Uh, uh!"
"Dont worry, boy, youre going to get the belt, inside – after youve had your mouth cleansed good. But right now, this is for rebelling and running away. The rest will be for your bad mouth and for disobeying."
The frenzied young man sobbed and wailed. His not-yet-recovered bottom was again being reddened and warmed harshly by the snapping flipflop that punished him again and again. He bucked and thrashed around violently, unable to escape. He hung, sliding with each swat to his burning bottom, only to be moved back into place by his stepfathers left leg. He shrieked and wailed, choked and gasped, sobbing incoherently while his stepfather administered the chastening correction to him.
Only after a long, sustained, series of whacking with the boys own flipflop, his stepfather stopped. Jonathon hung suspended over his stepfathers knees, bawling unashamedly. When Dr. Dickinson released the young mans right arm, he reached down and lifted Jonathon up to stand on his own feet. The boys arms and hands flew back to his naked, sizzling behind, rubbing and jumping, and with glowing, bare bottom, he raced to the house and in the front door. Dr. Dickinson, stood up, reached down and picked up his stepsons basketball shorts, boxers, and the other flipflop. Then, he marched methodically to the porch and in the front door after Jonathon.
A few minutes later, I heard water running and the sound of Jonathon screaming and crying, followed by choking, gagging sounds. His stepfather had apparently made good on his warning to scrub the young mans mouth out with soap.
After almost 20 minutes of continuous wailing and gagging sounds, interrupted by pleas, apologies, and promises, I heard another sound – a repetitive cracking, followed by screams from Jonathon. I heard another, brief scuffle and then Dr. Dickinson: "Now, you lay on that bed and stay put, young man. You move again, and we will repeat this session again tomorrow night!"
Obviously, Dr. Dickinson was applying the belt to Jonathons blistered bottom with him stretched out on his bed. Over and over the crack of the belt evoked screeching, wailing cries. When this one was over, I could hear the young mans unremitting, uninhibited, loud sobs for an incredibly long while.
"Youre on that bed for the night, Jonathon, – no exceptions. Your mother and I will see you in the morning. Well see if tomorrow can be a better day. In the meanwhile, you can go to sleep thinking about your misbehavior and what it has brought on you. Goodnight." The door was left open for whatever possible breeze there might be, and the young man continued his unabashed bawling for about 15 minutes. After that, there was a sudden silence from his room. Since we still had no power, it was impossible to tell if her ever got up off the bed, or just spent the warm, humid evening and night weeping and then sleeping.
Thursday morning, I tried brewing coffee on my little grill. As I was sipping a cup, I saw Dr. Dickinson and his wife leave for work in their cars. There was no more activity around their house until about 1:30 p. m. At that time, I saw Jonathon seemingly stumbling from the front porch into the yard. He was wearing the same basketball shorts and t-shirt that he had been wearing when chased down and caught by his stepfather yesterday. I noticed his pronounced limping, favoring that foot that had been hit with the sawed limb. He looked around the yard, and began picking up some of the branches and smaller limbs and stacking them at the street. After a while, he stopped, limped back up onto the porch, and sat gingerly down on a chair. He stretched his skinny, long legs out to rest up on the porch rail, and sat there drinking a large, plastic bottle of Mellow Yellow.
After more than another hour, he got up, walked back into the yard, and resumed picking up more of the branches and limbs he had cut the day before, to take to the street. He continued at it steadily until almost 5 p. m. Then he went back in the house, and about a half hour later came back out wearing different basketball shorts and a clean t-shirt, with wet hair. He must have showered in the still-cold water.
Minutes later, his stepfather, Dr. Dickinson, arrived home, and shortly after that, Mrs. Dickinson returned home. Jonathon was firing up the grill when his stepfather arrived, and turned and greeted him with a friendly, if a bit reserved, manner. They began heating up the evenings dinner. About 45 minutes later, my phone rang, and it was Jonathon. "My Mom said to ask you if you want to come over and have dinner with us tonight. The grills cooking, and weve got steaks."
"Steaks?! Wow! You guys are weathering this power outage in style!" I replied. "Thanks. Id love to. Let me bring some beans and chips to eat with the steaks."
"Okay, sure, man," the kid responded. "Well be ready in about 15 minutes."
Ten minutes later, I took over a bowl of barbecued beans and a bag of smoked, onion chips. We all sat out on the porch, as the day diminished into the west, eating, talking, and relaxing. In the +6 years Id lived here, I had never gotten to know my neighbors like this inconvenience had prompted. Over these days I had been at home without power, I had managed to clean up most of the debris in my yard, depositing it in huge piles at the street.
"Our office is still without electricity," I commented, "so, Ill be around still. Tomorrow, Ill start cleaning up the debris still lying around your yard."
"No, thats not necessary," Dr. and Mrs. Dickinson responded. "Weve got a big, strong, young guy here, with nothing but time on his hands, to do that." They looked over at Jonathon and smiled as they spoke.
"Yeah, I can," he interjected. "My foots a lot better already."
"Oh, good," I responded. "I was concerned when that limb you were sawing fell on it," I added, not thinking that I might be stirring up unpleasant embers.
"Did you see it?" Mrs. Dickinson asked.
"Ah, sort of," I replied cautiously. "I saw him cutting the limbs, and then heard him yell when it struck his foot. He was jumping around and limping right away."
"Yeah, well if he touches that chainsaw again, hell be jumping around a lot again, and it wont be from his foot hurting." Dr. Dickinson looked straight at Jonathon, whose face blushed quick, deep crimson.
"Well, we can work together tomorrow, Jonathon," I added.
"Sure," he said.
"But not the chainsaw. You are not to use any chainsaw, Jonathon," his mother spoke up.
"No problem," I assured her. "I will need some help with the size of my chainsaw, but it can wait until tomorrow when youre both home. Weve got plenty to do from both the front and back yards here," I added, looking around the littered yard.
"Sure thing," Dr. Dickinson said. "Ill be here tomorrow, and we can do that then. But theres a lot else that Jonathon can do, and theres no reason for him not to spend his unemployed time getting it all done." Again, he looked over at the obviously embarrassed young man.
"Im sure he – we – will," I reassured him.
That night was difficult sleeping in the warm, humid house, so when early morning came, I got up feeling not rested at all. After another cold shower and shave, and heated coffee, I made my way over to the Dickinsons yard. Their cars were gone, and only Jonathons old truck remained in the driveway. Otherwise, it was a still and quiet as a graveyard.
The kid must be sleeping in, I thought. Having idle time, however, I began pulling and picking up debris and dragging it out to the street. I worked for over 3 hours, raking and dragging debris to the street, until the Dickinsons front yard was beginning to look relatively clean again. As I was looking around to decide whether anything remained to do in the front yard, or to head to the back yard, Dr. Dickinsons SUV drove up. It was Friday, and his office closed at noon.
He stopped in the long driveway, parked, got out, and called to me. He looked around the yard and immediately observed that it was now clean. Then, noting that I was there alone, working, he asked, "Wheres Jonathon?"
"Im not sure," I responded cautiously.
"Has he been out here -- helping?"
I was on the spot. Even though, before this hurricane, I had never heard anything to suggest that corporal punishment was used at the Dickinsons home, in the last few days I had witnessed, first hand, the painful discipline administered by Dr. Dickinson to his young stepson. I did not want to be the cause of more of that. "Not yet, but Im sure . . ."
"Not yet?!" he interrupted me. He looked around again at the emptied yard and the long, large piles of debris, and declared, "Youve been working at this for quite a while, and hes not been out here helping once?"
"It hasnt been that long," I hedged, "and theres plenty more in the backyard, Im sure."
"Of course there is," Dr. Dickinson agreed with me, "but that doesnt account for why that young, strong boy has not been out here working." His face became somber and his lips tightened flat, as he turned and walked away from me to the front door. Unlocking it, he opened it and walked in, closing it firmly behind him. Of course, with the windows open, I could hear most everything that was said and took place.
"Jonathon!" Dr. Dickinson shouted, storming into the boys bedroom in the front immediately to the side of the living room and front door.
"Whaa-aaat?!" the kids sleepy, startled voice erupted.
"What are you doing in bed still?"
"Whaaa-uht, ah, oooo, aaah, what, ah, time is it?"
"Twelve forty, young man. You were supposed to clean up the yards today -- not leave it for our neighbor to do all the work while you slumber in your bed!"
"Didnt we agree last night that you would do that? Didnt you say that you were going to do that?"
"Aaah, yes, but geeez, Dad, I didnt get to sleep until early this morning, and I just overslept -- thats all."
"Thats all?! Maybe we need to set a bedtime for you again, so you can get up in morning! Our neighbor has done the work you are more than capable of -- and were supposed to do -- while youve slept in bed like a baby! Im more than a little amazed that after the last couple of sessions youve had, youre still not listening and obeying. Whats it going to take, young man?!"
I couldnt see in the window, but Dr. Dickinson must have entered Jonathons room and found him still lying in bed.
"Nooooo, Dad! Let me get up! Ill get up! Ill get up! Illget, aaaaaa, nooooo, uh, nooooo! Not thissss! Agaaaaain! Noooooo! Pleeeez! Im up! Ooooo-ow! Imup! Imup! Oooo-aaaa, Pleeez! Uh, ow! Lemmeup! Lemmeup! Pleeeeeez! . . ."
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
The obvious sound of Dr. Dickinsons hand swatting the bare skin of his stepsons butt could be heard loudly from the bedroom window.
"Ow! Ow! Oooo, uh, ow! Daaaaad! Pleeeez! Stop! Ooooo, uh, ow! Ow! It hurts, ow! It hurts! Ow! Sooooo, uh, baaaaad! Uh, oooooo, uh, ow! Ow! Daaaad! Pleeeez! Im still sore, uh, from, uh-uh, before! Ow! Ow! Staaaahp! Oooooo, uh, ow! Ow! Imup! Imup! Ooooo-ow! Pleeeez! Lemeeup! Lemmeup! Ooooo, ow! Illgetup! Ow! Illgetup! Ooooo, uh, pleeeez! Ow! Lemmeeeeee, uh, ow! Uh, uh, upppppaaaa! Oooooo, ow! Nooooo, uh, mooooor! Oooo, uh, pleeez! Lemmeup! Pleeeez, uh, dad, uh, uh, pleeeez! Ill be goood! Uh, ow! Ow! Oooooo, uh, pleeeez! Illbegood! Illbegood! Ooooo, uh, ow! Ow! Noooo, uh, pleeeez, uh, uh, doooo, uh, nnnt, uh, uh, spaaaaank, uh, meeeee, uh, ooooo, ow! agaaaaaain! Ooooo, pleeeeez! Its, uh, hurrrrtingggha! Uh, uh, sooooo, uh, ow! baaaaad! Uh, uh!"
He was gasping and choking back tears at the gates of his eyes and voice. SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK! . . .
Dr. Dickinsons swats to his stepsons behind got faster and louder, while the boy also begged, pleaded, and promised louder and louder, -- in vain. Then the smacking stopped.
"Aaiaaaaah, uhn-noooooo, Daaaaad! Not thaaaat, uh, gaaaaain! Ooooo, un, ow!"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The sound of a belt snapping against Jonathons bare rearend was now familiar, after hearing it just two days ago! The kid shrieked and screamed, shouting his begging, pleas, promises, and apologies. Then, in only a couple of minutes, he broke, weeping, bawling, sobbing, amidst gagging and pathetically juvenile screams.
"Owww! Ooo, uh, oww! Daaaad! N-noooo, uh! Ooooo, uh, ow-ow-ow! Puh-leeez, uh, Daaaad! Oooo, uh, Im, uh, sorreeeee! Uh, uh, oooo, uh, ow-ow-ow! Realleeee! Ow! I, uh, aaaaam! Dadeeeee! Ooooo, uh, help! Uh, ow! Ow! Uh, pleeeez! No, uh, Ill, uh, beeee, uh, goooood! Ooooo, uh, arrrghuh, uh, ow! Ow! Ow! Ill doooo it! Ow! I WILL! Oooo, uh, ow! Puh-leeez, uh, Daaad, uh, uh, deeeeeee! Ooooo, uh, ow! Ow! Lemmeup! Oooo, uh, Daaaaa-deeeeee! Uh, uh, Daaaaa-deeeee! Pleeeeeez! Illdooooo, uh, uh, waaaaaa, uh, aaaaht, uh, youuuu, uh, uh, huh-aughuh, waaaaaant! Uh, uh, waaaaa! Ill doooo, uh, uh, ow-ow-owaaaaaa! Waaaaaaa-uh-uh-aaaaaht! Oooooo, uh, uh, ow! you, uh, saaaaaay! Uh, ooooo, uh, waaaaaaaaa! Uh, uh, waaaaaaaaa! Uh, waaaaaaaaaa!"
I had walked quietly over into my own front yard, and stood looking at the damage to my garden beds, as I eavesdropped on the third, punishment session I had heard Dr. Dickinson administer to his stepson in a week! The boy was bawling and sobbing unintelligibly, inconsolably as he received another dose of discipline from his stepfather. Eventually, the belt biting the boys backside ended, although Jonathon wailed on uncontrollably. Finally, his squalling began to subside.
"Now, you get yourself over to that corner, young man, and stand there, facing the corner, hands on your head, until I tell you you can move. If you turn around, or leave, youre going back over my lap and that one will be worse than this. Do you understand, Jonathon?"
"Awaaaa, uh, noooaaaa-augh-uh, uh, not thaaaaat tooo! Uh, uh, nooo, uh, waaaaaaa!" he protested.
Instantly, he found himself pulled back over his stepfathers knees who resumed whipping the boys bare behind with the same crackling belt.
"Auhguh, uh, waaaaa! Uh, uh, uh, okaaaaay! Uh, ah, uh, meeeean, uh, y-yessss, sir, I will! I will! I WILLLLL! Uh, uh, pleeeeez, stop!" he stammered with still-weepy sobs.
At that point, I quietly walked into my house, onto the sunporch, and sat down to await the rest of the incident. About 20 minutes later, I heard Dr. Dickinson again. "All right , young man, pull on some clothes and get yourself into the back yard and get it all cleaned up. No need to shower now, until after youve finished. Dont let me catch you even looking like youre being lazy, or youll get another fire lit on your rearend!" I heard the sound of dresser drawers being opened and closed, and then heard somebody in the Dickinsons garage.
I grabbed a not very cold beer, drank it down for refreshment, and then took my gloves and rake back over to the Dickinsons front yard, where I picked up my wheelbarrow. Walking towards the garage, I spied Jonathon, once again in his stereotypical uniform of basketball shorts, t-shirt, and flipflops. "Want some help with the back?" I called out my question.
He jumped, and looked up, startled. "Aaaaah, oh, you scared me," he spoke. His face and eyes were still quite reddened, and he looked like he had been crying.
"Sorry. I just wondered if I could help you clean up the back yard?"
"Ah, sure, ah, help? But you did all the front, ah, . . . ah, alone," he responded.
"Oh, well, Ive got the time and can sure use the benefit of some good, hard, physical work, anyway. How bout it?"
He paused momentarily, then replied, "Oh, uh, kaaaay," he conceded. "Follow me." I did, walking right behind him, pushing my wheelbarrow.
We walked out into the backyard, and it was equally as much a devastated mess as the front yard had been. "Here, lets both rake and then put the piles into the wheelbarrow. When its full, well take it to the front curb. Thats how I did the front."
He smiled a somewhat subdued grin, and agreed. For over an hour we raked up debris and piled it into the wheelbarrow. When it was filled, I picked it up and pushed it out to the front. As I was returning it to the back yard, I heard Dr. Dickinsons voice. "Jonathon! What are you doing?! Standing around back here while our neighbor does all the hard work again?! Did you call him over to help you?! After laying in the bed all morning and letting him clean up the front yard, you ought to be so ashamed youre cringing. Instead, you get him back here to do the lions share of the work?! Im wondering how harsh Ive got to be to get through to you?!"
As just that moment, I returned to the back yard. "Hi, again, Dr., I spoke up. I saw your son and asked him if I could help," I took the initiative to explain. He looked at me, but then declared.
"This strong, young man doesnt need any help, and besides you did the whole front yard when he should have been out there doing it!"
"Well, I dont know anything about that, but I do know that, since Ive got all this time on my hands, and the exercise will only do me good, Im glad to give a hand with this. I hope you dont mind."
At that point, it would have been rude to dismiss my volunteered efforts, so Dr. Dickinson did not argue with me further; but he did speak directly to Jonathon. "Id better not catch you loafing and this good neighbor doing all the work, young man."
"Hes a vigorous, young kid, Dr., Im sure hell work hard." I reassured.
"Hed better, or he knows in for another instructional session tonight." Jonathon flinched slightly, and we all knew subtly what his stepfather meant.
"Okay, lets get to work then," I diverted the conversation, and Jonathon and I returned to picking up debris and piling it in the wheelbarrow, then taking it to the roadwa;y, and doing the same again and again. We were both tired, but done, by 4 p. m. I knew I was ready for another beer, no matter if it was not cold. I toyed with the idea of offering the kid one, but then thought better of it, deciding I should get his stepfathers permission. I knocked on the door, and Dr. Dickinson came out.
"Looks good -- real good," he remarked.
"Good. Im glad," I answered. "Now, after all this, Im ready for a beer to relax and reward myself for all this work -- although its not cold. Want to join me? I was going to offer young Jonathon here one, but wanted to know if that was acceptable to you."
Dr. Dickinson stopped in his tracks, peered slowly at me, then turned to Jonathon. "Is this your idea, Jonathon?"
"Nooooo, Dad. He mentioned it -- thats all. I swear it."
"Its true," I interjected. "If I was wrong to do that, I apologize. Thats why I wanted to ask you about it."
"Alright, then," Dr. Dickinson relented. "But, if its all the same, I think Jonathon will pass on the beer. If youve got something else, non-alcoholic, for him, thats okay."
"Well, as we all know, nothing is cold anymore, but I do have some bottles of Powerade, if thatll do."
"Jonathon?!" his stepfather spoke sharply to him. "Whatdya say, boy?"
"Yes, sir. Sure. Thanks. Thatd be great."
"Okay, then, follow me over my garage where Ive got a bunch stored," I directed, and they both walked with me. I opened a beer, offered one to Dr. Dickinson, and handed Jonathon a plastic bottle of Powerade. We stood there and talked for more than an hour, and it was after 5 p. m. when they left. I went in to clean up from a long days physical work. Afterwards, I went back over and ate more hot dogs and beans, still cooked on the grill, with potato chips. The Dickinsons were, as usual, very friendly, and Jonathon waited on me at the direction of his mother and stepfather.
Later, we went out onto their screened back porch, and played ping pong. Jonathon versus his stepfather, Jonathon versus me, Dr. Dickinson versus me. At one point in the game between Jonathon and me, there was doubt about a return from Jonathon, that he called in, but I disputed. Standing alongside the table, Dr. Dickinson connected his paddle solidly to the seat of Jonathons basketball shorts.
"OOOOOOWWWWW! Dad, STOP IT!" the kid exploded, immediately dropping his paddle, rubbing his bottom, and looking at his stepfather through instantaneously teary eyes, mixed with pain and fear. It was obvious the reason this single swat evoked such a reaction was because of the recent spankings his butt had endured.
"Stop cheating, Jonathon!" Dr. Dickinson commanded.
"Okay! Okay!" the boy quickly conceded, still rubbing his rump. Then he turned back, picked up his paddle, and stared across the table towards me with a noticeably changed, chastened look. As it turned out. without cheating, Jonathon won anyway.
When we had finished our games, we returned to their porch to sit and watch the sunset go down. Then I said I was going to turn in early, since there was nothing but candlelight inside, and the county-wide curfew was still in effect.
Saturday morning, I got up, took my chain saw over to the Dickinsons and drank their freshly brewed coffee, and then began with Dr. Dickinson sawing the large limbs and trunk of the fallen oak. Jonathon was out with us, picking up pieces that fell as we cut them, and dragging them to the road. By late Saturday afternoon, we had completed the job, and the Dickinsons yard, minus the fallen tree, looked impeccably clean.
Mrs. Dickinson had gone to the supermarket and brought back steaks and potatoes, which they cooked on the grill. Invited once again, I was not shy to accept and eat hungrily the delicious meal. Afterwards, Dr. Dickinson spoke up: "Want to go back out on the porch and play some more ping pong?"
"Sure -- if Jonathon doesnt cheat," I replied jokingly.
"Hed better not -- or hell find out those paddles can have another use!"
The kid looked down, blushing a deep, crimson color. "Im sure thatll keep it all honest," I answered, trying to turn the conversation from the subject I had mindlessly wandered into. We played several sets of games, and then again enjoyed the sunset. I thanked them and headed back to my house, and soon afterwards to my bed. I was exhausted from the recent, physical labor to which I had become unaccustomed.
The next morning, Sunday morning, the electrical power was reconnected, and immediately we all began to put our former lives back together. A couple of weeks later, on a Saturday morning, when I was outside edging, and I saw Dr. and Mrs. Dickinson. "Howdy, neighbors," I called. They came over and talked for a bit.
I asked how Jonathon was, and they told me he had left about 3 days earlier to drive out to Colorado. "He left to go live with my brother and work for him." Mrs. Dickinson explained. "He thought we were too strict and kept too tight a reins on him, so he decided to do that. Talk about from the frying pan into the fire. Hell be lucky if he ends up being taken over my brothers knees only once or twice a week. My brother is as tough as nails. He raised four boys of his own, and he doesnt put up with anything. Jonathon doesnt want to realize that – yet. He thinks hell get off easier with his uncle. Hes in for a shock -- real quick!"
"Maybe hell come back," I suggested.
"Maybe so. I wouldnt be at all surprised if he does," Dr. Dickinson answered. "The boy has a hard time just following orders and obeying. If he does that, hell avoid a lot of trouble. Anyway, if he does come back, hes got his home here; but hes still got to do what hes told – or else."
"I understand fully," I replied. "I raised two boys of my own, and they were a handful, even into college years."
"Then you know," Mrs. Dickinson spoke up.
Less than four months later, I spotted a familiar, old truck parked in the Dickinsons driveway. It was Christmastime, and it looked like Jonathon may have come home for the holidays. A few days later, he walked out of the garage, carrying a rake, pushing a lawnmower, preparing to clean out some garden beds. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with old running shoes, It was as if he had never gone away, and nothing had changed -- almost.
After the New Year, however, he did not return to Colorado.. His old truck was at his mothers and stepfatherst home throughout the spring and summer; and into the next fall. In the springtime, when we all have our windows open to enjoy the temperate daytime climates, and the cool nightime air, once again I heard another disciplinary session from Dr. Dickinson to Jonathon.
Apparently, he had not done something he had been told to do, and then tried to act like he didnt have to. I could hear the shrieking and bawling, and all of the sobbing pleas, promises, and apologies all over again, before Jonathons bedroom light suddenly went out, probably indicating that his stepfather had once more sent him to bed after being punished. The next fall, in October, I overheard another, similar incident. Always, Jonathon would end up saying how much he hated receiving spankings, and needed to get away, but he never returned to Colorado.