The first time I recall receiving a proper chastisement was in the year 1974. I was a lively child, always brimming with energy and a ready smile. I was my mother’s youngest, arriving several years after my siblings, and, as it happened, I had a different father as well.
When I was still quite young, my mother experienced a religious awakening and became a devout Christian. The church she attended was rather small and not particularly accommodating to children: there were no special services for the young, no Sunday school, merely the children seated amongst the adults during the sermon.
The pastor, a man in his forties, was a rather stern fellow who did not seem to care for children. After one particularly tedious sermon, during which I had grown so restless that I slid to the floor and began crawling beneath the pews, he took my mother aside and advised her to discipline me. She later told me she had inquired whether he meant a single smack, but he had something more in mind.
I soon discovered precisely what he intended when we returned home. My recollection is somewhat hazy, for I was very young, but I remember Mother taking me to my room and sitting on my small bed. Her knees were raised at an angle, as the bed was so low. She scolded me, and I wept, then she drew me across her lap.
Mother administered several firm smacks, and I cried out. Afterwards, she embraced me and attempted to recite a passage from the Bible, though she was not yet well-versed in scripture. As she did so, I remember the stinging sensation lingering.
The following year, it was my sister Susan’s birthday. Since the pastor’s advice, Susan had only been disciplined once, and I believe she felt almost immune to such treatment.
For her birthday, she had a magician perform at her party (an event for which the pastor later reproved Mother, as he disapproved of such entertainments). After her friends departed, Susan became quite disagreeable, upset that she had not received a particular gift.
Mother was more patient than usual, given the occasion, but eventually Susan was sent to the bedroom she shared with our sister Linda. Susan marched upstairs and remained there, while Mother grew increasingly vexed.
This incident did not end well for me. I requested a slice of birthday cake before tea, but was refused. I began to protest, but Mother swiftly intervened. Perhaps frustrated by Susan’s behaviour, she took her annoyance out on me, and I soon found myself across her lap, receiving a rather severe chastisement. I recall it was more painful than before, and I nearly managed to wriggle free.
I only found myself in trouble at school once, in 1976, when I was six years old. During luncheon in the hall, I took a packet of crisps from another boy’s lunchbox. He noticed and began to cry, and a dinner lady soon discovered the cause. The crisps were returned, but the matter was reported to a teacher, who telephoned my mother at her place of work.
Upon returning home, I was in utter disgrace. I was sent directly to my room and told to change into my pyjamas. I began to play with my building blocks, but Mother heard me, came upstairs, and instructed me to get into bed. I was only permitted to leave for necessary reasons.
I was rather bored, but soon fell asleep. When I awoke, it was growing dark. My siblings were home, assisting Mother with dinner or doing their homework at the kitchen table. My stomach rumbled, and I began to cry, but Mother did not come.
It was nearly bedtime when she finally entered my room, carrying a tray with a sandwich and a glass of milk, which she placed on the floor near the door.
Mother then instructed me to move a pillow to the centre of the bed and lie over it. I realised she intended to discipline me, though the position was unfamiliar, and I began to cry. Nevertheless, I obeyed, knowing that resistance would only make matters worse.
I do not recall the exact number of smacks, but I believe there were more than usual, though perhaps not as forceful. The stinging soon became unbearable, and the punishment continued until I simply lay there, weeping, no longer struggling.
When it was over, Mother recited a passage from the Bible concerning theft, which made me cry afresh, fearful of damnation. She then sat me on her lap (which was uncomfortable), and fed me my sandwich and milk. I was put back to bed and soon fell asleep.
The next day, I was required to apologise to the boy in front of the class. I found this somewhat confusing, as I had already apologised the previous day, and it was not nearly as humiliating as the punishment at home.
In 1977, Mother met David, who would become my stepfather. My sisters Susan and Linda, and my brother Michael, all took to David immediately, but I felt rather jealous, perceiving him as an interloper. David was a member of our church, and we had known him in passing, but the pastor asked him to assist Mother with some repairs, and they soon became close.
David had a son, Peter, a year older than I. I liked Peter very much, but he lived with his mother most of the time, so we only saw him on alternate weekends and during school holidays once David moved in. Peter and I shared a bedroom, and eventually we had bunk beds so he had a proper place to sleep. Mother and David remain together to this day, and Peter and I are still close.
Not long after Peter and I first met, he visited with his father one day. Mother had been called away unexpectedly, and David offered to look after us (and, to a lesser extent, my elder siblings).
Peter and I were playing when David asked us to tidy our toys so he could vacuum for Mother. I refused at once, and Peter, perhaps emboldened by my defiance, did the same. David raised an eyebrow and said, “Clear them up, or I shall be obliged to punish you.” I was undeterred, for I did not consider David to have any authority over me, and Peter supported me.
In response, David lifted me and carried me over his shoulder, instructing Peter to go to my bedroom. Peter, now looking rather anxious, obeyed, while I struggled to escape.
Once in my room, David closed the door, sat on my bed, and placed me over his knee. I resisted, but received the most severe chastisement of my life thus far. David’s hand was much heavier than Mother’s, and I could not help but cry.
When he had finished, David sent me to sit at my homework desk on the hard wooden chair, then disciplined his own son in a similar manner.
Afterwards, David left the room briefly and returned with an ottoman and the family Bible. He seated me on the ottoman, Peter on the chair, and himself on the bed. He then read us a lengthy passage from the Bible, though I remember none of it. When he finished, he embraced us both and told us to tidy up. We did so without delay.
In 1978, our newly blended family went on a package holiday to Spain. Peter and I had our own room, though it was attached to Mother and David’s. The girls and Michael had an adjoining suite. It all seemed very grand, especially the abundance of food. Peter and I indulged in several ice creams each day for the entire fortnight.
The holiday did not begin well. Peter and I were noisy and excitable on the aeroplane, as it was a novel experience, and both David and Mother promised us a punishment once we reached the hotel. Even Susan was warned that she was not too old for such discipline, though she had not received it in some time, and never would again.
Upon checking in, Peter and I hoped our parents would forget their threat, but they did not. Susan, Linda, and Michael were sent to the pool with their swimming costumes and towels. Peter and I also changed into our swimming trunks, but our experience was to be rather less comfortable than theirs.
In our small room, Mother sat on one bed and David on the other, and the rest, as they say, is history.
