Spank Me Baby!
Monday, November 8, 2010 at 7:37AM Spanking… Some do it, some don’t.
But at some point in your parental lives you’ll be forced to make that decision. And even after you make that decision those little bastards will push you so far that you might just re-think it.
Now, I’m not even about to stand proud on my soap box, pound my chest and make a public stance on this issue.
Instead, I’m going to guide you on a little jaunt back-in-time to my childhood to discuss wooden spoon, hair brushes, and belts – oh my!
Why? Because my parents were huge believers of spanking.
My mother was a wooden spoon kind of lady. It was her weapon of choice.
Originally my brother and I thought she mistakenly grabbed one while reaching for a knife, but now we’re pretty confident the stealth speed of the spoon as it sliced through the air, landing effortlessly on our young butt’s just milliseconds before we dodged her thrashing arm was what sold our mother on the dreaded spoon of wood.
Regardless, she was a ninja master with it.
And no matter what room in the house we were in, there was always a wooden spoon hidden somewhere:
- Bathroom spraying water on my brother as he brushed his teeth – WHAP! a wooden spoon across the ass.
- Watching cartoons with my brother and accidentally saying “shit” loud enough for my mother to hear – WHAP! a wooden spoon across the legs and bar of Lava soap in the mouth.
- Mumbling under my breath “I hate you and wish you were dead” after my mother spanked me with a wooden spoon – (sound effect of spoon flying through the air like a throwing star) WHAP! a wooden spoon on the back.
She had skills.
Every now and then my brother (@ibeenorm on Twitter) and I would push her to the point where we’d turn and find her frazzled, raging, and holding a single wooden spoon in hand donning a “let’s dance motherfuckers!” look on her face.
Our reaction was always to put our hands behind our butts and scatter in opposite directions. It was our impulse.
And like a true lioness she always went after the weaker, slower one. But looking back, the smart move would have been to let her hit me first every time because once the initial hunt was over, she would then call the other kid who got away and he’d have to stand there and take it.
Afterward, we’d inevitably end up in the bathroom, bent over comparing black-and-blue wooden spoon marks on each other’s asses to see who would be declared the gold in Olympic Wooden Spoon Dodging.
My father? His weapon of choice was the blue hair brush or a belt. And to make matters worse, he was a lazy spanker.
He was a do-it-yourself vicious spanking machine. All that was required was a crying, shaking child and a weapon.
Many-a-time he’d come home, look at my report card, scream and yell, then say the words we always dreaded to hear: “go get the hairbrush.”
There was no need to argue, no need to negotiate…you were about to get your ass beat.
So you make the long walk up the stairs, sniffling, kicking yourself for being in this situation, and making last minute pleas with any god who will listen that he “please slam our house with a massive meteorite stat!!”
I’d slowly walk back in, hand him the brush and then wait for the second most-hated phrase to be uttered: “take down your pants and underwear.”
The humility of having to drape yourself over your father’s knee, bare-ass sticking in the air, waiting for all hell to break loose was enough to make you want to become a saint for the rest of your life.
But we never learned our lessons. Despite the knowledge of our mother hoarding at least three-dozen wooden spoons sporadically around the house, and our father’s keenness to play our bare-asses like a snare drum with his hairbrush, my brother and I continued to raise holy hell.
We continued to take lashings over the years for some of the dumbest things we had under our control to just simply not do. We were like moths to a flame.
Even today when I’m walking through a store and see a wooden spoon on display I have the sudden urge to pop my brother on the back of the head and call him a “punk.”
Reader Comments (22)
My dad was more of a "would you like the black belt or brown belt?" kind of guy. My mom was into the wooden spoons. Back then it was accepted and encouraged to spank your kids with stuff. Now kids have CPS on speed dial on their iPhones. Times have changed my friends. Shit...
I was about to ask if you flinch at the sight of a wooden spoon, or if they were banned in your house, but you just torture your brother with it. That's great.
Thankfully, I was in a wooden spoon-smacking free zone growing up. Kids today have it easy.
Yeah, mine were pro spanking as well. Weapon of choice? Paint sticks....the ones you stir paint with?! It always sat next to my father at the dinner table. If the stick wasn't available, the belt. Mom would just use her hand. My husband's mom was the hairbrush Nazi. Or washcloth..whatever she had in her hand at that moment.
So you've never developed a twitch when you came across a wooden spoon, huh? That takes great mind suppression!
Yet, somehow we survived.... I don't agree with abuse, obviously, but a good spanking everyonce in a while doesn't hurt. I remember my mom getting me ONCE. What ever I did, I never did it again.
(Do you remember when it was perfectly ok for strangers/neighbors/teachers to yank you up and beat your ass for being bad... THOSE were the days!)
I got hit with anything that was in reach of my parents. A belt, a bottle of empty scotch. You name it. My mom once threw a phone at me. Yes back in the 1980's she threw a phone at me. Not one of these light phones, this phone was the heavy phone that you had to get from the phone company type of phone.
I was lucky in that I never got spanked, not even once, growing up. Both my older and my younger sister did. There's only two possibilities for this: either I was smart enough to see what got them in trouble and avoid doing it, or (more likely) I knew enough not to get caught doing the same things. Also, I'm pretty sure the only weapon used was my mom's hand so both sisters are fully capable of using household items without fear.
My mom got a certain look in her eyes and I knew that soon my ass would burn. Ive been told by my children I have *that* look too.
This kind of follows my most recent experience at the supermarket... I wrote about it in my blog today.
Great post daddy. This explains why you have a dom on speed dial and your safety word is "SPATULA!"
I love when you tell childhood stories. Your words conjure up vivid imagery putting the reader right there with you. I totally felt like I saw you drop your underwear ;)
This whole post just made me really sad. :(
My mom was the disciplinarian in our home, and she liked the flyswatter. She also used both ends. I remember moving and finding the flyswatters that we hid everywhere. They were in the couch, behind the fridge, under mattresses, in the linen closet, and in the boxes of old baby clothes. It seems that every time we went to the store, she was replenishing her stock. I can remember her trying to decide which end to use, the soft, stingy side or the wire end that would leave the welts. ......
My mom was the disciplinarian in our house and she appreciated the fly swatter. Luckily for my brother and me, she wasn't very good at the chase, and quite often she'd give up before she caught us. I viewed it more as a game.
I rarely spank my kids. I could count on one hand how many times it's gotten to that point. Lying and stealing are the only reasons I deem a spanking necessary, and my little ones choose to tell the truth and face the lesser consequences, usually.
My sadistic father made fraternity style paddles in his basement wood shop. He varnished them and hung them on the wall. We weren't allowed down there unless we were sent to "pick one." I avoid words like "never" and "always" when it comes to raising kids, but they will definitely never get hit with objects.
We had democracy in our house. It was either the hand or the belt and you had to choose. And believe me, they both stung. But I will say this. Everytime I got it, I deserved it. The one and only time I sassed my dad, man, I tell ya. I never saw that hand coming. Just pain emminating from my lips. You can bet your sweet ass I never sassed him again.
Laughed until tears ran down my face. Can totally relate. Thanks for a huge laugh!
I spank my son. Granted he's only 2, so there's no "weapon" as you put. It's a simple pop on his butt or hand. And also got spankings when I was younger. And of course when I was younger I always screamed that it was child abuse. But I certainly think there is a difference between abuse & discipline. but since your post isn't about that I won't go into all of that.
I will say that my Dad used to use this thick black belt he called "The magnum" and me & my sister would hide it all the time. I hated that thing.
wooden spoon or even a twig from the willow tree was my moms lmao my dad would say wait till ur mom got home so he didnt have one
santa one year got each of us kids a wooden spoon with our intials on it go figure right
LOL! My mom used wooden spoons. Dad the belt. Never helped. I used fly swatters on mine. USED...they're grown up now. They don't seem to have any issues. Me or my sisters either.
love it bro! I was spanked w/ whatever was in my dads reach! I wrote a post today at www.epicparent.tv, that offers a bit of a different solution than spanking...its a bit irrational, but check it out if you have time! love the post!
I seriously thought our mom was the only "Wooden Spoon Ninja" on the planet. I swear she carried one in her purse.
My older brother still cringes when he sees one, and won't let his wife have one in the house. I solved that problem. I gave them one for xmas. :)
I'm a great sister.
Well, it just goes to show you, spanking or not spanking kids are gonna act out. I'm sorry you are traumatized by wooden spoons.