As I had mentioned in my previous tales of pain, I became most acquainted with frequent corporal punishment at the age of fourteen. This is the tale of the first time that the decision was made to whip me as a teenager--and how my back talk made things all the worse for me.
I'll never forget the date--November 29, 1968--just 23 days after my fourteenth birthday and slightly more than a week after my first paddling at school with the Butt Buster. I thought that I was way too big to be whipped at home--just at six feet tall--and I was too old to be expected to be seen and not heard. It was also the day after Thanksgiving--and boy was I tired of turkey. I remember the time--just a little after 6pm--and we were all gathered around the dining room table--dinner was about to be served. My mother brought in a casserole dish filled with some kind of turkey casserole. Now, to me, the leftover Thanksgiving turkey was supposed to be used to make sandwiches, not something with mushrooms and sour cream, and all sorts of vegetables...
My response, "What is this Crap?"--suddenly silence at the table, or I should say silence except for my father's chair moving back and him getting up faster than I had ever seen him move before.
He grabbed me from the table by my arm and pulled me out of my chair and began to push me towards the stairs--and then he pushed me up the stairs so that I was crawling and crying all of the way up. Finally, at the door to my bedroom he pushed me so that I flew face down onto my bed--all the while, he was firmly informing me that I needed to quit acting like a jerk.
As I got off of the bed, angry...how dare he embarrass me by pulling me from the table, I looked at him and he said, "You just plan to stay in this room the rest of the night--I don't want to hear another sound out of you today!"
My response, "All RIGHT! BUT YOU JUST QUIT YELLING AT ME!"
Dad grabbed my arm, saying, "I'm not going to do anymore yelling," and he pulled me back over by the foot of my bed--again facing the bed. I thought for sure that he was going to push me onto the bed again, but he surprised me. "Bend your bottom over the foot of this bed, and wait for me while I go get my belt."
As I positioned myself in the appropriate manner, kneeling and putting my face on the surface of the bed--shocked that he would even consider doing this, I said, "I suppose now that you want me to pull my pants down."
Now, a little background. I come from a family where the preferred method of punishment of a seriously misbehaving child had always been five or six lashes laid across the seat of the offender's pants with a belt. My father had never before required us to bare our bottoms prior to punishment. The honest truth is that even through pants and underpants, the belt would seriously redden a bad boy's butt, and I assure you would be a memorable experience.
But now, again my smart mouth had made things worse for me. "I think that's a _d_a_m_n_ good idea. Pull them down, and while you're at it--don't forget your underpants." I was even more shocked, and slowly loosened my pants and pulled them down to my knees--scared and dreading whatever happened next. It seemed that he was gone for an eternity--leaving me to my thoughts and regrets--but shortly, he was back, belt doubled over.
"Stick your bottom back a little further." I could feel the stretched skin across my backside, realizing that I could not twitch the spread cheeks.
The first lash came down--snapping and biting into my bottom. "OOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!!" I began to scream and bawl holding my hands together to keep from reaching back to rub--a no no.
I pleaded and screamed and choked on my tears and promised and begged--all to no avail as cowhide met boyhide ten times--leaving my bottom cheeks striped from the strap, and my face cheeks striped from the hot tears. Finally it was over, and ashamed and crying, I stood up.
"Your smart mouth has upped the ante for you, young man. From now on, you will pull down your pants before I whip you--and maybe it will help you learn how to behave and treat the other members of this family. Now, you go brush your teeth, and go to bed. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir." It was hard to talk as the tears mixed with snot running down my face. I walked to the bathroom while Dad went back down to dinner. I should say that I slid my feet to the bathroom, feeling uncomfortable moving my throbbing buttocks, and after brushing my teeth, I looked at the damage in the mirror and came to realize how easy I had had it before, and how easy my siblings still had it by getting it with pants up instead of down.
I went to sleep cursing myself for being such a smartass, and promising that I would never have to go through anything like that again--but of course, that was a promise that I didn't keep. There is a lot more to tell about when I was fourteen.