I still remember the last time my Dad ever spanked me. I had been twelve years old at the time. It was the beginning of summer break, and he had given me specific orders on what time to be home. I wasn't a bad kid at that age, with a striaght-A report card and excellent behavior. Usually my father was quite lenient with me, letting me stay out late with my friends and letting me have quite a lot of freedom for a boy my age. He had wanted me home by 9 pm because we were making the long drive across a couple of states the next day to visit my grandparents.
When I walked in the door at nine-forty, I found my father waiting in the living room. "Where were you???" he demanded. I'd never seen him so angry.
"I was outside playing," I replied, somewhat frightened at his harsh tone.
"What time did I ask you to be home?"
"Nine o'clock..." I replied. He turned me towards the large grandfather clock.
"What time is it, now, Raine?" he asked me.
"Nine forty five," I answered. "I'm sorry Dad...Steven and I were outside and..."
"Raine, I asked you to be home at a specific time for a reason. We're waking up early tomorrow to go to Grandma and Grandpa's house. I want you to go to your room and go to bed. Starting right now, you're grounded for the month of July."
"A whole MONTH???" I asked. "That's not fair!!!"
"Young man, when I ask you to be home at a certain time, I mean it. Is that understood? You go to your room and get to bed. NOW!" I was angry. I ran up to my bedroom and slammed my door so hard the walls shook. Then I heard the sound of my dad's boots on the stairs. My door flew open as quick as a flash, and my father walked right over to me, removing his belt from his pants at the same time. Now there's something I should tell you about my father. He isn't typically this angry. In fact, this is the first time he'd ever been rough with me since I had been about 8 years old. The ONE THING my father couldn't stand was a slamming door. Once when my older brother Danny was 13, my father RIPPED the door off it's hinges for him slamming it, saying that "If you don't know how to treat your door, then you'll go without it for a while." Needless to say, Danny never slammed another door in the house again. My father wrapped his arms around my torso and had me over his lap in a flash. I felt my jeans and underwear being pulled off my legs and my bare backside raised in mid-air.
"Raine Michael Sinclair," Dad said to me. "We do NOT slam doors in this house. Not EVER. Is that understood???"
"I'm sorry Dad," I said.
"I know you are, son, but we're going to make sure you don't forget." With that, the first smack landed on my bare backside and I yelped a little. He whacked my bare bottom about ten times with his hand, and I was surprised that I didn't cry. I suppose he wasn't really hitting me that hard. And then my father picked up his belt.
"Five more with the belt," he said. "Just to make sure it's fresh in your memory." I screamed when the belt connected with my tender backside, and by the end of the five smacks with the belt, I was sobbing uncontrollably. He stood me in front of him and dressed me in my pajamas. He then gathered me into his lap and hugged me, just like when I was little. He told me he wasn't going to ground me for a month, that I'd taken my punishment like a good boy. He placed me into my bed and tucked me in before turning out the lights and leaving my room. Needless to say, I slept on my stomach that night.
The next day in the car, my father gave me a cushion to sit on. There were still marks on my backside from the previous night's spanking. That was the last time my father ever punished me physically, although there were numerous times he threatened me with the belt when I was a teenager.
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