On a recent visit back home, we were sitting around one evening talking about the good ol' days. My younger brother Todd and I began reminiscing with my parents about growing up in our small West Texas hometown, a town founded on old-fashioned ideas and traditions.

Todd and I talked about our days at Madison High School and its strict code of conduct. We remembered the teachers we liked and those we didn't. We remembered our classes and the friends we made there.

We also relived some of the mischievous pranks we pulled in high school and the trouble we found ourselves in afterward. Like the time Todd skipped school to go to the lake. Or the time I got caught smoking a cigarette in the boys' room and almost started a fire in the process.

We both had been hauled into the principal's office on numerous occasions in high school, where we found ourselves on the receiving end of a severe paddling from Mr. Jones, our principal.

Of course, the punishments we received at school were nothing in comparison to what awaited us at home. Dad and mother both had made it clear to us that if we got in trouble at school, we would get it again when we got home ‹ only worse.

Todd and I could still remember quite vividly the punishments we received from our parents. All the time we spent standing in the corner waiting for our father to come home and all the time we spent across his knees while he applied the belt, or, if we'd really been bad, the paddle, to our naked bottoms.

As we sat around the kitchen table that night, remembering our teen years, my mind kept wandering back to that unforgettable weekend when I was 16. My parents had trusted me by leaving me home alone that weekend, and I had let them down by doing something so foolish as having a party and getting drunk. It was lucky that no one got hurt that night.

My mother and father never knew what went on that weekend. I was able to get everything cleaned up and sober up before they returned. They probably never would have known what happened that weekend either had I only kept quiet.

I was now 25 years old and had kept the secret all those years. But my conscience had bothered me all those years, too as I had lived with the guilt over what went on that night. Sitting there that night, I knew I had to set things straight.

My parents had been enjoying listening to Todd and me talk about our devious acts, even laughing at our pranks. Maybe they wouldn't be too upset.

"Mom, Dad, I have a confession to make," I began.

"What is it, Lyle?" Mom asked.

That's when I began to tell them the whole story.

"Remember that weekend that you went to cousin Carol's wedding and you left me here?"

"Yes, I remember that weekend," Mom said. "That was such a beautiful wedding."

"Well, I know you told me not to have anyone over while you were gone, but I . . . sort of . . . had a party that night," I continued. "And there was some drinking. A lot of drinking actually. And some smoking, and things kind of got out of hand."

The mood in the kitchen suddenly turned serious and somber. My parents looked like they were in shock. Even Todd couldn't believe what he was hearing. I hadn't even told him about that weekend, and I told him everything.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Dad said after sitting in silence for several minutes. "Don't you know how stupid that was. Someone could've been hurt."

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry. I know it was stupid."

"Why are you telling us this now?" Mom asked.

"I don't know really. I've just felt so guilty about it all this time. I had to tell you. I know you're disappointed."

"Yes, Lyle, we are disappointed," Dad said. "I thought we had taught you better. But I am glad you finally told us."

I was, too. Somehow, I thought confessing would take away the guilt. But it didn't. I still felt as guilty as I ever had. Maybe more so because now my parents not only knew I had disobeyed them, but that I had lied, too. I had told them no one came to the house while they were gone. I still felt a tremendous guilt, and I knew of only one sure way to get rid of that guilt.

"Dad," I began again. I swallowed hard. The next part was going to be even harder than my confession.

"Yes, son, what is it?" Dad asked.

"I still feel guilty after all these years," I said. "I feel bad not just about the party, but for lying to you and Mom."

"Well, I'm sorry you've had to torture yourself all this time, but I don't know what I can do about it now. You brought this on yourself," he said.

"I know," I continued. This was it. I had to say it. "Dad, I think I would feel a whole lot better if you would just punish me . . . you know, like you used to."

Todd's eyes got big. He knew what I was asking.

"Lyle, are you saying you want me to give you a spanking?" Dad asked, not believing what he was hearing.

"It sure would make me feel better," I said.

Dad sat there for a minute, looking over at mom who had been quiet, too. Finally, Dad gave a deep sigh.

"All right, son," he said finally. "Go pick me out a belt!"

Dad always made Todd and me go get the belt he used to spank us. It was almost the hardest part, but this time I didn't hesitate. I quickly got up from the table and headed down the hallway to Dad's bedroom. My heart was pounding fiercely. I couldn't believe I had asked for this. What was I thinking?

I opened the closet door and saw Dad's belts hanging there. Memories came flooding back. I carefully selected one of his thick leather straps from the row of belts. I grabbed it and quickly went back to the kitchen.

Dad was still just sitting there. I handed him the belt and waited for my instructions. He sat there for a moment longer. It was almost as if he had forgotten what to do with it. Then, he began to spring into action.

"Lyle, are you sure you know what you're asking for here?" Dad asked. "Because if I'm going to this, we're going to do it exactly like when you were a boy. And once we get started, there'll be no changing your mind. So are you sure this is what you want?"

I gulped. "Yes, sir, I'm sure," I said.

"Very well then," he said. Dad stood up and began to pull the chair into the center of the room. Mom and Todd, meanwhile, just sat there, not believing what they were seeing.

"All right, Lyle," Dad said as he motioned for me to take my place behind the chair. "Son, I want you to pull your pants down."

My eyes got as big as saucers. I had forgotten this part, but now it was all coming back to me. Dad always spanked Todd and me bare-bottom. No exceptions.

My face turned beet red. Mom would see my naked bottom! It was too late to go back now.

Without delay, I unbuttoned the snap on my jeans and pulled them down, trying not to look at my mother. I looked at Todd with a sheepish grin as I stood to face my younger brother in my underwear.

Todd had seen me get a spanking before, and it was always humiliating having him see me in such a embarrassing position.

"I'm waiting," Dad said.

I slowly lowered my underwear and let them fall down to my ankles. I was so embarrassed.

Dad then ordered me to bend over. I walked over and stretched my body across the back of the kitchen chair.

In this position, I was completely defenseless. With my bottom up in the air, my balls and hole were all exposed. Dad walked over and raised my shirttail out of the way. My heart was beating fiercely as I waited, anticipating the first powerful strike. I heard a loud "snap," the sound of the belt being doubled over as Dad approached.

Then, without warning, Dad raised the belt and brought it down right in the center of my bottom, creating an even louder "snap" as the belt met my bare flesh. The first strike hit the center of my butt. I gulped as I tried to maintain composure.

The second lick was a bit lower, landing on the tender flesh of my thighs; while the third lick was a little higher than the first.

The first three lashes seemed relatively light from what I remembered, but after the fourth and fifth swats, my butt was really beginning to sting.

A familiar feeling of pain quickly began to set in. Even in his 60s, Dad still delivered the hardest thrashing I'd ever felt from a belt. The next six swats came down fast and furious. It was then that I started to cry.

With each blow, the temptation to grab my butt was stronger and stronger, but I knew better than to leave that position until I was instructed to do so.

The next two strokes were right on the "crease," but the following lick landed right on my balls. I let out a shriek, clutching my sore balls frantically. Dad waited until I had sufficiently recovered.

I was now weeping openly. I couldn't help it. A mere dozen lashes had reduced a 25-year-old man to a crying baby.

I clung onto the seat of the chair until my knuckles were white, and I could not stop crying. I clenched my teeth and steeled myself. I clutched the chair so tight that my wrists ached afterwards.

Just when I thought I couldn't stand any more, Dad paused. My buttocks were red with blotches of purple. I thought it was over, but Dad wasn't through just yet.

He turned to Todd and asked, "Do you still have your fraternity paddle?"

Paddle? Dad already had blistered my butt severely, and now he was asking for a paddle?

"Uh, yeah, I still have it," Todd said.

"Get it, please," Dad instructed him.

I crinched in fear. Todd left the kitchen and returned in a few minutes later with the paddle, an 18-inch hardwood paddle with several holes strategically drilled in it. I couldn't believe that I had asked for this, or that Dad was taking it this far.

"Lyle, this is to teach you a lesson for lying to your mother and me," Dad said as he took the paddle from Todd. He then proceeded to give me 12 of the hardest swats I'd ever received.

On my already sore backside, each swat with the paddle caused extreme pain. Dad made sure each swat covered not only my buttocks, but also my upper thighs so that I was sure to have some bruises on my legs afterward.

Finally, after a dozen licks with the paddle, Dad instructed me to stand up and pull my pants up.

It was almost unbearable, but I managed to get my bluejeans up. That night, I slept on my stomach. My butt ached all night, but my conscience was finally clear. I slept like a baby.