I
So here we are on our way to the mall early this Fathers Day afternoon: Dad and my older brother Brian in the front seat, me in the back. Brian seems to think this is going to be a typical father-son outing. All Dad had said was "Get in the car, boys," so we got in the car. Well, contrary to popular belief, birth order does not determine intelligence. Brian is two years ahead of me but several IQ points behind. But it wouldn't take a genius to interpret Dad's facial expressions. The firm look around his mouth would suddenly break out into a smile, which he'd immediately try to correct into a more solemn attitude by clenching his chin. That didn't work, because the twinkle in his eyes never vanished. Does all that indicate that just another Sunday afternoon is ahead? I guess Brian's already meager powers of observation were blinded by the thought of the allowance he was about to receive - Dad had promised we'd both get ours today - and what he was going to spend it on in the mall. (Technically, ten bucks of my brother's allowance was owed to me for the set of CD's "we" had bought Dad for his Fathers Day gift, but I wondered if I'd ever have a chance of collecting it.) But you would have thought that Brian would be at least a little suspicious about this trip, considering the trouble he must know he's in...
That trouble began Friday night, but I didn't know about it until Saturday morning, right after Dad got the first phone call. Brian was out somewhere, lucky for him (or maybe he arranged it that way) because he escaped the first outbursts of dad's anger. Other calls soon followed, and details of the mayhem Brian and his buddies had caused the previous night on their joyride trickled in. Dad relayed each piece of incriminating evidence to Mom as it came in, with his loudest voice, so I heard everything. By lunchtime, when Brian was due home, we had a pretty good picture of the whole _d_a_m_n_ing situation.
Brian at last walked in, and seeing the wrathful look on Dad's face, greeted him in his usual carefree manner with "What's up, Dad?" and an innocent smile to go along with it. All fake, of course. He couldn't have hoped to go undetected for long. He and his friends didn't exactly leave an inconspicuous trail. Dad's only response, emitted between clenched teeth, was "My den. Now." He pointed the way with a chunky finger, unnecessarily because Brian knew the way there quite well. Brian stepped forward ever so slowly, then Dad saved him the trouble by half-dragging him in the indicated direction.
I overheard much of that day's little drama, as luck would have it. Everyone knows you make your own luck, and I just happened to be sauntering around in the proximity of Dad's den, my slow walking coming to a halt as the door shut behind him and Brian.
It wouldn't have surprised me if I had immediately heard the sound of Dad whipping out his belt and applying it, as he still now and then saw fit despite my big brother's age, to Brian's sometimes bare butt. (Brian was at an age (16+) that he called seventeen, but everyone else referred to it by its rightful name.) Dad had lately been doing his best to hold off with physical punishment. "You're too old for this, son," he would reproach Brian after each well-deserved whipping, and promise himself not to resort to such a method again. Then, after at most a few months, Brian would demonstrate with a spectacular lack of judgment, usually involving a car, that he was indeed not too old. I imagined that Dad was saying to himself "If I treat him like an adult, he'll act like an adult" at the same time he was yelling "You just can't act like an adult, can you, Brian?" So the first thing he now did was ask for an explanation. Brian had nothing to say in his defense, and he said it brashly and at length.. Yes, he actually began, in his _c_o_c_k_y manner, a variation of the "boys will be boys" excuse, although he ought to have known fully well that it had only infuriated Dad in the past, and it was having the same effect now. Dad's spluttered responses of disbelief and indignation soon reduced Brian's teenage swagger to a childish whine. Then Dad began the expected lecture. I could hear him giving vent to his anger with an occasional impromptu but forceful swat to the seat of Brian's jeans. Of course, I had no hope that my brother had finally pushed Dad over the limit. No, he was as usual way too lenient on number-one son. The scene came to its inevitable conclusion, with Brian surrendering his car keys and being grounded "indefinitely". Well, Brian should know better, but so should Dad. Didn't he know by now that if he didn't specify a length, later Brian would insist he intended a punishment of a much shorter duration than even the most soft-hearted father would impose? Wise up, guys.
I heard their voices nearing the door, so I quickly retraced my steps and pretended to be approaching the den. Dad flung open the door and pushed Brian out. "Now get your little butt up to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out!" he growled, punctuating the command with a nice hard swat to that aforesaid little butt. This one made Brian yelp, and clutching the seat of his pants, he began to walk upstairs. He caught sight of me, and after casting a resentful look in my direction (his face was red, both from the humiliating lecture he'd just received and embarrassment at the thought that I might have heard it) he sprinted off. Dad was still glaring somewhat meditatively, perhaps considering what additional punishment was required. As I stepped up to him, his face softened and he put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. With as much innocence as I could muster, which is quite a bit, I asked, "Is Brian in trouble again?"
"You could say that." Dad good-naturedly tried to add a little irony to his voice. "Actually, he's in trouble with a capital T."
As it turned out, Brian was in trouble with all the letters in upper case.
II
So here we are, just inside the mall entrance, and Brian's head automatically swerves in the direction of the electronics shop where he's thinks he's going to be buying a new video game. Does he notice as I do the unusual number of fathers pushing andd pulling their sons in the opposite direction? There must be some type of special Fathers Day activity going on, after all.
Brian at last realizes he has no money, and turns around. "Uh, Dad, my allowance?" His coy routine isn't nearly as convincing as his innocent routine, due to lack of practice, but sometimes it doesn't hurt for your motives to be transparent.
"Coming up, guys," Dad says as he gets out his wallet.
Taking advantage of this not-to-be-missed opportunity, I chime in with "Don't forget, Brian, you owe me ten dollars." I look up at Dad. "For your present that you liked so much." So a ten goes into my willing hand instead of Brian's. He doesn't dare protest except by giving me a dirty "I'll get you later" look.
Dad wasn't exactly sympathetic. "That doesn't leave you much money, does it, son?"
"You're telling me."
"Well, I don't guess it matters too much, because..." he reached down and gently spun Brian around - "I'm about to show you what you're going to spend your hard earned money on."
"Huh?" was Brian's intelligent reply.
(And get that "hard earned". What does Dad think Brian does for his allowance?)
Dad answered by pushing Brian along on the same route as the other fathers and sons. He turned back to me. "Oh, Kev, you can go spend your money on what you want."
(He didn't even say "hard earned". Doesn't he know how much effort goes into being Brian's brother?)
Anyway, I chose to follow them. Whatever was going on, it didn't look good for Brian, and I wasn't about to miss it.
Soon I knew our destination. We were in a part of the mall that stays closed and dark most of the year. But now, above a wide, brightly-lit doorway, a red neon sign beckoned: "The Swat Shop".
So it really exits! It's not just myth created by furious fathers to intimidate their misbehaving offspring, or dreamed up by blustering boys to impress their younger brothers. If all the rumors are true, the Swat Shop caters to the needs (paddles, etc.) of deserving dads with unruly sons.
Brian gapes up uncomprehendingly at the glowing letters. Even his dull wits are alerted. "I don't think I want to go in there, Dad..."
"Why not? You're bound to see some of your friends here, especially after that stunt you guys pulled Friday night." Dad pushed him in and I followed carefreely.
The first thing that struck me was the noise: resounding cracks (of fiercely swung paddles, it turned out) and the wails of punished boys (unmistakable). Dad seemed to ignore all this and gazed around. A banner advertising the new belts and straps department caught his eye. "This way," he ordered. Brian didn't want to go anywhere except out, but Dad had other plans for him. "What I need is a good stiff belt that's too several sizes too big so it won't bother me when I wear it out! Let's find a clerk."
As if by magic, one appeared. "Hi Mr Duke!"
That blond hunk with the crewcut who just stepped obligingly forward is Gary Pierce. He lived a few houses down from us before he went off to college three years ago. He shook Dad's hand, spoke to me, then said "Hi Brian" while condescendingly patting my brother on the head.
"Earning some extra money for college, Gary?" Dad asked.
"You got it." He crossed his arms over his chest, emphasizing the upper body strength that must have gotten him the job in this place. "I thought I might be seeing you today." He looked down significantly at Brian, not me, with good reason. "Actually I'm surprised you haven't been here before." He leaned down and spoke to Brian, but in a voice clearly audible to Dad said, "I haven't forgotten who spilled paint all over my motorcycle that time."
"What's that about, Brian?" Dad asked.
"Nothing, Dad, nothing," Brian feebly lied.
"Or who used to tease my dog into a nervous breakdown. So..." Gary stood up and addressed Dad, "I'll be happy to help you, Mr Duke."
"Good! I was looking at these belts..."
"Naw, what you need is a good paddle." He directed us to a neighboring aisle. "Here are some top quality butt busters." He selected a colorful paddle from the rack. "This is Big Red, one of our most popular models." Gary cheerfullly explained the paddle's markings. Along its length a narrow band of each shade of red, from a delicate pink to a fiery scarlet, was represented. A list of infractions, such as talking back, break curfew, increasing in severity, accompanied the range of hues. "All you have to do is use this until junior's rear end is the appropriate color. For use on the bare butt, or course."
"Let's have a look." Dad took the paddle and examined it.
"You don't want that one, Dad," Brian protested.
"No? Well, after all, you're the one who's going to pay for it." He and Brian looked at the price tag.
"Sorry, can't afford it." Brian looked relieved.
"Here, big brother, I'll let you have the ten dollars back." I was so helpful, why did Brian scowl?
"Thanks, Kev, but I guess Brian will have to use several weeks' allowances to pay for his paddle - and we aren't leaving without one. Can we see some more, Gary?"
"Sure thing. I'll even demonstrate how to use each one. This way." As he led us down the aisle, he picked up half a dozen paddles and held them effortlessly in his muscular arms. "There's a demo room over here. It was being used, but they should be almost finished by now."
Walking along the racks of paddles, I lamented the fact that Dad hadn't seemed interested in a bare butt model. Maybe in the privacy of the demonstration room he'd change his mind. Knock on wood, I said to myself, and tapped my knuckles against the shiny finish of a thick pine Board of Education.
Gary stopped before a curtained doorway. "I think somebody's still in there. If you'll wait just a second..."
III
So here we are standing in front of the doorway - Dad, Gary, me, and Brian who's about to get his butt paddled, when all of a sudden a figure bursts through the curtain and collides with Gary. It's some guy who must have been trying to pull up his pants and underpants, because they fell down about his ankles when he made contact with that blond hulk. He fell backwards, then got up quickly on all fours. His bare butt was stuck up toward us, and it was covered with bright red stripes. Red butts were a common sight in the Swat Shop, but then I realized that this one belonged to Scott, one of Brian's accomplices Friday night.
Just then, Scott's dad emerged from the doorway, conversing with a dark-haired guy who was just as husky as Gary and evidently a clerk as well. "I'm sorry it took so long to demonstrate the razor strap, Mr C, but like I said, we frat guys are used to paddles."
"Quite all right, Rich. Scott and I are in no hurry, are we son?"
Scott yanked up his pants and raised himself to his knees, where he came face to face with the thick leather strap that dangled from his father's hand. "Ohhh ... he moaned."
"We'll take it!" his father beamed, pulling his son up by his ear.
Rich turned to Gary. "I just can't get the hang of these belts, little buddy."
"You're doing fine," Gary reassured him.
"C'mon, son," Scott's dad ordered as Rich led them to the checkout.
Gary informed us, "He's got three teenaged sons, so he's a regular customer. Let's go."
I was wondering if the store gave frequent paddler discounts as we entered the demonstration room.
Gary put all the paddles but one on the floor. "This is the standard Assume the Position design. Holes are optional but recommended." He tapped it lovingly against his palm. "I picked extra thick ones since you aren't going to make Brian pull his pants down," Gary told Dad half-reproachfully. "I guess I'll have to hit harder too. So..." Abruptly, he shouted at Brian, "Assume the position, pledge scum!" We all jumped, then Gary got a grip on himself. "Sorry. It's just habit."
"That's okay, Gary," Dad comforted him. He looked at Brian. "Well? You heard the man, son." Brian just stood there, so Dad put a heavy hand on his back and bent him over. The upturned seat of Brian's jeans was now the center of everyone's attention.
"All right, Mr Duke, why don't you take the version with the holes - oh, you're left-handed. That makes it convenient. You stand on that side of Brian and I'll stand here... okay, we're all set..." Set, I thought, to give Brian's butt the attention it deserves.
Gary leaned across to tell Dad, "I'm even going to share with you some secrets on how we fraternity brothers really make a guy's butt burn."
"No way!" Brian protested and shot up. Dad pushed him back down.
Gary continued. "Now, what I really like to do first is tease the guy..." He gently rubbed the paddle against Brian's jean-clad rear end. Brian clenched his cheeks and rose on his tip-toes. "See? Then you pull the paddle away...and tease him again." Brian responded just as Gary wanted him to. "He doesn't know what to expect, or when to expect it..."
"Yeah, the suspense is killing me," I said.
Gary smiled. "Then, when you're good and ready..."
Smack! Gary at last struck his unwary target.
"Ow!" Brian again shot up, and this time both Dad and Gary pushed him back down.
Dad was eager. "Let me try." He lightly touched his paddle to the tightly stretched denim, making tiny circles, then...
Smack!
"Owee! What are you trying to do to my butt, Dad?"
"Hey! What have I told you about using that word?" Dad cautioned.
"You want me to smack him for it, Mr Duke?" Gary offered.
Dad thought a moment. "No, we'll let that one go. But you were going to smack him again anyway, weren't you?"
"Yeah, with this extra-wide Seat Heater."
Crack!
"Dang it!" Brian burst out, as his seat was heated.
"Lemme try, lemme try!" Dad grabbed a duplicate of Gary's paddle and...
Crack! Crack! Crack!
This time Brian fell down, and Dad had to haul him up.
"You're a fast learner, Mr Duke! Let's try another model, shall we?" ...
Gary stood to the left of Brian's butt and Dad to the right. "Why don't we conduct a little test, sir. I'll give Brian a few licks using the paddle without holes, then you let him have it with the paddle with holes. Then we'll have Brian tell us which one hurts more."
"Sound good to me."
Crack! Crack! Crack! Gary gave Brian three rapid fire swats. After the last one, Brian couldn't prevent himself from yelling "Oh, _s_h_i_t_, that hurts!"
"Now that one's gonna cost you, pal! Five more bucks out of your allowance. And settle down because it's my turn!"
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Dad and Gary never did get a coherent answer from Brian about which paddle was worse. I was about to suggest they repeat the test when they switched to a pair of hard oak Son Tanners.
Gary was still instructing Dad. "I want to show you this cute little trick of snapping your wrist at just the right moment. It makes a sting you won't believe." ...
They were on the last set of paddles. "Dad, please, stop!" Brian begged. He wouldn't have admitted he was crying, but tears streamed down (or up) his face.
Dad was relenting, and his arm was tired anyway. "Just one more test swat, son, and I'm going to make it count!"
Craaack!
When Brian fell to the floor this time, no one bothered to pick him up.
"I'll take this one," Dad announced, eying with satisfaction the 12 to 16 year model of Dad's Little Helper, the one with three rows of holes. "Lucky for Brian it's on sale. Come on, guys." Dad pulled Brian up and out, and I was close behind.
Gary was still the indefatigable salesman. "Are you sure I can't interest you in a bare butt model? It never hurts to have a back-up." He must have been majoring in business.
Dad looked at Brian and then at the paddle. "Well, I'll probably be using this one again later tonight, in which case Brian will be in his pajamas, and they offer hardly any protection anyway. Maybe next time."
"You know we're only open on Fathers Day?"
"Hmmm. I might have Brian start saving up for next year."
Gary finally gave up and started to check us out. "And here, Mr Duke. You receive absolutely free with your paddle these mounting hooks. To display something any dad would be proud to have hanging on his den wall."
Brian wailed, "Dad, you wouldn't! Not where everybody can see it!"
"I might keep it out of sight, say in my desk drawer, if somebody manages to act like a perfect gentleman. Not that it's ever happened before," he told Gary. "Otherwise it goes up on the wall!"
As Dad paid for the paddle, Brian was aghast at how long he was going to be without an allowance. But Dad was properly thankful. He patted Brian's head and said, "That's the most useful Fathers Day present you've ever given me, son."
Dad took Brian off the the restroom to wash his face, and I, having some hard-earned money to spend, headed to the bookstore.
IV
So here are the three of us about to get in the car. Brian, the less than proud owner of a brand spanking (what else?) new paddle, holds his purchase at arm's length, as if thinking that any moment it might launch a rear assault all on its own. He needed to be worrying about what Dad was going to do with it. Brian tosses it on the front seat somewhat contemptuously, considering how many weeks' allowances it's going to cost him, then starts to get in himself.
"Ouch!" Brian yells, and jumps out of the car. His tenderized tail had encountered not luxurious leather but pitiless plastic. He rubbed the seat of his jeans for the zillionth time that day and pouted "Oh, my butt!"
"Hey!" Dad berates him, "What did I tell you about using that word?"
"You use..."
"I'll use it whenever I feel like it, and I feel like it now, so get your butt in the car this minute - unless you want me to put some more blisters on it!"
I don't guess Brian did because he sure got back into the front seat in a hurry, but not without some wincing and a few muttered curses, which Dad graciously pretended not to hear.
The handle of the paddle protruded above the seat, so I grabbed it to get a better look at what my brother had decided to spend so much of his money on. "I must say, Brian, you made an excellent purchase."
"Shut up!" he shouted, seized the paddle and thrust it back into the sack.
We drove off, and after sulking a bit, Brian complained, "That was a dirty trick."
Dad corrected him, "Hey, pal, you got off easy. And don't forget this is Fathers Day. My day, remember? I'm supposed to be at home sleeping in my recliner. But instead I have to go to the trouble of teaching you a lesson!" I could tell his anger was dissipating, probably from the workout he had just had in the store. But he probably felt that his fatherly duty required him to let Brian know that he wasn't off the hook yet.
I eyed Brian, twitching up there, trying without success to find a comfortable sitting position. Even I, his kid brother, found the sight to be pathetic, except when it was comic.
Then I tried to figure out what was going on in Dad's mind. Was a double paddling, a long grounding and an equally long period of no allowance ample punishment? Then he grabbed the paddle and waved it in front of Brian's face. "All right. We're about fifteen minutes from home. You've got until then to convince me why I shouldn't use this on you anymore today."
I sank back into my seat and pouted. Dad's soft heart would be no match for Brian's smooth tongue. The weasel would probably have talked Dad out of grounding him too by the time we got home.
(As it turned out, instead of getting paddled some more, Brian had to write a five page essay on "assuming adult responsibilities". That was actually a harsher punishment than it sounds, because 1) It took my barely literate brother hours and hours to write it; 2) He had to work on it squirming in his seat although he had a pillow to sit on ; and 3) I was heckling him most of the time.)
But that consolation came later. Still, as I sat there in the back seat, I realized that if Brian ran true to form, in a couple of weeks he'd screw up again, and then Dad would have that paddle within easy reach - maybe things weren't so hopeless after all.