After spring break, I didnt come close to having any disagreements or problems with my parents until later in May. School got out May 10, and by May 16, we were in South Dakota, in the awesome and mysterious badlands. We had stopped for lunch, and after eating, my brothers and I had gone climbing around in the slopes and crevices of the badlands. My father had cautioned: "be careful boys, no running and careless jumping around up there. One slip or misstep could be fatal. Jared, I expect you to see that everyone – which includes you – follows this warning!"
"Sure, Dad. We will," I promised. But after we had been climbing around for awhile, it got very warm. We knew that we had probably been gone too long, and started hurrying back to the RV. I was racing down the slopes when suddenly my foot stepped on something unsteady, and turned under me. The next thing I knew, I was losing my balance, toppling off my feet, falling downward while rolling, and then fell right off the sharp side of a precipice down into a narrow, deep crevice. I screamed as I fell, then shrieked as I hit something on the way down, and then again as I landed at the bottom.
Lying there gasping, I felt incredible pain in my head, shoulders, arms and wrists, leg and hip. Semi-conscious, I lay there, unmoving, moaning and whimpering in overwhelming pain. My brothers peered downwards and called to me, "Jared! Jared! Are you okay?"
"Help me," I called weakly back. "Get Dad."
"Okay, Jared, we will. Dont die, Jared! Well get Dad." Then they hurried the rest of the way down – without running – to my parents. "Jareds hurt bad! He fell! In a ditch!" they exclaimed as they came towards the RV. My parents got up immediately, and my father followed my brothers up the inclining badlands until they came to the niche where I had fallen and lay motionless.
"Jared! Jared!" Dad shouted at me. Distantly, I heard his voice, and tried to raise my voice to respond. The result was feeble and swallowed by the walls of the canyon rising upward. Then my Dad called 911 on his cell phone, ordered an emergency helicopter, telling them it would be necessary to lift the patient up out of the crevice into the helicopter.
Approximately 45 minutes later, a helicopter circled around. Two paramedics descended by lanyards dropped from the chopper. After a swift exam, they put inflatable, temporary splints on my wrists and hands, my right arm, and my right leg. Then, they rolled me into a hammock-like device that was raised by lines until I was pulled into the helicopter. Then, with two more lanyards, the paramedics were lifted to join me in the chopper, and departed instantly for Rapid City.
I was airlifted to the Memorial Hospital in Rapid City, and admitted through the emergency department. By the time my parents had driven the RV to Rapid City, I had been examined, diagnosed, and admitted to ICU. I had broken both my wrists, the metacarpals on my right hand, my right humerus, and my right tibia and fibula. Besides the fractures, I had a extensive face, shoulder, leg, and arm abrasions, and a deep gouge in the right occipital area of my head. After fixation surgery that put a plate in my right humerus, I was casted on both wrists, my right arm, right hand, and right leg. I had IVs and and dressings on my abrasions and cut, and was catheterized. What a mess!
It was not until more than 24 hours later that I regained enough consciousness to realize my parents were present. I was in the hospital for 8 days. When I was released on May 25, I had two casts on each wrist and one on my right hand, another on my right arm, and one from my knee down on my right leg. I was mostly an invalid, could do nothing for myself, and was supposed to remain in these casts for 8 weeks! Almost my whole summer vacation would be over before I could get out of the casts!
My parents decided that, since I could not walk or do much besides sitting and lying down, we would take a long driving tour of the north-central US and south-central Canada. So, we left Rapid City on May 26, and began a lengthy, but leisurely, drive eastward: across South Dakota, across Minnesota, and across Wisconsin. We usually stopped in campgrounds, spending a few days, while we drove around during the day. My father rented a wheelchair for me, and pushed me around a lot of places in it. The extra work and patience due to my being virtually an invalid fell on my parents.
My Dad rigged up a portable shower, with plastic tank, hose and showerhead, and a circular shower curtain to wrap around it while I sat in a plastic lawn chair. He had to tape plastic bags over my hands and arms, my right upper arm, and my right leg (which I kept stretched out, elevated on a plastic stool), to keep the casts dry. Then he used the shower hose and bathed me every day. I tried to help dry myself, but was limited in what I could do. It was so humiliating to need my father to help me go to bathroom, and for him or my Mom to have to dress and undress me everyday, for him to comb my hair, brush my teeth, and shave me, and to feed me my meals. What a nightmare this summer had turned into!
Early in the second week of this misery, my Dad had been outside the RV with my brothers, when I needed to use the bathroom. I called for him, but he didnt hear me. My mother asked what I needed, and I told her I needed Dad, because I needed to use the bathroom. (He had already bathed and dressed me, and had fed me breakfast.) My mother said she would help me, and I cringed. "Noooo, Mom. I dont want you to do this."
"Well, Jared, Dads not available, you need to use the bathroom, so it looks like this is the only way it works." She helped me up with my crutches to hop to the little bathroom, then opened the door, and help me hop in. She pulled down my shorts and boxers, and helped me sit down on the toilet. Then, she took the crutches outside, and shut the door. In a few minutes, I called again. She came back in, helped me stand up and lean forward on a wall, and wiped me clean, before flushing the toilet and pulling up my boxers and shorts. I felt so embarrassed, but nevertheless thanked her softly. This was the way things were – mostly with my Dad – every time, every day.
Dad woke at his usual time of 5:30 a. m., went down to the community showers and cleaned up and returned to wake me about a little after 6 a. m. He would get me up, help me into the little bathroom in the RV. Then he helped me up and hop outside on my left flipflop. There he installed the portable shower, and undressed me to sit on the plastic chair to be bathed. He taped plastic over my hands and arms, my right arm, and my right leg, stretching it to rest on the plastic stool. Then, he pulled the plastic shower curtain around as (as best as it would conceal us), and began washing me.
I guess the self-conscious disgrace of having to be taken care of like a baby got to me. As he took a wash cloth and began soaping up my underarms, chest, abdomen, and privates, increasingly I felt tension and resentment for having to be treated like this. Then, when scrubbed my balls, and penis, it reacted by enlarging in his soapy hand. Id not been able to relieve myself for more than 3 weeks, so the slightest touch set me off hot and hotter. He just batted it downwards, and told me to pull my legs up to my chest so he could wash my bottom. I snapped. "_d_a_m_n_ it, Dad. This is bull_s_h_i_t_! Why do I have to be treated like a little baby, and put on a show for everybody?! I dont want to dooo this!" I shouted at him.
He stopped, looked at me, and then sprayed water on the bar of soap and soapy washcloth in his hand. "I know you dont, Jared, and I know you hate having to have everyone help you. But I also know that all of this happened because you disobeyed what I told you and your brothers when we had stopped for lunch in the Badlands. What I also know is that you need your nasty mouth washed out good and clean, young man, as well as your rearend calmed down."
As soon as he said that, he stood up and over me, pulled my hair enough to make me open my mouth to express pain, and shoved the bar of soap in my mouth. "Arrrrrgaaahaughuhaaaaaa!" I choked and gasped at the horrible-tasting intruder that was filling my mouth. I tried to open my mouth to spit it out, but my father put his left hand over my lips, keeping them sealed. I tried not to taste it or move the bar around, but in only a minute my mouth was salivating on the soap bar, making suds that were trickling down my throat.
I choked and gagged on the sudsy liquid, and it backed up into my nose. Now, I was literally gasping for breath, while inhaling and ingesting soapy water. I was a mess! I tried to utter a muffled scream, with my mouth held closed, and needing my irritated nose to breath. I quit trying to fight against his washing out my mouth, as I thought I was going to pass out from the gagging, choking lack of oxygen.
He stopped quickly, let me open my mouth, and caught the bar of soap that was ejected. Then, before I could close my mouth, he had the soapy washcloth in it, scouring all around my mouth, tongue, under tongue, teeth, and throat! I was frantic. When he removed the washcloth and his hand, I was already crying and apologizing. "Please, Dad! Nnngaugh! Please! Arrrnnngaughuh! Im sorry. Im sorry."
He paid no heed to my entreaties, but reached down, pulled me up off the plastic chair onto my left foot and leg, and then sat down, toppling me forward across his lap. Instantly, I knew what was afoot. I tried to struggle and balance myself at the same time. It was futile. Lying draped over my fathers lap, with casts on my arms and leg, I was basically incapable of doing anything to right or support myself. With the cast on my right humerus, I couldnt even reach back to try to protect my wet, bare backside. Dad picked up my one flipflop, and began wielding it as a blistering paddle. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! . . . Oooooo, uh, ooooooooooo! The familiar rhythm, sound, and pain of my fathers spanking bombarded my ears, my behind and upper legs, and my brain.
"You" SMACK! "are" SMACK! "a disobedient" SMACK! SMACK! "ungrateful" SMACK! SMACK! "brat" SMACK! "Jared." SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! . . .
As I had already crumbled under the degrading punishment of having my mouth washed out with soap, I was crying and begging and pleading from the moment he began the fiery assault on my butt. "Oooo, uh, ow! Ow! Ow! Nnnngggaaaauggghhhaaaa! Ow! Ooooo, pleeeez! Im sorry! Im sorry! Im sorry! Oooo, uh, ow! Ow! Uaughaanggghaa! Ow! Pleeeez, Daaaad! Im, uh, oooooo, uh, ow-ow-ow! sorreeeeeeee! Unnnnghaaagaugh! Ooooo, uh, ow! Puh-leeeez, uh, nnnghaaa-ow! Stop! Stop! Im sorreeeeee! Ow! Ow! Im sorry-Imsorry-Imsorreeeee! Uh, ooooo, uh, ow! Ill, uh! Ow! beeeee, uh, goooood! Ow! Ow! Aaarrrunnnggghaaa! Ow! Illbegood! Illbegood! Illbegood! Ooooo, uh, ow! Ow! Uh, uh, waaaaaaa! Uh, nnngggrrraughuh, uh, waaaaaa! Huhuh-uh-waaaaaaaa!"
I had crumbled and collapsed immediately into pleading, sobbing, bawling. But Dad didnt care. He felt that I had this coming and it was way overdue. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! . . . I lost track of the pummeling punishment being administered to my rearend. I just became aware of sobbing and crying, while sprawled across my fathers knees, but no more torrid swats scorching my behind.
When my squalling subsided to whimpers and soft sobs, Dad firmly picked me up, balanced me on my left foot and leg, and then sat me back down in the chair where I had been receiving my shower. My wet, red, overheated bottom stung and smarted against the seat of the chair. Still, I had no choice. Dad resumed bathing me, ordering me again to lift my legs into my chest – which I did – while he washed my butt. He shampooed my hair, brushed my teeth, and then dried me off and applied deodorant. He dressed me in my customary boxers, long running shorts, and boxers, and t-shirt. He brushed my hair, then helped me balance on my crutches, as I stepped back into my left flipflop.
My face and eyes were almost as reddened as my behind, and my mouth still tasted the residue of soap suds, even after having my teeth brushed. He then helped me up the step into the RV, where my brothers and Mom were scurrying around for breakfast. My brothers looked at me, surprised to see that I had been crying. One again, Jonathons lack of inhibitions evidenced itself: "Oh, oh, looks like Jared got another spanking from Daddy."
"Looks like is right," Dad confirmed, as I grimaced through my teary eyes and flushed face. "Jared needed a reminder to behave and be grateful for everybodys looking out for him." I started weeping again, softly. "Cmon and get some breakfast, Jared. Then, Im going to put you back to bed for the morning, and you can spend the time thinking about how incredibly insolent and unappreciative your behavior has been."
I didnt feel much like eating, but I also knew better than to oppose my father any more. So, I sat there trying to limit my squirming from the discomfort of my butt against the seat, while I ate some eggs and sausage, and toast, drank some orange juice. Afterwards, my father led me back to the little bedroom area I shared with my brothers, and helped me to lie down – on my stomach! – on the bed. I sniffled and whimpered with mixed feelings of shame and sorrow until I fell back to sleep. I must have slept until almost noon, cause I woke up with my bladder feeling very pressured and needing to go to the bathroom, and also to the sound of my Mom fixing lunch.
Hesitantly, I called to my Dad, and he came in, helped me up, and into the bathroom, then helped my dress again, and washed my face and hands. Then, I hopped back to the little dining area where we ate lunch. By now, everyone had returned to their regular activities, and we ate and talked about what we would do that afternoon.
Dad wanted to go out on the lake in a boat that afternoon, and he said we had enough life jackets, but he told me I was to wear two of them, because of the weight of my casts. I really wanted to be left back at the RV, instead of going; but I didnt dare to try that. In the restricted, dependant condition I was in, and after what happened to me this morning, I was not about to react against my fathers orders. This summer was threatening to be worse for me than even last summer!
After that Wednesday morning in early July, when my Dad cleansed my mouth with soap, and then spanked me wet and naked, with all my casts anchoring me splayed firmly over his lap, I was a lot more careful about how and what I spoke to my parents, and about not acting like I was suffering terrible indignities when my they were doing everything for me, and helping me with all my daily needs and activities. So, I stayed out of anymore trouble until late July, after I finally got all my casts off, and could begin rehab of using my hand, wrists, arm, and leg again.