A true story...
I grew up in a country town of Australia called Bendigo in the 1950s. My parents where Czech immigrants who migrated after the war. From a young age I had a very strict home life thanks to my Papa. Papa worked from home, he was a mechanic fixing cars in our shed. He was a big strong man with a booming voice. His voice was generally booming my name "Timothy".
Having a Dad around the home full time between the ages of two and five years of age when I went to school taught me some very strict lessons. My father believed in strict discipline for young boys and my earliest childhood memories are of sound hand bottom spankings I received across his knee when I was only two! While my father worked in the shed I had to play quietly in the nursery. Low and behold if I made too much noise. Pa would drop his tools and come to haul his little brat across his broad right knee for a long spanking. Long spankings where exactly that long, hard, painful, bare ass slapping lessons in obedience. I started getting longer spankings around my fourth year and by the time I was five was well accustomed to proper punishment sessions over my father knee.
My father seemed to have a second sense about my misbehaviours as he always seemed to be rounding that corner just as I was doing something I wasnt allowed to do. Soon my breeches or pyjamas would be around my knees and Dads hand, slipper, mirror board or hairbrush was whacking away mercilessly while I wept and boo-hoo-hooed loudly.
I was a terrible cry baby and sobbed and bawled continuously as I was pitilessly punished. I mentioned my father was a big man, so you can imagine a five year old boy with his plump little bottom held in a vice like grip across his Pas right knee while a hairbrush or sometimes a sturdy hard wood back of a mirror board is belted furiously across my tender botty. I have heard about some boys really copping it especially back in the old country but I bet none of them copped it like I did. When Pa was finished my bum was burning and turning purple with small black blotches beginning to appear. Sometimes if I had been extra bad Pa continued past purple to leave my five-year-old bum black and blue on occasion! These purple ass hidings occurred every two days or so and often the welts of the brush or slipper where still well visible before fresh ones where applied.
Pa cared not a jot for how much he hurt me. He was stone deaf to my pathetic pleas for mercy and forgiveness. I was shown none. I really suffered. It was a hellish experience, but boy did it keep me in line. I was Daddys perfectly behaved little boy (well until next time I needed a hiding). Pa would often get bees in his bonnet about manners, immediate obedience and chores that guaranteed for a few weeks on end every few days the subject of say manners was broached over his broad knee.
My mother was a quite woman who didnt stand between my father and me. Even though my Pa was very, very strict I loved him dearly and always tried to do my best for him.
Pa had two rules about punishment. Always break the childs will and dont let up for his crying. My will was repeatedly broken across my Pas knee and any childhood fantasies about being a knight or space pilot where quickly removed as my real status as a well punished five year old Czech brat was whaled home into my sit me down. Oh how I used to howl and cry.
Though in my teenage years I resented my father now I grow to understand that he loved and kept me strictly in line for my own good. I realise now I thoroughly deserved such treatment and have thanked Pa for being so strict with me especially during those important nursery years of two for six. Ouch! Just writing about brings back that sting of old childhood chastisement.