To Spank Or Not To Spank?

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Over thirty years ago, one of my sons, I'm not going to name him, came home from school looking ill, pale and drawn, obviously sick. He sat in a chair, uncomfortable and quiet. When supper time was ready he came to the table but could not eat. A bit later he asked if he could go to bed.

His mother and I questioned him if anything was hurting. All the boy said, "I'm not feeling well." We checked if he ran a fever, he did not. So, he went to bed.

The rest of the family finished supper, washed the dishes, and sat to enjoy the rest of the evening. Around eight o'clock, the sick fellow emerged from his room, slowly, adjusting and rubbing his eyes.

He came over and stood near my chair. As I turned toward him, I realized he wanted to say something. He looked as pale as ever. When I leaned forward, he began to stammer, "Dad, . . . I, . . . I got a paddling in school today."

I did little spanking as my boys were growing up. They may not say it was little, but they all knew when an infraction warranted a few whops on the rear. One guaranteed spanking was promised if I ever heard of them getting in trouble in school, and, God forbid, get a paddling in school. My promise to them was often reiterated during the school year, "If you ever get a spanking in school," I said, "you'll gonna get a double dose when you get home."

"What did you do?" I asked, somewhat surprised at the confession.
"I was in the bathroom." Go on, I said. "There was five of us."
"Yes?" I said.
"One of the boys set the toilet paper on fire. Before we could sneak out of there, the assistant principal came in and made us all go to the principal's office."
"Is that where you got your paddling?"
"Yup, all five of us."

I got up out of my chair, walked toward the boy, as he stood, expecting his reward.

I grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him close to me and gently said, "You already got all you deserved, lets go and get you a bite to eat."



Thirty-some-years ago, sanity in this country was still part of the mindset. I would have never, then nor now, hightailed it to the principal's office throwing a fit. "How dare you strike my son. . . I'll sue you and the System . . . and I'll make sure you never be in a position to administer such medieval, barbaric attacks again."

Well, I never have forgotten that little family matter, and I'm sure my son hasn't either. I don't want to brag, but thank God, he turned out alright.


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