Girls And Boys Spanked Over The Knee Stories

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Girls And Boys Spanked Over The Knee Stories

Corporal punishment: I was spanked, and I'm OK with it
Corporal punishment: I was spanked, and I'm OK with it
Spanking kids early on may cause years of damage
A new study finds that spanking children at an early age can negatively impact child development for years to come. Here's how.
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I was spanked as a child, in school and at home, and I’m OK with it.
I fully expect to see some push-back after writing that sentence, but listen: it was not at all traumatizing to my elementary school-aged self, and I never, ever, felt like I was abused by my teachers or my parents.
Believe it or not, I feel like my experiences with corporal punishment helped make me a better person. Don’t worry, I’ll explain this in greater detail later, but first, before we really dive into it, let me tell you a little bit about me.
I’m an Alabama native who grew up in Dickson County. I attended public schools there from first grade through 12th, and I graduated from Dickson County Senior High School in 1999.
My children, five-year-old twins, are enrolled in Robertson County Schools. They’re Kindergartners. I was not much older than they are now when I walked into Oakmont Elementary School for the first time.
Those familiar with Dickson County Schools may remember that Dickson Junior High, now Dickson Middle, had an annex for seventh graders back in the day. That’s the old Oakmont. It’s where I started school in 1986, and it’s where I had both of my experiences with corporal punishment.
I was six-years-old and in the first grade the first time I was paddled in school. 
I remember being in class and working on an assignment. I was into it, so I barely noticed my teacher get up from her desk. Next thing I know, she’s standing in front of me. 
Apparently, my neighbor was copying my paper, and I had no idea it was happening.
Instead of just punishing the neighbor, she decided to punish us both. Her reason for punishing me, she told me, was that I should have realized what was happening and put a stop to it. Instead, I was enabling my neighbor.
I didn’t agree with her decision to paddle me then, and I don’t agree with it now, but I will admit that I did learn a valuable lesson from the experience. From that day on, I was more aware of my surroundings, and later, when someone tried to copy my paper again, I stopped it.
My second paddling came one year later, in second grade.
This time, I was completely at fault, and I deserved what I got, at school and at home. 
More than 30 years have passed, and I can still see him. He was a tiny thing, and one day, he had an upset stomach, which led to an unfortunate accident on the playground. I pitied him but never said so. After the incident, this little boy was the subject of jokes and gossip. It wasn’t fair, but my seven-year-old mind didn’t recognize it at the time. 
So, when I found myself seated across the table from him one day while we were eating lunch in the cafeteria, I tried my level best to ignore him.
He seemed intent on talking to me, though. Love his heart.
Soon, the other kids started whispering about us, and to prove I didn’t like him, I poured chocolate milk all over his mashed potatoes. It was wrong. And I would later apologize and mean it.
In this case, it wasn't the spanking that made the biggest impact. It was the expression on my teacher’s face when she saw what I did. I adored her, and I’d disappointed her. It was too much.
Technically, what I did could be considered an act of bullying, but back then, things were different. Getting “picked on” at school was “part of growing up,” according to the grown-ups in my life, and it happened to me more than once.
The first time I was in second grade. If memory serves, it wasn’t long after the milk incident and my second paddling. Coincidence, maybe? But, I got to a point where I could no longer see the blackboard, so I went to the eye doctor and I ended up in glasses. The minute I returned to school, I became “four eyes.” I owned it, so the name-calling didn’t last long.
I was 13, and there was a popular teacher who designated Friday as game day in his classroom. One of our favorites was volleyball, played at our desks. He’d string a net across the center of the room, dividing the desks in half, and we’d all face each other and play.
One Friday, I was wearing black and white – black jeans, white shirt – and my hair bow got tangled in the net as I was making my way to my desk. I’m sure this teacher thought it was a harmless joke at the time, but he called out, “Free Willy, she’s stuck in the net.”
Kids can be cruel when given the proper ammunition, and boy, did they have it in my case. I’ve never been what you would call skinny, and up until that moment, it hadn’t bothered me. But, being compared to a killer whale was nothing short of devastating, and as a teenager, I struggled with diets and self-esteem.
Eventually, I came to the realization that the only opinion that really mattered was my own, and I decided to love myself no matter my size. It wasn’t easy. It took YEARS, but I got there.
Today, I’m a mother. I’m a wife. I’m a daughter, an aunt. I’m a college graduate and a writer. I like to think I’ve got my act together, for the most part. Everyone has bad days – you’re lying if you say otherwise. 
I was spanked – twice in school and more than that at home. Most of the time, I deserved it, and I learned from it. I wouldn’t be the person I am today – driven, goal-oriented and confident in my own skin – without my collective experiences.
I am not a victim, and I will argue tooth and nail with anyone who claims otherwise. 
I had strict parents who did the best they could to raise me the right way. 
I’m grateful. I’m glad I'm their daughter.
Reach Nicole Young at 615-306-3570 or nyoung@tennessean.com.

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Once upon a time - and this is more or less a true story - there was a lady called Mrs Pike.
Mrs Pike lived in a lovely new-brick bungalow in Lime Tree Gardens and had a dachshund called Gretchen, an H-reg Alfa Romeo and two lava lamps. Mrs Pike had always been keen on having The Latest Thing. When colour TVs came in, she put her order in straight away, and she always had the very newest model of sports car, never mind about her cataracts.
Why, as far as she knew, she'd also been the first person in Nottingham to get the magnetic soap dish. The magnet soaps were a little dearer than normal soaps but, with the smart little pansy transfers, they made the most ideal guest soaps. Not that Mrs Pike ever had any guests - she wasn't really a people person, never had been, she preferred the TV.
But how proud Mrs Pike was of her possessions! And of her appearance. She wasn't about to reveal her age to anyone, but she still varnished her nails with Elizabeth Arden pearly pink and powdered her face and wore a Persian lamb coat when the weather called for it.
Her kitchen boasted a sunburst wall clock and the latest foil-bubble wallpaper, which - and this was ever so handy - you just wiped down. Only the other day, she'd given it a going-over, amazed at how much grease it had accumulated just from a bit of frying now and then when she fancied it.
If she hadn't been a well-placed widow, Mrs Pike reckoned she could have been an interior decorator for the fabulously wealthy - choosing colour schemes and mixing and matching and so forth. Even the shop-girl at Griffin & Spalding, where she purchased her three-piece suite complete with matching pouffes, had praised her taste. In her lounge, she had a lot of mauve. At Christmas she even had a mauve metallic tree with matching baubles. She'd always been a one for mauve, preferring it to blue, which reminded her too much of the sky. Mrs Pike wasn't keen on nature - never had been, couldn't see the point of all that muck and fuss.
It suited Mrs Pike fine that she was a widow, because she had never been able to abide her husband. He had always been a drinker and it was his own fault entirely that he'd passed away. She was on the point of divorcing him (and fighting him for every penny he had) when she found out he was a goner. Cirrhosis of the liver. This was in the November.
"Put it this way," said the specialist, who had quite a sense of humour as it turned out, "I wouldn't go to the trouble of buying him any Christmas presents."
Mrs Pike had a bit of a chuckle at that. But then, wasn't she having the last laugh? A husband-free Christmas! A husband-free rest of her life! She fancied a winter cruise - if only she could do something with Geoffrey, who was seven and, frankly, a bit of a fly in the ointment.
She told him to please keep out of her way with his long face - otherwise, she'd phone up Mrs White, who would come and take him away in her big black van. Mrs White wasn't real, of course, but Geoffrey didn't know that. Sometimes, she actually picked up the phone and dialled their own number and conducted a nice pretend-scary conversation with Mrs White.
"Is that you, Mrs W? I have a naughty boy here - could you come and take him away please? What's that? Oh, yes, you'd better bring the spanking strap - oh, hold on a moment, Mrs W, I think he's apologising _ it's all right, Mrs W, I won't be needing you to come, not for the time being, thanks anyway..."
Even before her husband was safely nailed in his coffin, Mrs Pike set about reclaiming the space he'd taken up in her life, shoving all his mess and rubbish into crates ready for burning. Part of her was itching to start the bonfire and just get on with it, but instinct told her it was better to wait. It was a bit of an anticlimax when he actually went - quietly, one bright Saturday morning, with a half-smile on his face. She couldn't help feeling a wave of irritation at that soppy little smile - until the doctor assured her it was just a medical thing, something the dead do without knowing it.
Lime Tree Gardens was the third such bungalow Mrs Pike had lived in, not by choice, mind you. It was in a quiet cul-de-sac with a newsagent's on the corner. Mrs Lesley, the woman next door, had the hairiest legs - you'd think she'd have them seen to.
The reason Mrs Pike never lived anywhere for long was that she had to move whenever Geoffrey did. Her irritating child had grown into a surprisingly attractive man, and it was to get at his wife Marie that Mrs Pike followed them around the city. Not that it was Geoffrey's fault that they upped sticks all the time. No, it was Marie who had the itchy feet. It was living all those years with an outdoor toilet and then suddenly marrying into money.
"Don't you think Geoffrey deserves a bit of freedom now that he's in his forties?" Marie snapped at her one day.
Mrs Pike went white. "He lived with me until he was 32," she reminded her. "He's always been a good boy."
"Well, he's grown up now," sneered Marie, "and we're his family, me and the kids."
Mrs Pike had stomach trouble on and off for days after Marie's outburst. "Is it such a sin," she wrote in a letter to Marie, "to want to have my own son close at hand? In case anything untoward should happen?"
Geoffrey rang her - sullen-sounding, as though Marie had pushed him into it: "What's all this untoward business, Mother?"
"My hernia," she stuttered, "I never know when it's going to play up."
And she wasn't lying. Sometimes all it took was a slightly stringy piece of chicken, an unexpected bit of bacon. Not that she knowingly ate the fat - she always took off the rind with a pair of scissors and put it out for the tits.
Each new bungalow Mrs Pike lived in, she named herself. She had a flair for it - and she liked to think that something in this world would outlast her. She'd lived in a nice place off Mapperley Plains which she'd called "Saigon" - a topical reference to something she'd heard on the news. The next one she named "The Point", since it was right on the furthermost tip of a triangular new development. Marie had been expecting for the second time when she moved in there. She hated Marie Like That - couldn't look her in the eye with that awful smug lump bulging out of her.
When she was expecting, Marie's game was to take up as much of Geoffrey's time as possible, claiming sickness and the like. At "The Point", this had been especially inconvenient as Mrs Pike had once heard a noise in the night.
"I'm really nervous at nights," she said - and begged Geoffrey to come and sleep over with her, just until she got used to it. So, every night for a week, he came and slept in the spare room. It was marvellous - they'd share a tin of Campbell's soup, just like in the old days, and then watch Bernard Braden on TV. Then - oh my, what a coincidence! - Marie managed to go into labour ten days early and the honeymoon was over, so to speak.
"Couldn't you get a guard dog?" Marie moaned, suggesting a security firm that some friend of hers had used.
"Oooh, I'd be ever so nervous of a great big dog," Mrs Pike protested, knocking that one firmly on the head.
"What about a little dog then?" Geoffrey suggested. "Just an alarm system, as it were?"
And that's how she got landed with Gretchen - not that she'd be without her now, of course. She soon had her lapping sweetened tea out of a saucer and then Gretchen'd insist on having the last two chocs whenever she had a box of Milk Tray. Mrs Pike couldn't abide Montelimar and certainly couldn't tackle the nougat with her dentures.
So Gretchen's teeth went first and then she went all diabetic, which affected her sight. And the blindness made her very tired. She'd nap on and off , and sleep through any noise. "Not much good as a guard dog," Mrs Pike told her son with a degree of satisfaction.
At Christmas, Geoffrey and Marie came over with the children, and Mrs Pike had once again to stomach the sight of that great fat belly all swelled up to bursting - a third one was expected in January.
"I hated giving birth to Geoffrey," Mrs Pike said, when Marie helped herself just like that to more bread sauce. "It was just like going to the toilet, only worse."
"I suppose I'm lucky," Marie boasted. "I just relax and they pop out!" And she leaned over and touched Mrs Pike's sleeve as she spoke.
Quickly, Mrs Pike pulled away her arm. A shudder ran the length of her body. She hadn't been touched by anyone since the war. The feeling made her want to cry and vomit, both at the same time.
When Geoffrey and Marie divorced, she didn't bother to suppress her delight. She poured herself a Dubonnet and lemonade and treated herself to a handful of those pink cocktail biscuits.
On the Thursday after he actually told her, Geoffrey came over for a late soup and cheese supper. Soft white rolls, Lurpak, Dairylea spread.
"You married beneath you," she told him during Sale Of The Century. "You want to watch out That Woman doesn't take you to the cleaners."
Geoffrey looked at her and said nothing.
Then he lit a Silk Cut and started answering Nicholas Parsons' questions. He was good at general knowledge, and he got all but one right.
Mrs Pike felt a flutter of pride at the base of her throat. Or was it the cheese so late at night? On the pouffe at her feet, Gretchen snorted in her sleep.
"That animal's poorly," Geoffrey remarked.
"Rubbish," she said. "It's called old age."
But she caught herself smiling at him. The little exchange gave her so much pleasure.
Now she didn't need to worry at night, because Geoffrey moved back in, keeping two suitcases and his valet chair in the spare room.
"Just until I get myself sorted," he said, because the house was up for sale and he said he couldn't face the emptiness without the kiddies.
Mrs Pike hadn't seen the kiddies since the split and neither, from what she could gather, had her son. But she had the photographs on the sideboard - except she'd cut Her out with a pair of nail scissors.
"She's turned them against me," Geoffrey told her. "The doctor's given me something. For depression." For some reason, that word - "depression" - sliced through Mrs Pike's heart. Made her want to catch her breath.
"You're all right," she said brightly, "you're just not the marrying type, that's all. Never have been. I should have spotted it."
"I'm not sleeping," Geoffrey said on another occasion. "I don't know what's going to happen to the business." When he spoke like that, he reminded her of the weedy little boy who'd trail around after her, making her want so badly to kick him.
"Let's watch the Eurovision Song Contest," said Mrs Pike. "I listened to our entry and it's not at all bad."
When the police knocked on Mrs Pike's back door, it was very late. So late that she'd taken out her teeth, removed her wig and hearing aid, and had nothing on but a brushed nylon gown under which her flesh always seemed to have a mind of its own.
She'd had mulligatawny soup for supper and it was repeating on her - sometimes an early warning sign of Hernia Trouble.
She pulled on a shower cap, which was all she had to hand, and made her way to the door. She couldn't think why they'd gone round the back when the front porch had a light on. She clipped on the chain and opened it a crack. She knew something was wrong when she heard radios cutting in and out, saw the clouds of several men's breath against the passage brickwork.
"Mrs Pike?" The man spoke too softly, too queryingly. She disliked him immediately. She nodded, unwilling to open her mouth for the lack of teeth. "Sorry to disturb you so late at night. Can we come in?"
"Well -" she managed to croak, and unclipped the chain and stood there, blinking, in the kitchen, her mind all over the place.
"I'm sorry," said the man, who was ever so young - even younger than Geoffrey. "Would you like to sit down. Only we've some very bad news for you, I'm afraid."
"I'd prefer to stand," she said, not wanting to give him any leeway.
"Your son, Geoffrey. He died earlier tonight. He was found at his office. He hanged himself. I'm so sorry."
"Oh my Lord," she said. And smiled.
She could not think. She felt silly. She felt she shouldn't be told such a big thing while wearing a shower cap.
"Mrs Pike? I really think you should sit down."
She felt her lips going wider with the smile and the shock of it. Like a sneeze, she felt a laugh coming. "He hasn't gone and done that, has he?" she said. "The silly monkey. When he had everything to live for."
Mrs Pike was never one to dwell on things. She continued, as she always had, to mooch around her bungalow and pet Gretchen and watch TV with the sound turned well up - never mind about the neighbours.
In fact, the neighbours did their best, she had to admit that. Hairy Mrs Lesley brought round a piece of apple pie on a plate, even bothered to put on a doily. "Don't worry about returning the plate," she said. "There's no hurry, you take your time."
But Mrs Pike couldn't stand other people's clutter around the place and so she ate the pie, even though the crust was soggy, and then she rinsed the plate in cold water and left it on the Lesleys' doorstep.
Once the funeral was over, she tried to forget all about Marie and the children. One of the kiddies sent her a pair of homemade slippers at Christmas - tatty velvet they were, with silly baubles stitched on all over - an
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