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Subject: The Stand-Up


Author:
Marek
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Date Posted: 02:37:20 11/02/19 Sat

The Stand-Up
Part 1

Hello, hello, and welcome to this lovely theatre on this lovely evening!
Now, I had a few questions the viewers asked me before tonight's show, and one of them was interesting -- it was on this lovely piece of scented paper, don't know where the author got it. But she asked -- or maybe he, hey, I don't judge -- about my opinions on child rearing.
Oh dear.
Now, hold for a moment, this is a serious theme. After all, you don't rear that many children in your life. Three, maybe four? Anyone here with more than four? How many, sir? Eight? Does your wife know about them all?
Oh, dear, eight! No, I'm sorry, that's not a family, that's a voting bloc. It's a bit extreme. I myself have ended up with three. Three girls -- Kate, she's 16, lovely young lady, well, she's not technically mine -- I got her in marriage. With her mom, I mean. Yup, I married her, and the next day, she was like "Oh, honey, I have a surprise for you!" Bam, there was Kate. Six years old at that time -- it was some time ago, but whenever I try to figure out how long exactly, my wife tends to hit me over my head with something.
The next two, I had with her. Our first daughter, now nine years old, we called Guinevre. Big mistake, I tell you that. I mean, sure, it's a nice name, but you know what kids at school started to call her? "Guinea Pig". It didn't help that when she was in second grade, her class actually got a guinea pig as a pet. They fed this animal hay and some sort of pellets, and all the time -- all the time -- those things appeared on Guinevre's desk. Eventually she saw one of the boys putting the pellets there.
Now, you'd think that she'd tell the teacher, use those conflict resolution skills that are drilled into kids these days, nah. She just took those pellets and made him eat them. She got detention and, of course, we had to punish her as well, but I know that it was worth it for her.
So, anyway, nobody really calls her Guinevre these days. We took a poll, my wife, Kate, and I, and currently we're kind of trying various nicknames that start with 'G' to see what fits best. Currently, we call her "Gremlin". She's like those critters -- destructive and merciless. When she wants to.
Our youngest is seven -- two years younger than Gremlin -- and we wanted a simple name for her. Something clear. So we called her Claire. As long as nobody in her school class is too knowledgeable about eclairs, it should be fine.

So, this is it, three daughters. Three chances to raise a good human being. It's not really likely either me or my wife will get more. But the thing is, it's a full-time job. And that's hard to do when you, well, HAVE a full-time job. You start cutting corners. But really, I must say: if you have to cut corners, cut them at your job, not with your kids. Their disapproval is worse.

So, of course the big question was whether we should spank them or not. I was pretty much against it, but then I met Kate. She was six-years-old angel, with her blonde hair and neat dresses -- her mom even made her wear bows, which, think of it, we maybe SHOULD have adopted as a form of punishment -- and Kate didn't like me. And it looked like she got her idea of expressing disapproval from pre-war comic strips or something because she just kept playing these pranks on me. Harmless little things. She put a pin on my chair, she hid my left shoe, she put a laxative in my coffee... We had a good laugh about all of those. Well, with the laxative, only she and her mom -- I was too busy with... other things.
And her mom says to me, you know, maybe I should do something manly to assert myself. And so when I woke up after a leisurely afternoon nap -- I passed out on the toilet -- I went to her, and I looked her right into her eyes, I tried to ignore the demons that looked out of them, and I told her "Please, don't do that again."
And, of course, being a mature human being, she never did that again. No, next time she put salt in my coffee. Safer, but very disgusting.
And so I sat her down and said to her mom, "Honey! Can I borrow Kate for a few minutes?"
"Oh, why?"
"Well, I thought she really needs to get her bottom spanked."
"Alright then! Good luck!"
And I took Kate into the living room. Her mom was next door. I told Kate that hurting me wasn't funny. She didn't see it that way. She said that it was funny.
And so I said, "Alright, but then I'm going to do something funny as well." And I turned her over my lap.
Now, I only smacked her bottom a few times. But the first smack, you could hear how the gears in her head stopped turning, and then skipped a beat. And I smacked her a second time, and a third time. She couldn't process it! It was something so out of her experience that she literally didn't know what to do, but after a few more smacks her natural instincts took over and she started to cry. You know, making a little girl cry is one of the worst feelings you have as a parent. Normally, that is. At that time, still incensed from the coffee incidents, I felt like a winner, like I finally defeated this huge enemy that was hurting me psychically.
I let Kate go and she ran towards her mom, but surprise! -- she got no sympathy there. When she calmed down, we sat with her and her mom told her, in no uncertain terms, that I am allowed to discipline her. She probably never heard the word "discipline" before, but she knew it involved my hand, her butt, and quite a lot of stinging.

After this incident, it took about a week before Kate earned a spanking. I don't exactly remember what she did -- it was probably something minor, but we secretly agreed that she'll be on no-tolerance policy. First slip-up and it was discipline time.
And so, we did it in the living room like before. She came there, and she knew that she was in trouble, and her mom did the judge and jury part, explaining her the whys, and then it was my time to do the whats. Her mom led her over my lap -- I tried asking her, but she wasn't about to listen to me yet. Once she was lying there, safely pinned down, I talked to her, got a grudging "sorry" out of her, and then I smacked her bottom a few times. It was more somber than the first time, but again, only a few smacks. And you know what, it was enough. Because what she needed was us being firmer, but not overly firm.

You know, people sometimes say that they are "strict but fair" with their kids, but it's silly. You shouldn't be strict with your children, and you certainly shouldn't be fair! I found out that "fair" is too hard on them. When the kids do something, you see it, and you think of what a fair punishment would be, and then you dial it WAY down because they are your kids and you love them and you would never do them what you know, in the depths of your soul, that they deserve. When little Guinevre got to scissors and cut up my high school diploma, what would be the fair way to deal with it? Probably putting her in stocks in the town square and throwing tomatoes at her. That's what I felt would be appropriate. But no, she was family and we loved her, and so her punishment was reduced to a severe scolding followed by a few smacks. If she wasn't my daughter, she might still be in the stocks.

So, anyway, I married my wife and Kate officially became my daughter, which she didn't really like. And her mom got pregnant, which she also didn't like. I understood the kid, I really did, she was the No. 1 in her mom's life and now she felt like she fell down to third rung, after me and her unborn sister. And she felt like she had to be a winner.
But she bonded with me a bit. I took her to the zoo, I took her to the cinema, I took her to a puppet show -- she really loved that one, probably because she saw me suffer.
Of course, she got smacked as well. I didn't punish her for everything, but sometimes she made too much fuss and exploded, and in those cases she ended up getting those same few smacks on her upturned bottom.

That lasted until she started to be nasty towards her mom. She basically told her that she likes me more than she likes her, and you know what, her mom couldn't really deny that. Kate was six, almost seven, but that's still not old enough to understand that there are different kinds of love and that you can have enough love for more than one person. I came home that evening and found them both crying; my wife apparently slapped Kate's face and immediately felt terrible about it, and Kate felt terrible about what she said, and basically they were both very unhappy. Bad words were said on both sides.

And so I look at those two, and I just go to Kate and send her to her room. It took me some time to calm down my wife. Then I went to Kate's room and took even longer to calm HER down. I brought her down, and her mom apologized, and Kate apologized, and there were tears on both sides, again.
Then, I said to Kate, that unfortunately I have to spank her. She just nodded and said, "Yeah, I figured out when I heard you spanking Mommy," to which I had no reply except to pretend that I never heard that. So did my wife, for that matter.
I sat down and Kate ran to me and went over my lap by herself. By this time, she was used to it. And the few smacks weren't doing much at that point, she was kinda used to them and knew it was just a few stinging slaps and that it will be over soon. So I just hold her on my lap and tell her "Well, Kate, unfortunately, you are in for a REAL spanking this time. And a real spanking is spanking on your bare bottom."
And she was just like eeeeeh?, she couldn't process it, so I took advantage of that moment and flipped her dress up and took down her panties. And of course she wanted to protest, but there was no time for that because my hand landed on her bare bottom, and at that point, at that very point, she realized that I had never actually spanked her with anything like my full strength. I mean, not that I used my full strength at THIS time, but it was still more than she was used to, and she did this *squeeeeal!* that was equally adorable and terrified, and then more smacks came and she was crying, equally from the sting and from the shock of all that. And when she realized that she's getting more smacks than usual, she was terrified that it will never end and started to cry even harder.

And my wife was sitting there the whole time, and she had tears in her eyes as well. And I knew that if I had, at any point, went over the boundary to the "overly strict" realm, she would have stopped me because that's what partners do, they stop each other from making mistakes, but no, she was just sitting there and let me work. Kate couldn't see her from her position, which I think was good -- she wouldn't be too happy about that.

So, Kate has for the very first time in her life, ended up with a well-spanked red bottom. Strangely enough, this made us even closer. She snuggled to me right after that, she didn't even pull her panties up. So I was sitting on the couch, Kate snuggled from one side, my wife from the other, and you know, I was feeling like I had become the real center pillar of the family.

Of course, next time Kate earned a spanking she was very surprised when I started to flip her dress up. She turned her head and she looked at me like "I thought that was a special case because I was extra naughty" and I looked at her, and I say "You know, those smacks you got before, those were like training wheels on a bicycle. You are not a baby anymore and you can get proper spankings. And she looked at me like "Yaaaay, maturity..." and she wasn't too thrilled, obviously, but what could she do? She could only try to take her spanking with dignity, and she... didn't really succeed in that. But she tried.

As time went by, Guinevre was born, and I was really excited about that. With Kate, I missed the first six years of her life, so this was all new for me, but of course, I also hadn't really realized how much babies suck. That's right, I said it, they suck. They are not really doing anything, you just take care of them and you hope that they will, in time, become human beings that are fun to be with. Because being with a baby -- not fun. Now, I spent the time with Guinevre, obviously, but to be honest, it was more of a sense of duty. I loved her, but at the same time, I was kinda scared of her, I didn't know how to touch her without breaking the warranty -- they really should give you manual to these things, but then again, who ever reads those, am I right? It wouldn't help much. And so I did my part of this whole parent thing by taking care of Kate so her mom could take care of Guinevre. I took her to and from school, I supported her interests, and when something happened between Kate and her mom, I was the mediator.

Now, when you raise kids, one obvious question is how to deal with school? Some people spank for bad grades, which is really not a good idea. It's mostly the parents who see the kids as a kind of second chance in life. "I grew up to be a grocery store clerk, but I want more for my children and I'll FORCE them to achieve it!" But there's nothing wrong with being a grocery store clerk, you know, except for not having any money, and being on the hook whenever something goes wrong, and getting abused by dumb customers, and getting robbed... alright, there is PLENTY wrong with being a grocery store clerk but that still doesn't make it a hell on earth! Limbo, at most. But parents who push their kids in school too much, yeah, maybe it will make the kids in long run more successful, but you know what it won't make them? More loving to their parents. I knew parents like this, first they were all "Oh, our David wouldn't DARE to bring home a grade lower than A!" and then they were all "It's report card day and David ran away from home, where did we go wrong?" Right there, buddy -- right... there.

So with Kate, I always tried to create a supportive environment for her. She got a single bad grade among good ones? I just hugged her and told her that it doesn't matter. The teacher sent note that she was sassy? I got Kate's version, signed the note, and told Kate that she shouldn't waste her wit on teachers. I told her "You know how dull and boring school is?" and she said "Yeah?" and I said "Well, now imagine spending DECADES in there." The teachers, I think, should appreciate sassy students more, it's something to brighten their gray, dull days.
But, on the other side of the coin, some standards have to be maintained, of course. And the main standard was honesty. So, if a test was coming, I asked Kate about it, I asked "Will you get a good grade?" And when she said that probably not, I sat with her and tried to help her with studying, but if after all of that she still got a bad grade, well then, no one is good at everything. For what it's worth, she usually got better grade than she thought.
But when she thought she'll get a good grade, and then she brought me the test and the result was worse than we thought -- or when she didn't bring me the test at all -- then we had to have a talk. Did something unforeseen happen? Was her teacher replaced by an alien shapeshifter who gave the class harder test on purpose? (That only happened once, if you wonder.) Did she miss something the teacher said? Was she overconfident? Or was she, plain and simple, lying to me to avoid studying?
So, we got to the bottom of the problem and then I used a complex mathematical formula to determine whether she deserves a spanking or not. If she lied to me, then it was automatic, but if it was one of the other thing then we looked at how good are her results in that particular subject, whether there were problems of this kind there before... When Kate lied to me, it meant not just a spanking in that one case, but also much stricter evaluation of that subject for the rest of school year, which could mean one or two spankings she would otherwise avoid.
And for these school-related spankings, we had a routine. Not for the others, when there were problems at home, I dealt with those on the spot, but for school trouble, I sat her in front of me, and I looked right into her eyes, and I said "Well, Kate, you're getting a spanking for this."
And this was usually in the afternoon, but school spankings were put away to just before her bedtime. So she had some time to think about what was going to happen, though there wasn't much to think about there. It was more or less always the same. In the evening, she put her nightgown on before her bedtime, and then, she had to go and get me. I wanted her to be more responsible so she had to go to the living room, where I usually was, with her mom and baby Guinevre, and she told me that she's ready to go to bed. Which was the code for being ready for her spanking.
And so I got up, excused myself, took Kate's hand and we went back to her room. Of course, she had tried to prolong the inevitable a bit, but when she slowed down too much, I just scooped her up in my arms and carried her. I ended up doing that most of the time, now that I think about it.
So, we went into her room, I sat on her bed, and she kind of climbed over my lap. I raised her nightgown -- she usually started to whimper at this point -- and then I just started the spanking and carried on until I had a red-bottomed little girl who was crying hard. Then I hugged her, put her to bed, and I was sitting there, calming her down until she fell asleep.

Well, Kate was growing up, and so was Guinevre, and when Kate was nine, we got the little Claire as well. Guinevre was a toddler, so we both could have some meaningful play with her -- finally. You know, it's funny, people always complain that their kids either grow up too slow, or too fast.

Now, some people make long elaborate lists of house rules for the kids -- what they MUST do, what they must NEVER do, and, you know, the kind of gray area "this is not technically forbidden but we'd prefer if you didn't do it". Most of such parents eventually discover that there is another kind: "Things we didn't put into the rules because we never thought someone might actually do that and if we DID put it in there, it would just give you ideas."
We never did this long list of rules -- Kate's attention span was short enough that she wouldn't read it anyway. We just dealt with things flying by the seat of pants -- her pants, to be precise. She started out as a prankster, and even though she stopped doing mean pranks on me -- and she never did them on her mom or on the babies, not yet -- she sometimes pranked other kids in neighborhood or school. And there was this one kid, a boy, a year younger than her, and Kate apparently liked him a lot. But she showed it in weird ways.
You know how the stereotype goes where boys put worms and other disgusting things on girls they like? It's like some primitive method of marking their property. So that's basically what Kate did. She used to sneak caterpillars into his bag. Which was a problem, because imagine that -- at school, that poor boy gives his homework to the teacher to grade it, and the teacher opens it and out crawls the most educated caterpillar ever. And it wasn't even a Biology homework! He got into trouble because of that, it happened a few times, and it didn't help that this boy actually DID have an avid interest in entomology.
We only realized what was going on after Kate told us, one day, how one of the caterpillars got away in the school cafeteria, marginally improving the nutrition value of whatever they were serving that day.
I called the boy's parents and told them what was going on, which was good because they were completely like "ehhh... what the heck?" and I thank my lucky stars to this day that those parents did NOT spank their kids otherwise Kate would accrue one heck of a debt.

And so the next day, I brought Kate to the boy's class, to see him and his teacher, and she confessed to what she did and she apologized, and, you know, the boy took it well, he didn't really mind the attention, I guess, there were no permanent consequences, but Kate just looked me and she knew there are dark clouds on horizon once we come home. Dark crimson clouds, to be precise.
You know what the worst thing on this situation was? That I couldn't even get mad with her. I just could not, if anything I felt proud that she defied the gender conventions. And this is a pretty sad moment in your life, when you know you are going to spank your child even though you're not really mad, just because it's the right thing to do.

So, after the school, I came for her, and I took her home, and neither of us spoke. We came home, my wife was waiting for us, she had put both little girls to bed for their naps, and then we all sat in the living room and discussed Kate's behavior.
Well, there wasn't much to discuss, facts were clear, so was the penalty, and then my wife went to one of those old dressers, opened a drawer, rummaged in it and brought out a hairbrush. Like, an old-school hairbrush. And she said that her mother was spanked with this hairbrush, and SHE was spanked with this hairbrush -- I hadn't even known that! She was holding out on me -- and that "now, little Missy, is time YOU got spanked with it". And then she handed it to me and asked me to "do the honors".

You know, she was never really interested in how I discipline Kate. I told her when it happened, and obviously she knew about those school-related spankings when she came into the living room all sad and took me away, but she never SAID anything. I had her unspoken approval in spanking Kate but it was not something she wanted to dwell on. This time, though, I knew she was really mad. She wanted me to use that hairbrush on Kate's butt, and she wanted to SEE me using it.
I took Kate and lifted her up and pulled down her pants; she wasn't wearing dresses much at this point. And I told her, in whispers, "Sorry, Kate, but you really goofed up this time, and this will sting an awful lot."
And Kate, brave little runt, just pulled down her own panties, and she threw herself over my lap, and she looked at me and said, all dramatic, "Do your worst, Daddy!"
Which was all well and good, but she IMMEDIATELY rued those words since I started smacking her bottom with the hairbrush right away.
I tried to limit myself, to not spank as hard as I usually did, but the hairbrush simply has a sting that's incomparable to bare hand, and Kate started crying right away, and then SCREAMING after few smacks, and I just stopped and looked at my wife, and my eyes were saying "Is THIS what you wanted?"
And you know what? She broke. She started crying and she ran towards Kate and lifted her out of my lap and hugged her... She never really said it but it was like *I* was the bad guy there.
The spanking ended right there and then, so Kate only got five or six smacks with the brush, which, frankly, was probably less than she deserved. But I was just relieved that I didn't have to continue.

The next day was Saturday and we all came together in the living room. The hairbrush was still lying on the table where I put it afterwards and we all looked at it, and Kate almost started crying again when she saw it. So what I did was, I took a sticker with a mushroom cloud on it -- no idea where I got that -- and I stuck it on that hairbrush. And I tell Kate, "You see, this hairbrush is now a nuclear option. I don't really want to use it on your bottom, but I will do it if there's no other way." And she said, "What do you mean, if there's no other way?" And she was right, since in what possible situation would the brush be an option but my hand was not? And so I said -- I made it up on the spot -- that basically deliberate deception and not telling me truth when asked would be offenses where the brush might come into play.

And after that, for about two months, she came right to me with any minor goof she did. She broke a plate -- she ran to me and confessed. She said a bad word -- she ran to me and confessed. Mom said a bad word -- she ran to me and ratted her out. Eventually, of course, the time came when I had to take that hairbrush out, but that is a story for another time. After the break, what do you think, folks? See you!

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Re: The Stand-UpDaniel14:33:15 11/06/19 Wed


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