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>Stephanie, > >My two sisters and I were raised by Catholic parents >who firmly believed in the rod of discipline. Bare >bottom every time. They didn’t use an actual rod, >though. They didn’t cane or switch us. Until the age >of five, spankings were done over the knee, panties >down, and with Mom or Dad’s hand. The spankings hurt >immensely, and we all cried our eyes out. After each >spanking, us little girls had to spend some bare >bottom time in the corner, crying hard and feeling >sorry for our burning butts. As we respectively turned >five, our bare butts were upgraded to the kitchen’s >wickedly painful, heavy wooden spoon. None of us could >take a bare butt spoon spanking without going into a >fit and getting downright hysterical. All of us raged, >physically and verbally, against the biting sting of >the spoon and it was by no means unusual for all of us >to have plum-purple spoon prints on our butts that >often took days to heal, if not a full week. At eight, >a girl was old enough to get Mom’s wooden hairbrush >on her bare bottom. At that age, Mom seemed to take >over the girl’s discipline and Dad seemed to step >aside. I don’t know if Dad started to feel >uncomfortable seeing his young daughter’s naked body >parts during the kicking and flailing phases of the >spankings, but for whatever reason, he backed off and >started to let Mom spank us. Maybe he was too >tenderhearted and didn’t like to see his young >daughters’ bare bottoms receive the spankings >necessary for children eight years of age and older. >Being bent upside down over Mom’s knee, half-naked, >was frightening for all three of us girls, and we >begged for forgiveness like our lives depended on >getting it. Every time Mom’s wooden brush made full >contact with our upturned and presented bare skin, >there was an unforgivable and mind-blowing explosion >of red-hot pain that shot through every fiber of our >beings. Because Mom always gripped us and held us >tightly over her knee, and there was no way for us to >wiggle out of place, the only thing we could do as >children was to express our anguish with loud, >guttural howls that filled the entire house. Each and >every bare bottom spanking always took ‘way too >long’, and while standing with our noses to the wall >afterward was embarrassing, at least the assault on >our swollen, red, burning, throbbing bare bottoms was >over. > >While my sisters and I were spanked together more >often than not, there were many, many times I sat in >the living room while I listened to Mom spank one or >both of my sisters upstairs in our shared bedroom. >Whether it was my sister Colleen or Jeanine, or both >of them, the loud cracks of wood on bare bottoms >resonated loudly throughout the house, and the girl or >girls’ yelling bounced off the walls. Spankings were >punishments, but they were meant to do more than just >punish, they were meant to reestablish the girl’s >place in the home and her place before God. Yes, my >parents did use their religion to justify using >corporal punishment on us. I know many church-going >mothers still do. I don’t use religion to justify >spanking my children. To me, spanking the bared >bottoms of naughty children just makes logical sense. > >Growing up, I listened to a lot of bare bottom >spankings being administered and a lot of screaming >taking place in other rooms of the house. It simply >was how life worked back then. There was never a >spanking given that wasn’t fully deserved. > >Becky
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