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>Jerry, > >I feel bad for you. Knowing you're not in a good >"mindset" right now, I'm sorry... > >Your writing is as good as ever; I felt like I was >experiencing the scene just by reading it. It was like >a movie. I'm sure you could write a book of short >stories; it would fill up quickly. > >That being said, I understand you might be angry with >yourself, but don't be too hard on yourself. You acted >like a teenager whose moods fluctuate wildly. It's >already a good thing that you're admitting you made a >mistake. From my point of view, you're completely >forgiven. > >I'm 42. You could be my son. So, like a father to his >son, I'm sending you a hug to encourage you to feel >better. Sincerely. > >Romain > > > >>There is something wrong with me. It's not just my >>depression, which has taken a turn for the worse, this >>time for a tangible reason. I had to ask my mom for >>permission to take another Buspar pill for the first >>time in a long while. No, there's something else >>wrong with my brain. There's a total short circuit >>between my cortex, the thinking part and the doing >>part. As I sit here and think about what happened I >>can totally see that there is no flippin' reason for >>me to do what I did. I'm so worried about my future >>and it may be too late. I'm actually on the verge of >>tearing up right now as I think about it. I got a >>pretty bad spanking yesterday. I totally deserved it! >> What happened is this: >> >>Last Thursday, Friday, and Saturday we had a wind >>storm here. Not a tree-felling tornado wannabe, but >>strong enough to rip twigs off the trees and coat the >>lawn in a layer of leaves kinda like organic snow. >>This is a bad thing. Never mind that the yard looked >>like a disaster zone, if you leave the leaves there >>for too long they block the sun and the grass dies. >>They had to be raked up, no possible question about >>it. What's more, yesterday, Sunday, was the time to >>do it since the wind had quit and I was home from >>school and dad from work. Maintaining the yard is one >>of my chores. Usually I don't mind it all that much >>so long as it's just mowing and trimming, but raking a >>ton of leaves is another kettle of fish entirely, >>especially since the wind cleaned out last summer's >>inventory of pittosporum seed pods out of our huge >>tree. Those suckers are sticky so they cling to >>passing animals and distribute the seeds. Of course >>they stick to anything else, too, so raking them up is >>a terrible chore. I hate it! To their credit, my >>parents realized that this was too much for a single >>boy to handle alone so they agreed to help: a family >>project. What could be fairer than that? Therefore, >>at breakfast yesterday my dad told me to get out of my >>pajamas and into my yard clothes and meet him and mom >>outside to get to it. So at that point the situation >>was as follows: >> >>The wind storm was nobody's fault. You can't order >>the wind about, so there was nobody to get mad at and >>expect to clean up the mess. >> >>The mess <i>had</i> to be cleaned up, no two ways >>about it. >> >>Sunday was the best time to do it and it would >>probably take all day, so best to start right away. >> >>All three of us would help, it wasn't unfairly left to >>me. >> >>Question for the kids here: Given the above what >>would you have done? Of course! Your brains work! >>Not me. My doing brain part looked at the upcoming >>work and decided nothing doing. Totally ignoring the >>thinking part it had me tell my dad "Later, dad..." >> >>My dad said, "Later, sure, about ten minutes later. >>Get dressed and meet your mother and me in the yard. >>Now!" >> >>"No," I told him. I'm not going to give you the >>play-by-play of the rest of the conversation. You >>already don't think much of me as it is, I don't want >>to admit what a total brat I was. Suffice it to say >>that it quickly dissolved into disrespect. You all >>know what happens to boys who disrespect their >>parents, right? Bare bottom time! >> >>Sure enough. My dad got mad and told me that I hadn't >>been getting spanked much lately so I was long >>overdue. He then told me to get to my room take off >>my PJ's and wait for him to bring the paddle. For >>once my doing brain acquiesced to my cortex and I did >>as I was told or I might have gotten the big lexan >>with the holes. I barely had time to hang my PJs on >>their hook behind my bedroom door when dad barged in >>with the paddle in hand. He ordered me to lay face >>down on my bed totally naked and proceeded to paddle >>me - hard. I got twice my age - 34 swats with >>particular attention to my sit spots and upper thighs >>where it really, <i>really</i> stings! When he was >>finished I was bawling up a storm. I barely heard him >>as he ordered me to stop crying, get into my yard >>clothes and outside and I had ten minutes to do that >>or he would come in with the big lexan and give me a >>real blistering. That put the fear of God even into >>my doing brain and I hurried to get dressed, still >>crying. >> >>My work clothes are not intended to be for looks, so >>if they get a bit frayed they are not replaced anytime >>soon. That means that I have partly outgrown my >>current set and the trousers are a tight fit. Just >>what you don't want when your butt is stinging from a >>spanking! I would willingly have raked the yard in my >>PJ bottoms - or even with no pants on at all - but mom >>would have never agreed to that so I winced as I >>zipped up my fly and cursed that I was going to have >>to do lots of physical labor giving my tight pants >>ample opportunity to irritate my flaming butt. Then >>it got even worse. >> >>We hadn't been at it long before we filled the yard >>waste bin and had lots more to go. I suggested that >>we fill the trash bin and recycle bin but dad nixed >>that idea saying that they would be too heavy to empty >>into the yard waste bin after it had been picked up >>That was a moot point anyway because we had more >>leaves than even those two bins held. There was no >>hope, we were going to have to use trash bags. Of >>course, we didn't have any on hand. Dad looked at me >>and told me that his wallet was on his dresser and I >>was to go retrieve a twenty, bike over to the store >>and buy some bags. >> >>Bike? >> >>I looked at my dad, horrified. "Hey dad," I >>complained, "you just spanked me good. I can't sit on >>a bike seat!" >> >>He had no sympathy. "Tough buns, Jerry," he said, >>"you should have thought of that before you mouthed >>off. You can peddle standing up! Get to it!" I >>don't know if the "tough buns" pun was intentional or >>not. It was not appreciated. >> >>So I grabbed the cash and mounted my bike. On the way >>to the store and back I inadvertently sat down more >>than once. Each time it felt like getting another >>paddle swat [insert unapproved explicative here]. >>When I got to the store they had only two boxes of >>bags left - everybody was raking leaves - so I bought >>both of them 'cause running out might mean that I'd >>have to bike to every other store in town looking for >>more and that was unthinkable. When the clerk saw my >>purchase she asked "Windy day, huh?" >> >>"Yeah, windy," I replied sarcastically. I made it >>home and we filled 5 bags. Now I have to remember to >>dump one bag a week into the yard waste bin as it is >>emptied. Sure wish that the trash pickers-up would >>allow us to put out bags of leaves on special >>occasions like this but they have the exclusive >>contract with the city so no competition to encourage >>them to consider their customers. >> >>When I woke up this morning my butt was still sore and >>I had a bad time sitting in class, but the red was >>gone by the time PE came around so no one saw >anything. >> >>So there you have it. There is no excuse for my >>behavior. Am I ever going to grow up and act like an >>adult? Or is it too late? I feel so bad!
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