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>My worst spanking? That's easy. When I was 12 I >tried to shoplift a Snickers bar. One of the >stupidest things I ever did; I didn't even like >Snickers bars all that much and I had plenty of money >to pay for it. I simply don't know why I suddenly >decided to go rogue. I instantly regretted it when I >got caught by the old lady that owned the store. She >was a sour-faced school-marm type who didn't like >little boys stealing from her. She hauled me up to >the counter and demanded my name and phone number. I >was too scared to offer any resistance, so I told her. > She picked up the phone and dialed my house. My dad >answered. She asked him if he was the father of a boy >named Radovan. Dad must have said yes because she >told him that I had something to say to him and handed >me the phone. "This is your father," she told me, >"tell him what you did." I froze up. I could hardly >speak but eventually I told him that I had got caught >stealing a Snickers bar. > >"I see," My dad answered calmly. I knew then that I >was dead meat. When my dad spoke calmly when he >should have been mad meant that he was furious and >holding it in with great effort and like a volcano >would blow up when the time came. "I'm coming to pick >you up, Radovan," he continued, "I'll be there >shortly. Put the lady back on." I handed the phone >back. > >The lady listened for a minute and then said "Good. >See you soon," and hung up. She then told me to turn >around, face the wall and put my hands on my head >where she could see them and wait for my dad to get >there. The wait was cruelly embarrassing. I was in >full view of every customer that came up to pay for >their purchase. Most of them had a comment: > >"What'd this one do?" > >"Boy, I'm glad I'm not him!" And comments like that. >I wanted to die. To make matters even worse, I >started to cry. On the one hand I wanted my dad to >hurry up and get there and take me away from the jibes >and embarrassment. On the other hand I didn't want >him to get there ever. Eventually he showed up, >walked over to where I was standing with my hands on >my head and ordered me to turn around. Facing him, he >forced me to tell him exactly what happened, checking >each statement with old sour-puss. > >After he had the facts he said "Let's make sure he >hasn't taken anything else." he then ordered me to >empty my pockets onto the counter. I was wearing the >1959 equivalent of today's cargo pants with lots of >pocket space and had plenty of stuff to unload, >including a lump of turquoise I had found when I was >5. I called it my agate although it was only a lump >of dirty turquoise and it was my good-luck charm and >one of my most valuable possessions. When I had >unloaded my dad patted me down roughly. I was worried >for a second that he might do a strip search right >there in front of everybody, but he didn't. Instead, >he pawed through the detritus on the counter, >separated my wallet and took out the two one-dollar >bills I had, found everything that had my ID and put >that back in the wallet and handed the wallet to me. >The rest he pushed at the old lady and said "Here. >This is yours. Take what you want and throw the rest >in the trash." > >"NO! I gasped. My agate!" > >My dad glowered at me and replied "How do you like it >when somebody takes your stuff, Radovan? Wave your >agate good-by, you'll never see it again!" I started >to sob. "Apologize to the lady now." It was slow >going but my dad finally got me to say that I was >sorry for stealing the candy bar. "Now thank her for >not calling the police." I mumbled a thank you. My >dad then looked at the old lady and said, "He only >thinks he's sorry now. When I get him home is when >he's really going to be sorry." I knew what that >meant. So did the old lady. > >"I hope it stings!" she snapped at me. > >I wanted evaporate and get sucked out the air duct . >My dad hauled me out to the car by my ear. On the >ride home he lectured me non-stop. Useless exercise. >I heard every word he said but understood none of them >I was so worried about the spanking I knew I was going >to get when we got home. I knew it was going to be a >bad one. > >When we got home my dad hauled me into the den. This >was our spanking room. Whenever my brothers or I got >taken in there it meant a spanking for sure. Dad >shut the door, pulled out the spanking chair then took >the strap out of the desk drawer. "OK, Radovan," he >barked at me, "pull down your pants and underpants to >your ankles and bend over the chair. You know the >drill." I started to cry pretty hard when I saw the >strap, but I did as I was told and dad put the strap >into action. I got 12 strokes, one for each year of >age and they were hard strokes. I screamed and cried >as I was getting it. When he was done my dad let me >cry for a few minutes then told me to pull up my pants >and we were going back to the store so I could >apologize again and really mean it. I was mortified, >but my dad repeated his demand and threatened me with >another 12 strokes if I didn't comply like right now. > >So I pulled up my pants, but didn't tuck my shirt in. >Dad drove me back to the store crying all the way with >the pain and shame. He hauled me inside. >Fortunately, there were no other customers this time. >We went up to the counter and dad told me to apologize >again and tell her what had happened. I opted for the >minimum: > >"I'm sorry I stole the Snickers bar. I got a >spanking," I sobbed out. > >"What kind of a spanking, Radovan?" my dad asked. > >"I got the strap," I had to admit. > >The old lady gave me the most mean sour look. She was >good at that. "Good," she said, "I see your shirt is >not tucked in did you get it with your pants down?" > >I could only gurgle an almost silent "Yes" > >"Underpants, too," my dad answered, completing my >shame. > >"Good," the old lady snapped. "Did it hurt?" > >"Hell yes, it hurt," I blurted with a sob. > >"Sorry for the language," my dad told her. "I'll wash >his mouth out with soap when I get him home." > >Dad then hauled me back to the car. When we got home >he relented and I didn't get the mouth soaping. I >never went back to that store.

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