My Name is Frank and I am a Spanker

In yesterday's blog about my thirty year old daughter, I mentioned that Terri and I were able to beat her until her spirit was broken. That was an exaggeration, however we were spanking parents. Both of our kids had their fair share of butt poundings that began when they were toddlers and ended when they were around 8 or 9 years old. That makes us spankers.

We did employed spanking during a period when society became less tolerant of corporal punishment. Swatting a behind was completely eliminated from the public school systems. It was seen as a cruel and archaic form of discipline. The thought was that a spanking could permanently bruise the ego and self esteem of a tender child, and was never a justified action.

I disagree. I might have been a juvenile delinquent during my grade school days if there were not a threat of discomfort for misdeeds. I remember a certain 3rd grade teacher, a Mennonite that never would expose her elbows or ankles, always kept her hair rolled up in a tight bun, looked like one of the goons in the Popeye cartoons, and displayed her paddle with pride as if it were an expensive shotgun. Her name was Mrs. Stillabower.

When you crossed her in the classroom, she would simply ask you to step out in the hall and wait for her. The waiting was the real punishment. This fact was well known by my parents, and something I used with my kids. Yes, the wait before the spanking can be used to enhance the actual punishment, which comes and goes very quickly. After a wait of several minutes, Mrs. Stillabower would step from her classroom carrying her prized paddle. She would simply say, "grab your ankles" which was followed by one single stinging swat. She would then return to her classroom and pick up the teaching from where she left off. I would return to my desk wondering if anyone really noticed that I just got spanked. The embarrassment hurt far more than the spanking.

My parents were accomplished spankers. My mother would perform the action when the situation demanded, but would usually use the waiting period most often. She would save the spanking for when Dad got home. I remember one Cub Scout meeting at our house (my mom was the Den mother), during my childhood vocabulary experimentation phase. I accidently let a 4 letter word slip while she was in earshot. Much in the fashion of Mrs. Stillabower, my mother simply sent me to my room until my father got home around an hour later. My father administered the swats. Funny thing is that I don't remember the spanking, but still do remember the torturous hour waiting to receive it.

We had a few non-spankers in my family. The preeminent non-spanker was my Aunt Grace. Aunt Grace was a tender soul who showered love on her neices and nephews. She always lectured the parents who gave their child a swat. She was a hardcore believer that children would never be spanked. Why was Aunt Grace a non-spanker? I believe it was becasue she had no children of her own. If she did, she would have known that giving a swat or two to a misbehaving child is sometimes the only correct action. And any child who hears the parent when they say "this is going to hurt me more than you" should know that it is a lie. Spanking can be as therapeutic for the parent as it is corrective for the child.

Now as a grandparent, I have a new opportunity to apply my spanking skills.  The problem is that my grandchildren are complete angels and never deserve a spanking.  I might need to correct their parents if I ever catch them swatting one of the darlings.