SheilaStoneDillMemorial

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My mom was known for her positive and encouraging disposition. She was a tremendous influence on me this way, and I would imagine her grandkids and most who knew her would ave a difficult time picturing her angry to the point of administering a spanking.

I got several spankings as a child, and I'm certain I probably deserved more than I actually received. I'm not super proud of this fact, I'm just acknowledging that I could be a management problem.

Mom's spankings were pretty straightforward. They went something like this:

1. Bret makes a poor choice deserving of a spanking.
2. Mom informs me that I am going to get said spanking, and arranges a place and time for this. Typically, it went something like, "Let's meet in your bedroom in ten minutes (pause for effect, establish menacing eye contact) because you're going to get a spanking."
3. The ten minutes of anticipation leading up to getting the spanking were in fact way worse than the actual spanking, but that was part of her plot. Often many remorseful feelings were expressed during this time, usually by me.
4. The spanking usually was several swats on the butt, bare-handed, pants on, followed by lots of very dramatic sobbing, again usually by me.

One spanking sticks out. When I was about four or five (1967 or 1968), I did something deserving of a spanking, and mom and I arranged for the usual "see you in 10" thing, but this time I went into the little bathroom near the laundry room, and I stuffed a fluffy hand towel into my underwear, providing a measure of impact protection that of course, mom wouldn't be the wiser to.

When I arrived for my scheduled thrashing, I wasn't nearly as sobby as normal, and, according to mom, I kind of hopped right up across her knee like I was getting onto Santa's lap or something. There was the customary delay, and then I felt the solid, but significantly muffled impact of her hand on my butt...then another, more hesitant spank.

Then she started laughing. I couldn't hear her, but I could feel her shaking. She gave me one more half hearted whack, and couldn’t go on. She told me not to commit the offense again and she left, trying to keep it together.

In 1967, my four-year-old-brain believed I had gotten out of a spanking. In retrospect, I understand that didn't exactly happen. I understand now that I had a tender-hearted and loving mom with a tremendous sense of humor.

Bret Harrison