Spanked At The Dinner TableAlthough I grew up in the late fifties and early sixties I was not spanked often. I know my brothers were spanked on occasion and more often than me, but I, being the first born, was kind of the apple of my father's eye and I got away with a lot that would have gotten others a quick trip across his knee. One summer day, however, I made a critical mistake that cost me a serious, bare bottomed spanking.
We were all at the dinner table, eating our noon meal. In farm country we didn't eat lunch at noon, we ate dinner--and our evening meal was supper. All of us were there--Dad, Mom, my two brothers, age 7 and 5, and me, age 12. We had just settled down to a big meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes that Mom had prepared. We ate big meals on the farm because Dad, Mom and I worked hard during those long summer days. For the life of me I do not remember what was going on between me and my Mother that day, but evidently I was arguing with her about something. The others sat quietly eating their dinner. A few minutes into the meal, I said something to her that my Dad must have determined was in a disrespectful and sassy tone.
Without saying anything or without any other warning, my father put down his silverware, signalling to me and to everyone else at the table that he had heard enough. All of us, including my mother stopped eating and talking and looked at him. Still without a word, my Dad pushed back his chair, stood and then deliberately walked around the dinner table to where I was seated. Even then I was uncertain as to what was up. He and I had just spent the morning working together--Father and son---partners on the farm. I was feeling pretty grown up and I was not expecting him to take my Mother's side in our argument. Boy, was I mistaken.
The next thing I knew he had my by my arm and steadily but strongly, lifted me from my chair. Then, just as steadily and strongly, he led me to a sofa that was near the dinner table.
Still holding me by my arm he sat down and finally spoke. "Son, I will not tolerate anyone in this family speaking that way to your mother. You will not raise your voice to her, you will not sass her, and if she tells you to do something you will obey her and not argue with her. Do you understand?"
Still not getting the drift of what was to about to happen next, I must have made some response in defense of my position. The next thing I knew he pulled on my arm and I was immediately sprawled across his lap. I don't know how he did it but in that same swift motion he had managed to unbutton my jeans and zip down the zipper. Suddenly I realized that I was about to be spanked. Suddenly I didn't feel very grown up. Suddenly my mind flashed back to the few times he had spanked me in the past--times when I was just a kid.
In an instant, with his other hand he grabbed the back band of my jeans and undershorts and pulled them down exposing my bare bottom to the entire family. All was very quiet at the dinner table. Everyone there had much earlier figured out what was about to happen.
My Dad had worked all his life, first as a farm hand and then working his own farm. His arms were strong and his hands were hard, callused from many years of physical labor. There was no need for a paddle or strap to make a lasting impression on the bottom of his disrespectful son. He raised his arm and then he brought one of those hands down on my bare butt. The sound of that hand on my 12 year old bottom filled the kitchen and reverberated off the walls. Smack!! Smack!! Smack!! Smack!! Smack!! Quickly and steadily he rained down on my poor bottom. I heard the sounds of those first few spanks but because they came so quickly it was only after the fifth spank that the pain registered in my brain. As the fire on my bottom became pain in my head I bowed my back and raised my head and let out a horrible howl. With his free hand he pushed my shoulders down and continued to spank. Five, Ten, Fifteen Twenty more spanks. Steady, solid, covering every inch of my boy bottom. I bucked and kicked and bawled; tears flooding from my eyes, my nose snotting and snorting. My bottom was now on fire--burning bright red in full view of my brothers and Mom.
Five more swats, harder and slower than the others and then it was over just as quickly as it had begun. He lifted me up to my feet, and turned me around so that I was looking directly at him, my well blistered bottom pointing towards the family at the dinner table.
"Son, don't you ever, ever talk that way to your Mother again. If you do, I will not hesitate to spank you again, any time anywhere. I do not care who might be there to see it. Do you understand?"
All I could do was shake my head and mumble "Yes, Sir, I understand."
And then he looked at my brothers who were still sitting at the table wide eyed, not moving a muscle. "And that goes for the two of you too--let this be a lesson to you. If I hear either of you sassing your Mom, you can expect to get your bottoms tanned just like your brother just received. Do you two also understand?"
Both shook their heads up and down, still not willing to utter a sound for fear, I think, that they might say something that would trigger Dad to spank them as well. After watching me get my spanking, they wanted no part of that.
With that I was sent to my room without the rest of my meal but shortly after dinner was finished for the rest of the family, my Dad came to my room and told me it was time for the two of us to get back to work.
We spent the rest of the afternoon and the rest of the summer working together and nothing further was said about the dinner time spanking. And I learned my lesson well. To this day i have never again talked disrespectfully to my Mother, and she is now 94 years of age.