My parents almost never used physical discipline on us. When we were really young, my mother would slap "our little hands", as she put it, whenever we didn't listen to her and were in danger of hurting ourselves. That couldn't have happened very often because I don't remember any of it, not just about myself but also about my younger siblings. My father would threaten to spank us when we didn't behave, but I can remember only one time when he actually did. My older sister still talks about it, mainly I think because she wasn't on the receiving end and always complained that the rest of us were spoiled.
It happened one summer day after one of those wonderful trips to the lake where we went swimming and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. On rare occasions after these swimming trips we would stop at the Dairy Joy for cones on the way home, always a real treat. This day we didn't. When I realized that we weren't going to stop, I started asking why. Pretty soon my two younger sisters joined in and before long we had turned the request into a monotonous chant. We kept it up even after our father told us several times to stop. Finally, he told us if we didn't stop at once, we would all get a spanking when we got home. Well, by that time, we were enjoying the noise we were making and couldn't stop. I think none of us thought he would really spank us.
We arrived home and unloaded the car. My father went into the house and we were told to go to our bedroom, which the three of us shared. When we got there, he was sitting on one of the beds. He told my two sisters to leave the room and wait in the hall. Then he proceeded to put me over his knees and give me a spanking. I was so shocked and angry I cried even though it really didn't hurt. When he was done, I think he spoke to me but I don't remember what he said. All I remember is the ignominy of the situation, and the wish that the whole day had never happened.
