Sunday, September 27, 2009

Life Magazine Spanks!

Images of spanking from the archives of Life Magazine. Enjoy fellow perverts.

Montreal Gazette: Spanking Lower's Kids IQs

Children who are spared the rod may grow up to have higher IQs than those who are spanked, suggests a study by one of North America's foremost child psychology experts.

The U.S-based study, which will be presented Friday at the International Conference on Violence, Abuse and Trauma in San Diego, Calif., examined the IQ scores of 1,510 children aged two to four, and five to nine, and compared them with their IQ scores four years later.

Researcher Murray Straus found the younger children who were spanked scored an average of five points lower on their IQs, compared to children in their age group whose parents did not believe in corporal punishment.

Among the older group, the difference was pegged at 2.8 points.

Straus, a professor at the University of Hampshire who has been studying this topic for more than 50 years, said this was the third major U.S. study released this year showing a correlation between physical discipline and a child's intelligence.

"To put it in a nutshell, corporal punishment slows down the rate of development of mental ability," Straus said in a telephone interview from San Diego. "All the kids got smarter because they got older, but the ones who were spanked, less so."

Corporal punishment was defined in the study as hitting a child, usually on the buttocks, at least three times a week. The one who usually did the spanking was the mother.

Straus said his study, which will also be published next week in the Journal of Aggression, Maltreatment and Trauma, took into account other factors that may affect mental development, such as the family's socio-economic status and the parents' education levels.

He found that, not only was there a correlation between how often a child was hit and how slow his mental development was, there was also a link showing younger children were the most affected by spankings.

"That's kind of the cruelly ironic thing, because we hear that it's OK to hit younger children because they won't remember it," said Straus. "This evidence says it's worse for children between two to six, that the younger child is the most vulnerable."

For his research, Straus also analyzed surveys done by nearly 18,000 students in 32 countries — including Canada — and found that, generally, countries with high national-average IQs were nations that had banned, or do not socially accept, spanking.

The exceptions were the top five countries on the average-IQ list: Hong Kong, Japan, Korea, Taiwan and Singapore. Straus attributed the discrepancy to a strong emphasis in those nations on academic excellence.

In the other countries surveyed, university students who were hit by their caregivers as children still exhibited signs of post-traumatic stress and fear that negative things would happen to them, which may be signs related to a lower IQ, said Straus.

In Canada, the Supreme Court of Canada issued a 6-3 ruling in 2004, upholding section 43 of the Criminal Code that said parents and caregivers are allowed to use reasonable force when disciplining a child no younger than two years old.

Bill S-209, which outlined the court's decision, made its way to a third reading in the Senate in June 2008, but never became law, because Parliament dissolved for an election.

Two dozen countries worldwide have banned spanking by parents and teachers, including Finland, Norway and Austria.

David Day, an associate psychology professor at Ryerson University in Toronto, said parents should be using positive-reinforcement techniques instead of striking their children.

"What spanking doesn't do is promote cognitive development or language and problem-solving abilities in children," said Day, who studies aggression and anti-social behaviour in children and youth. "It's very frightening for a child because, at a young age, they'll have the inability to deal with stress and be afraid of being hit. It really has long-term consequences for children."

He said corporal punishment is usually coupled with other negative parenting techniques, such as yelling, the removal of privileges or food, which would also be detrimental to a children's mental and emotional development.

The Child Welfare League of Canada said this study adds to a body of international research that shows the lasting effects of hitting a child.

"There's so much research that shows children who are brought up in that atmosphere and exposed to violence grow up thinking they're allowed to hit when they're displeased with a situation," said Gordon Phaneuf, a spokesman with the advocacy group. "So much of corporal punishment is done in a context that is very scary and upsetting. It shouldn't really surprise us that children will come away with messages that are very negative to the sense of who they are."

Phaneuf said Canada's reluctance to ban corporal punishment outright is sending the wrong message.

"Spanking clearly violates the rights of children as individuals. We know that hitting children is not an effective parenting technique," he said. "Just as you wouldn't hit a spouse or a senior parent or someone else you're caring for, you don't hit the most vulnerable people in society: our children."
© Copyright (c) Canwest News Service

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Malayasian Model To Be Caned, Says She Deserves It

A Malaysian model will receive six strokes from a rattan cane after admitting in an Islamic court to the crime of drinking beer in a bar.

Kartika Sari Dewi Shukarno’s sentence was confirmed by her lawyer yesterday after she decided not to appeal, making her the first woman to face corporal punishment imposed by a Malaysian Sharia court.

The case has caused controversy in a country that projects an image of moderation to foreign tourists and businesses but imposes stern Islamic justice on its Muslim population.

Alcohol is served to members of other religions at the country’s tourist bars and hotels but for Muslims — who make up two thirds of the population — its consumption is punishable by a fine, up to three years in prison or six strokes of the cane.
Related Links

Ms Kartika, 32, who lives with her husband and two children in Singapore and works as a part-time model, was caught in a police raid on a bar in Cherating in July last year. She said that she accepted the court’s ruling, which included a fine of 5,000 ringgit (£860). “I am not afraid because I was ready to be punished from Day 1,” she said.

The case has outraged some Malaysian women. “Did she harm anyone with her drinking?” asked a writer named Mariam Mokhtar in a letter to the New Straits Times newspaper. “Her crime is between her and her God. Let her receive her punishment when she eventually meets her Maker ... The worse crime is that we, and our society, allow and condone such terrible things to continue under the guise of ‘protecting the religion’.”

Ragunath Kesavan, the president of the Malaysian Bar Council, said: “This would be the first time caning has been meted out by the Islamic courts. We are all shocked and strongly oppose caning male or women offenders.”

Malaysian courts also impose caning for crimes including rape and corruption, and the punishment, administered to the bare buttocks with a cane as thick as a thumb, often leaves permanent scars. Sharia caning, according to those who carry it out, is less violent, intended to embarrass rather than to hurt its victims.

“Sharia whipping is more like caning naughty schoolboys,” a “whipping officer” told the New Straits Times. “In Sharia the punishment is not in the force of the whipping but to bring shame. The whipping implement is supposed to be soft and supple, so as to inflict the least pain.”

The recipients of Sharia caning wear clothes and the blows are not supposed to break the skin. The cane of rattan, or jungle creepers, is as thick as a little finger, and according to Sharia rules the person administering the blows is not allowed to raise the hand so high that the upper arm moves away from the armpit.

“An imaginary book clutched under his armpit would not drop,” the newspaper reported.

Another customer and a waitress who were caught in the same raid as Ms Kartika were similarly sentenced but are appealing against the caning.

Ms Kartika’s father, Shukarno Mutalib, told Agence France-Presse that her family accepted the verdict.

“We are not feeling sad. We are Muslims and I agree she has to be caned,” he said. “She has already pleaded guilty. We will follow the rules.”

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Conservative Column to Get A Flaggelant Off

A selection from a recent column from some hicksville called "Mason County." I couldn't disagree with the bullshit opinion of "beat the kids, bring back the 1950s" more, being a survivor of such non-sense parenting methods. However, I will say, as a fetishist, nothing get my penis larger than pro-spank, pro-discipline, "good paddlin'" spare the rod rhetoric. If you share such sexual desires, this article may be right up your alley.

I'm Too Old for This Young World

Bill Bodenhamer

First among the things I am too old for is the lack of discipline in our schools which, in my mind, is the primary reason “Johnny can’t read” and foremost among the reasons so many teachers are leaving the teaching profession.

Born in 1911 my “golden rule” school days started in 1918 which was some years after the slate had been replaced with the pencil and tablet but quite some time before the pen dipped into an ink bottle was to be replaced by the fountain pen. Thankfully however it was within the years when reading and writing and arithmetic were still taught to the tune of that old timey hickory stick,or paddle.

Why would I be thankful that the days of corporal punishment, (commonly knows as spankings) were still in full sway? Because hindsight at my ancient age tells me that due to the threat of that hickory stick treatment class discipline was maintained and I and the rest of the class was able to learn the bits of wisdom the teacher was offering.

Those were the days when parents did not believe that a teacher was trying to beat their child to death when giving them a spanking. As a matter of fact most parents, like mine, told their children that if they were unruly enough to get a spanking at school they would get another one when they got home.
Advertisement • Your Ad Here

“Spare the rod and spoil the child”is a saying from the old school of “child raising” that was observed by most parents of my day and as a result strict discipline was the rule of law in those homes observing that old adage. My dad (whom we called papa) graduated magna cum laude from that old school and he used his diploma (commonly called a paddle) which was always available every time mama said “Tom that child needs a spanking.”Papa rarely ever spanked us of his own accord but when called upon by mama to discipline one of his children he pulled out that old school diploma and went to work and there was not a one of his kids that would ever deny that papa was not a hard worker.

There are those who would say that papa’s spankings were akin to child abuse but not one of his children looked upon them as abuse but as something they had coming and we all vowed “never to do it again.”

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Spanking At Weddings

This beautiful gem was found at Yahoo Answers

First of all my family, including myself, is REALLY old fashioned. We believe that the husband is the head of the household and a wife should submit and obey. ANYWAY. I'm about to get married and our family has this tradition, after I get my gown on before the ceremony my mom and dad will come in. My dad will have a hairbrush then I'll lay across his lap, he'll pull my dress up and spank me with the brush as a last sign of authority over me and my last spanking from him. And it's not a light spanking either, mom says it'll hurt. THEN after the ceremony but before the reception mom and dad will take me and my husband into a room then it's my husband's turn to take me over his lap, pull up my dress and spank me with with the same hairbrush as a sign that he is in charge of me now and as my husband it is now his job and duty to discipline me when needed. After my spanking, if my dad thinks my new husband has sufficiently spanked me and did a good job, my husband is officially given the brush which has been passed down and was used on my mom by dad on their wedding day, so my husband can use it on me in the future when I need it. I'm kind of nervous but I'll get through. Mom said I'll probably just have a sore bottom on our honeymoon.

I just hope I don't get out of line and do anytning to get a spanking for a while after that, cause my fiance spanks hard, and that haribrush really hurts. I'll have to Love, Honor, and definatley Obey. Anyone else have some weird wedding/spanking traditions, or just plain old spanking traditions for that matter?

Looking for Love, A Classic Spanking Story

From the Editor,
This is one of my favorite spanking stories. It was originally published at Spanking Life under the pseudonym "Mrmcspank". It tells the story of a teen girl, who longs for love, discipline, and acceptance from her new step mom, a paddling gym teacher, belt whipping mother, and fundamentalist christian in El Paso Texas. It has a surprise ending, and mystery twist. Enjoy, dear readers.

My name is Carla Emory. I was born in El Paso, Texas in 1973 and have lived here my entire life. Until sixteen, I was an only child. My birth mother drank herself to death so by my eleventh birthday I didn’t have one. After that, it was just my Dad and I for the next five years. Growing up with my mother was a miserable experience. Like all little girls, I needed a mother’s love. Sadly, what my mother loved was her bottle – not me. Almost every day she would drink until she passed out. The house was always a big mess – just like everything else was back then. When Dad was at home, all they did was fight. Hating life and everything about it, she was always cursing, throwing things, breaking stuff and falling down drunk. Things got so bad Dad tried to ignore the situation by staying away. He was always late getting home from work. Even worse were the long nights when he didn’t come home at all. He always spent his weekends at the country club playing golf and I hardly ever saw him. His staying away just made things worse and gave my mother an excuse to keep on drinking. She grew crazier, meaner and more hateful with each passing day of that miserable drunken existence. Life was a living hell for me – I felt so alone and completely unloved.

After my mother’s death, things started to improve. Dad spent lots of time with me and we did all kinds of stuff together. I believe he felt guilty about the miserable existence I endured when my mother was alive. As a result, my relationship with him was more like that of a buddy than a daughter and that suited me just fine. For the first time in my life, I got someone’s undivided care and attention.

The year I turned fifteen, I joined a soccer team and loved playing the game. Dad was always there to cheer and soon started helping the team’s coach, Alice Kilpatrick. While not coaching our soccer team, Ms. Kilpatrick was one of the Physical Education instructors at Eastwood High. She was a divorced woman with two daughters. Her youngest was a fourteen year old named Jennifer who was a seventh grader at my school, Travis Jr. High. Karen was her eldest at sixteen and a sophomore at Eastwood High. Having been held back a year after forth grade, I was in my last year at Travis and would be starting at Eastwood the following fall. Being teammates and so close to the same age, Karen, Jennifer and I became really good friends. From things I related to the sisters, Ms. Kilpatrick learned about my mother and my unfortunate experiences. I don’t know if she was motivated by pity or perhaps, just a caring person, but in any event, she took a special interest in me. It felt really good to have someone like Ms. Kilpatrick care about me and it was a welcomed experience. All seemed right with life whenever I was around her – our relationship was special and I treasured it. She quickly became my hero and idol. Not only was she was beautiful she was strong, intelligent, witty and fun to be with. All the girls on our team loved her and she was highly respected by everyone at Eastwood. I often remarked to the sisters how lucky she was to have a Mom like theirs. It made me realize what my mother had cheated me out of and that I desperately longed for what every young girl needs - a mother that loves her.

At thirty-three, Ms. Kilpatrick was in awesome physical condition. Working full time as a PE instructor and soccer coach, she was extremely active and always on her feet. She was a large woman – just over six feet tall and what little fat she did carry was well distributed to all of the right places. She always sported a wide friendly smile on a pretty face framed by her long jet-black hair. With bright amber eyes and olive toned skin, she was a stunning lady and easy to admire.

I guess Dad was as impressed with Ms. Kilpatrick as I was and it wasn’t long before they were dating. Soon, and to my delight, things came together and it was almost like a real family. Dad, Ms. Kilpatrick, Karen, Jennifer and I were doing all kinds of stuff together. We went camping, mountain climbing, fishing – anything outdoors. When it fit into our busy schedule, we went to Eastwood’s football and baseball games. Our lives together centered on sports and other out-door activities. My miserable days as a latch key kid and a couch potato were history and I hardly ever turned on the TV. Home was for sleeping, bathing, eating and of course doing your homework. Ms. Kilpatrick was really serious about schoolwork and making good grades. She insisted that all of her kids – the sisters, team members and students do their best in school. The quickest way off of the soccer team was to do poorly in one of your classes. For better or worse, Report card day was a big event for her and every kid she knew.

With one exception, I loved all of the time we spent together as a “family.” The thing I didn’t like was Sunday mornings and all the church stuff that went along with it. Ms. Kilpatrick was an active member of First Baptist Church where she taught Sunday school to the young adult’s group. Dad had never been much on church before, but because of our budding relationship with Ms. Kilpatrick, he insisted we go every Sunday. Just going was not enough to suit her and she compelled me to be active in the church. Next thing I knew, I was singing in the choir alongside Karen. Whenever we would stand to sing, Ms. Kilpatrick’s warm and approving smile made it all worthwhile. I loved pleasing her.

It wasn’t long before Dad was shopping for a new house and focused his search on the new subdivisions springing up in the desert out past Eastwood High. As it was just Dad and I and we were looking at four and five bedroom homes, I knew something was up. When we found one we really liked, Dad asked Ms. Kilpatrick to check it out with us. I’ll never forget that day. She loved the pool, the spacious kitchen, all the storage, the three-car garage, the master bedroom suite, the yards – everything about the place. Compared to the cramped apartment she and her girls were living in, the place must have seemed like paradise to her. Gaining final approval, Dad bought the place and he and I moved in on June 25th - my sixteenth birthday.

As that summer was nearing its end, Dad and Ms. Kilpatrick announced they were going to be married and I was elated. The big wedding ceremony was held at First Baptist and Karen, Jennifer and I all took part in the beautiful service. After a quick honeymoon and before school started, we were all settled into our new home and living as a family. I was on top of the world.

On Labor Day weekend, we all went to Van Horn to visit my grandmother. We spent Friday and Saturday night at her house and were planning to leave early Sunday morning. It was less than a two-hour drive back to El Paso and the way Dad and Ms. Kilpatrick had it figured we could be at First Baptist by ten o’clock. As Dad was loading the car, Ms. Kilpatrick, started looking for Jennifer who was no-where to be found. The search effort quickly escalated and turned frantic. Ms. Kilpatrick changed out of her Sunday dress and into jeans and a t-shirt as she prepared to start searching the foothills behind Grandmother’s place. Then, just before nine o’clock, Jennifer came running down the street. Like a flash, Ms. Kilpatrick was in Jennifer’s face and demanding an explanation. Quickly, she backed away and with a stunned look on her face she started in on her, “You’ve been smoking Jennifer - I can smell it on you!” She was really MAD. I knew smoking was her biggest pet peeve – and so did Jennifer. For a few moments, Ms. Kilpatrick stood silently with her hands on her hips and let her angry eyes do all the talking.

After a few seconds the stare down ended and things really started to happen. Ms. Kilpatrick took Jennifer by her upper arm and marched her into the house and straight to the bathroom. After quickly pulling her inside, she shut the door. To be honest, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. I thought she was simply seeking privacy for scolding her daughter. Little did I know!

Dad, Karen, Grandmother and I stood quietly in the living room looking inquisitively at one another. Only Karen knew what was going on – the rest of us were at a complete loss. As the bathroom was immediately adjacent to the living room, I could hear Ms. Kilpatrick’s muffled yet very angry voice as she questioned and scolded Jennifer. Karen looked at me and said, “Oh boy – is Jennifer ever going to get it now. Mom isn’t even going to wait until we get home to wear her butt out. She’s dead meat. I can’t believe she’s smoking again.” “Oh Mi-God,” I thought to myself, “She is going to spank her!”

Within seconds, the angry voice coming from the bathroom changed from a questioning mode to one giving strict orders. I was stunned when I heard her bark out, “Get your jeans down Jennifer Anne. I mean it – RIGHT NOW – GET EM ON DOWN”

I looked around the room and noticed that my Dad and his mother were stunned by what was taking place. I had never been spanked or even around a spanking before so this stuff was all new to me. I had always known that Dad was not in favor of spanking and his mother did not believe in it either. Just as I turned to question Karen and hopefully gain some insight, I heard Jennifer pitifully start begging. “Pleeezzzeeeee Mommy…. Pleeezzzeee.. Not here… pleeezzzee…pleeezzzeee….One more chance. I didn’t mean too…. Really Mommy….. Not here….. Not Here……Pleeezzzeee…..I’m sorry….. Pleeezzzeee Mommy - I’ll never do it again…. Pleezzzeee….one more chance……I’ll do anything – just don’t spank me Mommy…..” Her wasted pleading was promptly interrupted by a stern and demanding voice, “Jennifer Anne, I’m not going to tell you again. I want those jeans down right now – DROP EM - DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

There was a moment of silence and then, in an even more panicked and desperate voice Jennifer resumed with her begging, “No – not the belt…. Pleeezzzzzeeee… not the belt … I’m sorry Mommy…. I’m sorry… Pleeezzzeee Mommy Pleeezzzeee…. Just use your hand Mommy….not Oh no….. no… not that….. No… Pleeezzzeeee not the belt… No….no……pleeeezzzzeee… I’ll do anything Mommy…. One more chance”

In a calm and steady voice Ms. Kilpatrick cut her off, “You just be thankful that I don’t have the strip with me. You got this one coming – now get on over here – lets go little lady. RIGHT NOW JENNIFER ANNE!” There was a pause of about five seconds and then, all hell broke loose. The noise coming from behind that door was like nothing I had ever heard before. The combined sound of hard slapping leather, a stern and relentless scolding voice and Jennifer’s frantic screeching, screaming and pleading was incredible. After quickly building in intensity to an unbelievable point, there was a momentary pause in the steady cracking. As Jennifer’s screeching started reducing to sobbing and unintelligible begging, another stern order was issued, “MOVE YOUR HAND – get that hand off that butt. I’M WATING. Do you want it on your thighs? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? – IS IT?” A few seconds passed and then, as quickly as it had stopped, the terrifying sounds returned. Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack…. and Jennifer’s sobbing quickly elevated again to the horrendous screeching and whaling made I had witnessed moments earlier.

Finally, the haunting sound of punishing leather and relentless scolding ended and Jennifer’s screaming slowly subsided back to heart wrenching sobbing. “Jennifer Anne - will there be any more smoking - EVER?” Jennifer was incoherently blubbering something in an attempt to be responsive when Ms. Kilpatrick cut her off. “Okay, get your jeans back up, wash your face and get yourself ready to go. If there was ever a girl that needs to be at church – its you.”

Next thing I knew, the door swung wide open and Ms. Kilpatrick emerged slipping the belt back into the loops of her jeans. “I’m really sorry I had to do that here Connie.” She told my grandmother, “She knew better. Smoking - I just won’t have it. I love her too much to let her kill herself with those damn stinking cigarettes. I don’t know why they even sell those awful things in this country”

My grandmother was at a complete loss for words and simply nodded before looking away. Spinning back around and looking at the bathroom door Ms. Kilpatrick warned, “Jennifer – you’ve been in there long enough. You march yourself out here right now young lady – I really don’t think you want me to come back in there Jennifer… do you?”

While Ms. Kilpatrick attempted to explain herself to my Dad and Grandmother, Jennifer came running from the bathroom. Both hands were covering her face and without stopping or saying a word, she passed through the living room, out the front door and quickly ran to the car. Within seconds, Ms. Kilpatrick was at the door and scolding again. “Jennifer, you get right back in here and thank Connie for having you as a guest and say good by to her properly. You know about good manners – and I expect to see some right now”

Looking at her feet and still sobbing softly, Jennifer stepped back into the living room. With out looking up and she addressed my grandmother in a soft and trembling voice. “Ms. Emory, it has been very nice meeting you and I thank you for having me as a guest in your home. The meal last night was delicious. I hope I can come back and see you again soon. I’m sorry I caused such a problem here this morning. I really am.” As she spoke, her embarrassment must have overtaken her. She broke down and started sobbing again. My grandmother quickly moved across the room with her arms extended. After the harsh treatment she had received in the bathroom, I know Jennifer was comforted by my grandmother’s understanding and loving hug. I could not hear what she whispered into Jennifer’s ear but by her reaction, I know it was warmly welcomed.

Ms. Kilpatrick was on the phone arranging a stand in leader for her Sunday school class while the rest of us were saying our good bys and moving towards the door. We were all loading up when my grandmother called and beckoned me back to her porch. I responded and as soon as I reached her, she gave me a huge hug and a kiss on my forehead. Then, with a very serious expression of concern, she cautioned, “Carla, whatever you do, don’t you dare give that woman a reason to get after you. With out a doubt that’s the meanest damn woman I have ever seen in my life. The way she treated that sweet and innocent child. I’m telling you honey, if you give her a reason, that woman will whip the living daylights out of you. If she ever lays a hand on you – I just don’t know what I’ll do. What on earth is wrong with your Dad – what was he thinking?? Marry a woman like that! Well, you know you can always come here and live with me and be safe.”

I hugged and kissed my grandmother and assured her that everything would be okay. I told her Ms. Kilpatrick was always very nice to me and that I really liked her. She had never done anything like that before and I knew that Dad would never permit her to hurt me. Deep inside I was really upset. I wanted my grandmother and her to like one another and become friends. “Don’t worry Nana, I’ll be fine. Really – please don’t worry. Okay? Love you!” I gave her a final hug and kiss, turned and headed for the car. As we drove away, I could see her standing on the porch ringing her hands in distress.

On the ride back to El Paso, I was in the front seat with Dad while Ms. Kilpatrick was in the back with her girls. Dad wasn’t saying a word and I could tell he was upset. After we had done ten or fifteen miles, Ms. Kilpatrick broke the silence. “Your upset – aren’t you Robert?” After a pause, my Dad responded, “Hon, I had no idea you reared your girls that way. If you had to do something like that, I just wish you had waited until we got home and done it in private. You should have seen the look on my mothers face when you were in the bathroom with Jennifer. Alice, you need to understand that my mother, Carla and I have never been around anything like that before. Spanking children is just not acceptable to us. It’s barbaric!”

In a disbelieving tone, I heard it coming from the backseat. “Barbaric? What do you mean – Barbaric?” She paused for a moment, thought and started speaking again. “Robert, I grew up with spankings. My Mom spanked my sister and I until we left home. My Dad was always taking Gary out behind the barn for a session with the bridle strap. And you know what, we all turned out just fine. To this day, all of us thank Mom and Dad for having the guts to punish and discipline us as they did. What – I guess you don’t think I turned out okay?” she asked. Starting to break the ice, Dad had to chuckle as he glanced in the rear view mirror, smiled and said, “I think you turned out perfect. That’s why I married you.”

“And how about my Brother? He turned out well – Bobby is one of the most successful road and bridge contractors in Texas. Ask him if he thinks his sessions with Dad and that strap out behind the barn hurt him any. Wait – that is not what I mean. I know they hurt him plenty at the time he was getting it. Oh boy - I can still remember – you could here it going on clear over in the next county. Sure it hurt him, but it helped mold him into one of the most honest, hardworking, and well-respected men in Texas. And my sister – she was getting it all the time – more than any of us. Mom must have blistered Angie’s butt a hundred. Now look at Angie, she’s the Head Nurse at the East Texas Medical Center in Longview. And you know what else Robert? Angie spanks her girls and Bobby’s wife spanks their kids. Those are all well-adjusted and happy kids. The proof is in the pudding – spankings works. Just look at these two – best in the whole wide world.” As she finished up her pro-spanking speech, she hugged Karen and Jennifer and tightly and kissed them each.

Dad responded by pulling me close to him and patting the top of my head. “Hey, my little princess has not ever been spanked and as far as I am concerned, she’s perfect.”

The conversation left no doubt that Dad’s and Ms. Kilpatrick’s views on raising children were as different as night and day. Dad had grown up as the only child of a medical doctor and his wife in the desert of West Texas. In stark contrast, Ms. Kilpatrick was the oldest daughter of a hard-working farming family in Gilmer – a small rural town nestled deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. Be it at school or at home, in the East Texas communities such as Gilmer, the spanking of kids was as common as the washing dishes.

By the time we had reached the outskirts of El Paso, I noticed that Jennifer and her mother were having fun and playing with one another in the back seat. It was clear by their giggles and silly talk that all had been forgiven and their love for each other was genuine and unconditional. At that moment, my envy of their awesome relationship was almost unbearable. I would have given anything to be Jennifer right then. I needed a real mother like Ms. Kilpatrick so badly it hurt.

It was just past eleven o’clock when we finally arrived at First Baptist. Being late, it took forever to find a place to park. As it ended up, we had to walk two and a half blocks from our parking spot to the church. Ms. Kilpatrick, with one arm around the shoulder of each of her girls walked in front as Dad and I followed behind. We never had a chance to change our cloths and I was very surprised we were going to church dressed in jeans. In the past, we had always dressed up to the max for our Sunday morning church going activities.

As we walked along, there were two objects that I had difficulty taking my eyes off of. First, Ms. Kilpatrick’s brown leather belt looked much wider, thicker and heavier than I had ever noticed it being before. Upon further study, I noted the obvious crease in its’ center and I concluded that must be the folding point where it’s doubled when not being used for its primary intended purpose. “Mi-Gosh, that thing must hurt like holy heck,” I thought to myself as we walked along.

The other object that captured my imagination was the seat of Jennifer’s jeans and the small bottom that filled it. In my mind, I could picture Jennifer in that Bathroom being made to take her jeans down as her mom was pulling that fearsome belt from her own. I wondered if Jennifer’s poor bottom was marked from the strapping. Based upon the sounds I had witnessed, I could only conclude that she had gotten it really torn it up.

Being so late, once inside the church, we couldn’t find a pew with enough vacant spots for all five of us to sit together. To overcome the situation, we split into two groups. Ms. Kilpatrick, Karen and Jennifer sat together in the pew directly in front of Dad and I. Every time we stood to sing, my eyes drifted to the Jennifer’s small bottom and Ms. Kilpatrick’s wicked belt and my young mind filled with all kinds of thoughts.

The sermon that day was fitting. In a nutshell, the preacher was telling the parents that they had a duty to discipline and punish their children. He read from the bible and words such as “rod,” “smite” and “chasten” were used over and over. As he was speaking, I thought about the recent meeting of belt and bare bottom in Van Horn and wondered if that session would have met with his approval. He never came right out and said it, but he was defiantly in favor of parents spanking their kids. Being a straight-laced preacher man, I was wondering what his feelings would be on the taking down of a young girls jeans and the resulting exposure of her bare bottom. As the “beat the devil out of those bad kids” sermon came to a close, Ms. Kilpatrick turned her head back and with a satisfied expression, winked at my Dad.

Looking for Love Part 2: "Sultan of Swat"

The next day was my first as a freshman at Eastwood. It was really great to have Karen to show me around and introduce me to all of her many friends. During one of those introductions, I was surprised by another revelation about Ms. Kilpatrick child rearing practices. After Karen told Libby Hollis that I was her stepsister, Libby looked at me and asked, “Has she busted your butt yet?” I couldn’t believe the kids at school knew about that stuff. During me second day, I ran into Libby again and that time, she was with a group of other girls. She whispered something to them and as they all giggled a couple of them made agonizing faces and rubbed their butts with both hands!

As soon as school was out, I met up with Karen so we could walk home together. I told her about the butt rubbing and face making and asked what in the hell was going on. “How do they know about the spankings you guys get?” I wasn’t prepared for Karen’s response. As we walked along, Karen explained that they were not referring to the spankings she and Jennifer got at home. The rubbing of their butts was in reference the paddling sessions her mom dolled out at school. She went on to explain that her mother had a reputation for giving the fearsome “swats from hell.” She explained that there were only two people at Eastwood that paddled girls and her mom was one of them. The other was an elderly coach named Ms. Gage. She said her mom swung the board like a pro swings a baseball bat and was known at Eastwood as “the sultan of swat.” She told me that most of the girls that had been paddled by both her and Ms. Gage said that each swat from her mom was equal to three from the other woman.

Wanting to hear more, I asked Karen what her Mom’s school paddle looked like and where she gave the swats. Karen described the paddle as being about 24” long, 3” wide and about as thick as your little finger. She explained that her mom had wrapped the whole paddle with white adhesive tape after it split while delivering an exceptionally hard swat to a sophomore’s butt. She added that her mom gave the swats in her office that was located adjacent to the Girl’s dressing room. She went on describing the process and explained how she would made the girls stand in front of her desk, bend at the waist and with their tummy flat on the top, grasp the far side and hang on for dear life. I got the idea Karen was exaggerating and trying to scare me when she added that her mom would lift the paddle until it touched the ceiling and added that when the swats landed, you could hear the pops from the center of the gym.

Recalling her orders for Jennifer to take down her jeans in grandmother’s bathroom, I had to ask, “Does she make them lift their skirts or drop their jeans for the swats?” Karen shook her head and said that the bare bottom stuff was only used at home. Like an expert, she went on to explain that at school there were rules established by the District. To overcome the problems created by the added padding of baggy jeans and skirts, her mom had developed a procedure where she would send the girl to change into her gym shorts and then report back for their padding.

As we neared the house, I inquired about the spankings at home and if she still got them. She indicated that she did indeed, but qualified it by proudly adding that it had been almost six months since her last one. I inquired as to what the strip was – and Karen started to balk. I asked about the baring of bottoms and Karen got snippy, “You don’t get spanked. It’s really none of your business. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s a private thing between me and mom and Jennifer.” After a pause she threw in, “She spanks us because she loves us and I am glad that she does.”

The one time I tried to get information about the spankings out of Jennifer she simply responded by saying, “Why don’t you ask my Mom these questions.” It was becoming clear to me that there was a lot of resentment concerning the situation and because I was not spanked like they were, we were not equals in the sister’s eyes.