It makes me smile when people reminisce in the mainstream press about being spanked when growing up. Particularly when the memories are as detailed as this:

30 years ago, virtually all moms and dads were proficient in the fine art of corporal punishment. In response to our exceptionally obnoxious deeds — pugilism in fine dining establishments, shooting out windows with BB guns, destroying our sisters’ property — my folks promptly grabbed a belt and lashed our buttocks into the middle of next week.

Mom was dreadfully proficient and would deliver a lecture in the midst of the festivities, each word accentuated by a withering blow to the bum. The result was a highly effective, sadistic symphony with a danceable rhythm. “Don’t (whack!) you (whack!) ever (whack!) let (whack!) me (whack!) catch (whack!) you (whack!) doing (whack!) that (whack!) again (whack!). And dance we did. Involuntarily. My brother and I quickly learned not to say anything in response, or to ask a question, because every word of Mom’s retort would be buttressed (so to speak) by another resounding smack of the belt.

As much as I dislike the spanking sound effects in stories, somehow they improve an otherwise silly newspaper feature quite a lot.

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