A Roadside Spanking

(A true story)

by JLB

“I’m going to call your mother,” said Mrs. Haymaker, my fifth grade teacher. Terror shot through my body. Of course, this was in front of the whole class. Most of the children knew the horror of having their parents called at work from school and an “Ooooooo,” spread throughout the classroom. All I could do was sit, wait, and shake. Mrs. Haymaker turned and was gone. I hated and still hate to this day (36 years later) the thought of “Parent/Teacher Conferences. All my life, they meant nothing but bad news. Mind you, I was not a disobedient child. I just had some issues at school. Things like not getting work in on time (lazy), not trying my hardest, always being the last in line, and such like that. I was actually a quiet child and more like a victim of bullies rather than a troublemaker. However, I had not told my mother about the conference that was to take place at 6:00 pm that evening. I just didn’t want her to think badly of me or be disappointed in me. What made me think I could get away with it and she would never find out is beyond me. And of course, Mrs. Haymaker had no confirmation that Mom would come to the conference except for my word that Mom would be there. Needless to say, she was a bit skeptical.

Not two minutes after my teacher’s announcement, she came back and said, “The number I have for your mother is not correct. Do you have a different number?” Another chorus of “Oooooooooo,” boomed from my classmates. I tried to act as nonchalant as possible but as I stood outside of my body, I heard my voice give out my mother’s new work number. It was all over. Please, kill me now!

I have little memory of the rest of the day. I simply remember having a hot, guilty feeling coursing through my body, deep down to the core of my being. My stomach was full of butterflies with a mass of total fear. As I rode the school bus to after school, I prayed for some sort of catastrophe. Please let the bus crash. Pleas let there be a nuclear bomb. Please let an asteroid destroy the Earth. Please, just let me drop dead! No such luck.

As darkness began to descend, my terror mounted beyond comprehension until it consumed my very soul. I held on to the chance that maybe Mrs. Haymaker wasn’t able to get a hold of my mother. I had lied to my teacher about setting up the conference without my mother’s knowledge. Maybe Mom would be understanding, gentle, kind, and loving. Yeah right!

All of the other children walked happily to their parents with no thought of doom awaiting them when they got home. I watched them hug and kiss their parents with no thought of peril. I was going to be killed, or worse. I shifted from foot to foot, rubbing my hands together as I waited for my mother to arrive. I didn’t take long. My mother drove up in the small, 1972 Datsun pickup truck and got out. She made a quick motion for me to get into the truck. No words came out of her mouth. I knew I was dead. I obeyed like a robot. As I got into the truck, she handed me a sheet of yellow legal paper. In large block letters were these words:

WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOU KNEW I WOULD FIND OUT! DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARRASSED I WAS TO EXPLAIN TO YOUR TEACHER THAT I DID NOT KNOW OF THE CONFERENCE? WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS TO ME?

The note only took a few seconds to read but it was between five and ten minutes before I could say anything. Many different responses went through my mind. “I didn’t want you to find out.” “I didn’t want to trouble you.” “I didn’t want you to think less of me.” “I didn’t want to disappoint you.” However, I couldn’t bring myself to say any of those things, so, I gave the classic response, “I don’t know.” What more was there to say? Mom asked several questions, made several statements, and all I could do was play “broken record” and say each time, “I don’t know.” The truck moved along the road as the evening was settling in.

After a couple of moments of silence, the next thing I knew, Mom pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the truck hard. A red-hot tingling went though my body, especially my bottom. I knew exactly what was coming next. Mom got out of the truck, and walked around to my door. She opened it, grabbed my arm and hauled me out. Then she preceded to forcefully pull my pants and underwear down to my thighs. The cool crisp October air blew across my vulnerable bottom.

She turned me around and began to unmercifully spank my bare bottom. I tried to put my hands back to shield it from the onslaught, but she quickly jerked them well out of reach. SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP!

Her hand was relentless and my howls, cries, pleads, promises, fell on deaf ears. SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! When Mom spanked, it wasn’t a slow process. It was fast, HARD, and long! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP!

As she applied her handiwork, somehow I vaguely noticed a few cars driving by. I remember hoping that I didn’t know anyone in those cars. Especially classmates. Still the spanking continued. It seemed it would NEVER end. SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP! SMACK! WHACK! SPANK! SLAP! WHAP!

After what seemed like an eternity, (I lost count long ago) Mom shook me violently and hissed, “Get in the truck!” I had to get into the truck without pulling my pants up. The now cool, vinyl seats were little comfort to my blazing bottom. I also had a terminal case of the sobs and snubs and tears continued to stream down my face. Mom went around to the other side of the truck, got in, slamming the door. We drove the rest of the way home in silence, aside from my occasional sob and snub. I felt sooooooo sorry for myself.

When we got home, I got out of the truck and gingerly pulled up my underwear and pants and we went inside. My mother then said, “I have a conference to go to.” She turned and left, slamming the door, leaving me to inspect my angry red and very sore bottom.