I Scream For Ice Cream

(a true story, with embellished a bit for dramatics)

by JLB

I was happily playing with my “Lego®” set when I heard Dad call, “Jackson Leo Benton! Get into the kitchen! RIGHT NOW!” That tone of voice meant drop everything and come immediately! Not to mention, he used my FULL name!

I ran to the kitchen and found him standing beside the refrigerator. I didn’t say anything. I had no idea why I was in trouble. Well, uh, not really.

Dad spoke slowly, carefully, sternly, “Did you eat ALL of the ice cream in the freezer?”

“Uhhhhhhh...” I stammered.

Back up! See, although I was seven, I was a “latch key kid” even though I didn’t have a key. So, no one was home when I arrived from school. During the 70‘s, people just didn’t lock their doors. Each day, I was allowed a snack of crackers, or cheese, or fruit, or cereal, or ... anything (nutritious). But, we had just bought THREE different kinds of ice cream (my favorite flavors!). So, using a chair to climb to the top shelf of the freezer, I helped myself. Really helped myself; until each container was empty.

Now, I spoke, sounding like an angel, “No, Dad. It wasn’t me. HONEST! Are they missing?” I tried to sound very sure of myself and to look surprised at his accusation.

Dad opened the freezer door and pointed to the empty spot where the ice cream should be. “There were three ice cream containers. Do you know what happened to them?”

“Uh, oh, no, Sir! I have no idea. I didn’t eat it. I swear! I had crackers and cheese for snack.”

“Now be sure, Jackson. Your mother said she didn’t eat any (Mom is not a sweet fan and ice cream hurts her teeth). “And I didn’t eat any, so that leaves only you.”

Oh, the curse of being an only child!

“Really, Dad, honest! I didn’t eat it! I promise!”

“JACKSON! DON’T YOU LIE TO ME! There is no one else here who could have done it,” Dad thundered! “Your chocolate handprints are on the refrigerator door handle!”

Where could I go from here? If I confess, I will get a “good bare bottom spanking” for lying and possibly another one for eating all the ice cream. I was just going to just have to try to talk my way out of this one. Here goes...

Carefully, tactfully, I began, “Maybe another kid from the neighborhood came in. Our door isn’t locked. Lots-a kids might have come. Maybe they came in and ate it. Maybe they left the handprints. I didn‘t do it! Please believe me, Dad! I‘m not lying!” I stopped talking, but looked at him earnestly with imploring eyes. As innocent as I could muster. I thought it was a reasonable explanation. Could happen. Sure!

Dad looked at me, shocked. “I am going to ask you one more time, Jackson. Did you eat the ice cream?”

“No, Sir. I did not. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. I SWEAR! Cross my heart! Don‘t you believe me?”

Dad sighed, “Hmmmmmm... come with me Jackson.”

I felt a twinge in my body, especially my bottom as I followed him, we came at my bedroom. Uh-oh!

“Last time, Jackson, did you eat the ice cream?”

“No, I didn’t!” I was becoming very alarmed. I began to tremble as I shifted from side to side.

Dad kneeled beside my bed. He lifted up my spread to reveal absolute horror (or evidence). Underneath my bed, lay three empty ice cream containers for all to see. I thought I could hide them. A lump came to my throat and I looked down at the floor.

“So, Jackson, can you tell me why there are three ice cream boxes under your bed?”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t look at him. BUSTED!

“I’M WATING FOR AN ANSWER, JACKSON!” Dad’s voice was probably heard around the world

I tried to speak. “Ummm ...well I ... ahhh ... you see ... ehhh ... the thing is ... mmmm ... there was this ... ommm ... it’s ... ewwwahhhummm ... I don’t know.” That was all I could say. “I don’t know.” That should be written on my tomb stone because I used it so much, like a broken record.

“You don’t know ... You don’t know ... YOU DON’T KNOW? How the hell could you not know? You ate all the ice cream! What did you think? You wouldn’t get caught? We wouldn’t have missed it? AND you LIED about it!”

Then Dad went into a looooooooooooooooong lecture! About health, and why it’s not good to eat lots of sweets. (He’s the one to talk, Mr. brownie, cookie, cake man!)

Dad shook his head in disgust. “Jackson Leo Benton! I am very disappointed in you.” My head hung low. I knew what was coming (after the “lecture” of course). Dad continued, on and on and on and on about the importance of honesty, respect, and ... well I can’t remember it all. I tended to zone out during lectures, wishing I could disappear. I did always keep a ear out for times when I felt I was expected to respond, “Yes, Sir,” “No, Sir,” “I understand, Sir” “I won’t do it again, Sir. I promise,” (you know the drill).

Then Dad said, “Because you lied to me, I am going to give you a spanking, HARD. I will not tolerate lying in this house!”

“No, Dad, no!” I had to plead, even though I knew it was a loss cause. Experience has told me that in this house, lying result in a hard and long (very long and very hard) spanking, and it didn’t matter what you lied about.

Mom had a plethora of implements, which she used with great relish, I think. Belts, hairbrushes, switches (which I had to cut, mind you), paddles, straps. You name it, she had it. She also used her hand. And, of course, all of these were spankings were to administer to a tender BARE BOTTOM, much to my horror, pain, and humiliation. Most of the time, my spankings took place in my bedroom across my bed but my parents weren’t above using the living room, bathroom (after a shower is the worst), a roadside, or even another person’s house. Mom did the majority of the spanking in my household.

Dad, if he felt it was warranted, did his share. God forbid! Dad, only used his hand, bare bottom, over his knee Very humiliating (and painful). And he was merciless! I tried to get out of baring myself once, and, OHHHHHHHHHHHH Boy! Never tried that again.

“Take off your pants and underwear,” Dad said, sitting down on the bed. At first I was slow, but a stern look from Dad made me move. Then slowly, step by excruciating step, I trudged over to him. Rather roughly, he flung me over his lap. What a vulnerable feeling as I stared at the floor. Tears were starting to flow and he hadn’t even started yet. “Please, Daddy. I’m sorry. Please don‘t spa ...”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to LIE! You will not lie in my house! It will not be tolerated! Do you hear me? Not in my house!”

Then his hand fell. WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! No warm up, no gentle start. Just the relentless rise and fall of his rock hard hand. WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! LAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP!

I began to cry harder, letting out yells, screeches, piteous pleas, begs, promises, wails. But soon I was reduced to uncontrollable sobbing. And still the spanks continued!

WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK!

My bottom was blazing! I simply draped helplessly over his lap, screaming, hollering, sobbing, totally in his power. WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK! SLAP! WHAP! SLAP! WHAP! WHACK!

Dad’s final spanks were even harder than before! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

And then it was over. I hung over his lap, feeling like the very naughty and a very soundly spanked boy I was. He let me stay there until I had calmed down slightly. Then he hauled me up and whirled me around to face him. Through my chocked sobs and snubs he shook me and said, very low, very menacingly, “Don’t you ever lie to me again! If you lie to me again, I will give worse than what you got just now. And, next time, I will use the belt! Do you hear me? Don‘t lie to me!” I nodded.

With that, he shook me again, forbade me from leaving my room, announced I would have no supper (too full of ice cream, he said), pushed me away, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door, leaving me to inspect the damage in the mirror and cry on my bed, feeling very sorry for myself.

I HATE ICE CREAM!