When I was little, my brother and I were disciplined by our mom quite often. She was a staunch believer in the tenet “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” I’ve had my mouth washed out with soap, spanked by hand, wooden spoon and belt, whatever was convenient. Each time I would cry and say I was sorry, but quite frankly I simply learned to be more proficient at hiding my transgressions. 

• I didn’t learn not to lie, I learned to lie better and remember my lies so I wouldn’t get caught.
• I didn’t learn not to sneak/steal food, I learned to hide the evidence more effectively than in the trash where Mom would look.
• I didn’t learn to confide in my mom when I had problems, I learned to conceal my emotions and take them out on others later.
• I didn’t learn to dislike sweets and forbidden things, I learned to gorge on them when I could, regardless of how unhealthy I knew they were.

Mom was a stay at home Mom, so she was always the one doing the disciplining. Dad was either at work, out of town for work, or working in the yard. Most of my memories of him at that age are of time spent in the mountains collecting wood or boating on Lake Powell.

So, most of my discipline was doled out by Mom, but I don’t remember most of the spankings from Mom. I do however remember the one time Dad spanked me – and this is the story of that momentous day . . .

 I have a brother just a little older than me, E— that got spanked just as much, if not more, than me. He found/made a way to climb into the rafters of our garage. There were several boards laid side-by-side up there and it was a great little place when we wanted to hide. It was a precarious climb, and it helped to have someone to assist, but once you laid down and were quiet, no one could find you. I don’t remember if Dad had found us in the rafters more than once or if it was others that found our hiding place, but I do recall knowing it was forbidden. 

The very last time I climbed into those rafters was a time that Dad found us. It was one of those beautiful sunny days in Moab and he sat in the door of the garage talking to us and explaining why we were going to be spanked. I don’t remember the words, but I remember the tears. His tears. The pain of seeing my father cry because I had disobeyed and put myself in danger is still fresh in my heart all these years later. I continued to get spanked by Mom over the years, but that instance is the one that had the desired result.

Why do I only remember that one spanking?

I’ve thought about that day many times over the years and have come to realize it made me understand the reason behind the punishment and its effect on Dad. I saw the reasoning behind the rule of “no hiding in the garage rafters.” I finally understood that this rule had concern for our safety behind it and he was truly afraid of us getting hurt (I’ll talk more about our family’s propensity toward injury later – it’s a valid concern). It was that spanking that made me eventually realize when it came to my child(ren), the most effective punishments would be those where I taught the thought behind the concern and how it hurt me, not just them. 

I figured out that if I wanted to be the best Mom, there would have to be consequences for me, as well as my kids. You can’t tell a child “We’re going to your favorite place, but only if you behave,” and then go to the favorite place even when they’ve been complete asses. They have to see that because they didn’t behave, Mom & Dad and everyone else don’t get to go either. If you set conditions for a reward, you have to follow through, without exception, to those conditions. 

Recently we’ve heard more and more about violence, bullying, just plain mean-ness throughout the world. We also hear a lot of “(lawmakers) need to make more laws to stop this,” and “something has to be done!” I wonder, will that really help anything?

Perhaps having more laws to limit behaviors will help reduce the harm some individuals choose to do, but I really think we need to look more closely at discipline. We need have better quality discipline, like my Dad’s, rather than a higher quantity, like Mom’s. Something to think about . . .

Thank you for spending part of your day with me. Please share this and leave a comment about your thoughts on discipline, or an instance that made an impact when you were disciplined.