Tears dripping from his cheek, and eyes fiery with accusation. “Troll 2 was naughty too! He also wanted the sweeties! It wasn’t just me!”
I had caught him stealing from The Cupboard of All Evil, also known as the goodie cabinet in the kitchen where we stock sweets,
biscuits, chips and the like, and he was claiming that he was not the only criminal mastermind who should be in the firing line.
The punishment for his crime was as always, two and a half slaps on the bum. I’m a girl, and I lose both my desire to punish, and my ability to feel any sensation in my hands after two and a half strikes. That’s my punishment quota and I’m sticking to it.
It should also be said at this time, that like any mother, single or not, I know my kid. He was not crying because of the severity of his punishment. He was crying because he felt that it was grossly unfair that Troll 2 didn’t get his share
of the customary ‘two and a half slaps’ bum fine.
A healthy spanking has always been part of The Troll’s upbringing, but recently with there being quite a bit of hoo-ha in the papers about corporal punishment, I thought to myself that maybe I should be spending more time contemplating the ‘to spank or not to spank’ debate.
Perhaps, most people don’t ‘roll their eyes and look over yonder’ when the subject of corporal punishment comes up, but I certainly do. And here’s why: I am my mother’s child. My mother, The Mistress of Insanity was, like me, a single mother and like me, may or may not have caused her fair share of trauma, public humiliation and hysterics in her children’s life.
That said, every now and then when our mother-daughter oestrogen levels sky rocket and we have a verbal go at each other, I will often throw in my two pence worth of ‘contrary to popular belief my childhood was not a picnic’ backchat. After all, being a single mother is no easy ride, and being raised by one neither. But all dues must come to those owed; I will never blame her for
giving me a good hiding when she needed to. Don’t get me wrong here; there is a huge difference between a hiding and abuse.
I never walked around with bruises. I was never burned with a cigarette butt, strangled, thrown with boiling water or any of the other vomit inducing child abuse horror stories out there.
I will never, ever stand for, overlook, accept
or agree with physical abuse of any kind.
But did I feel it on my bum, when I stole, swore or disobeyed an order? You bet your ass I did! Being spanked by my mother did not teach me that violence was okay; it taught me that there were consequences to bad decisions.
Being raised by a single mother was tough. Money was tight and problems were plenty. But this woman, The Mistress of Insanity.... loved me. She loved me through her tears, fatigue and debts. And she made sure, I knew it. And I make sure The Trolls know it.
I refuse to raise thieves, liars and cowards. I refuse to raise juvenile delinquents. I refuse to raise boys that will not become the best men they can be. I refuse to raise spoiled little brats who have never faced the consequences of their wrongful actions. But, I also have a rule: Two hugs for every spanking. As a mom and dad, I discipline like a dad and I love like a mom. And because there is only one
of me and two of them... I love even harder.