by Grace Brackenridge
On June 10th of my 13th year, I decided to act.
Summer vacation had just started for me the week before.
Mom went to work that morning, but Ryan - he's my step-dad - worked on his computer out of his office at home. Ryan's got this really cool job. He makes a lot more money than Mom and he doesn't even have to go to work! Ryan sort of keeps an eye on me during summer vacation, but he's pretty laid back.
"Ryan?" I asked awkwardly. "Can I talk to you about something?"
My step-dad looked up from his computer screen and smiled. "Sure, Gracie, what's up?"
I hate when he calls me 'Gracie', but I had a favor to ask. So I let it slide.
"I was just thinking," I began, not really sure where the conversation would take me, "now that I'm a teenager and all, maybe we could change some of the rules around here."
I mean, my 13th birthday was three weeks ago, so that makes me a legal teenager, right?
"Have you talked to your mother about this?" he asked, reaching out to pull me down to sit on his lap.
Ryan became my step-dad when I was 11, but I felt close to him, even from the start.
Maybe that's because my real dad left when I was five.
Ryan's the only dad I've really known.
And besides, my step-dad's kind of mellow, which makes it weird that he married Mom.
My mother is totally hyper and an emotional bitch on top of that.
But I've never understood why parents end up with each other.
"No, I can't talk to Mom just yet," I replied. "I kind of need your help. You know that boy? Mark Hainsworth? From down the street?"
"The one you've been pining over ever since he moved in?" Ryan laughed, squeezing my shoulders. "What about him?"
"Well, he finally introduced me to his Mom and dad. They're kind of - well - Christians. I mean, really REALLY Christian. Crosses all over the house. They sort of have this set of rules on the wall."
"I see," Ryan replied, noncommittal.
"And they've even got this big blue paddle hanging right there in the family room where everybody can see it," I continued, my words poring our faster now. "And you know what?"
He smiled and shrugged.
"They STILL spank Mark with that blue paddle, right on the bare behind!" I exclaimed. "I couldn't believe it when he told me. But his mom says it's true. You know, Mark's almost 15."
"Some Christians are like that," Ryan agreed. "But what's that got to do with us?"
"Well, I sort of told them that my mom's not strict at all," I said, looking away. "So you handle the discipline."
In fact, Mom still handles all the 'discipline'.
With Mom, punishment always boils down to the Long Lecture.
She just sits me in a chair and starts yelling at me. Well, not exactly yelling, unless I say something back to defend myself. But she just keeps going over and over what I've done wrong.
Then she gets into other things that I've have done wrong in the past. Sometimes the really far-distant past.
And she just keeps going and going and going, till she makes me break down and cry. It's really horrible.
I mean, Mom never spanked me.
Not even once.
But she had made me cry lots of times.
It usually takes days for both of us to get over one of those Long Lectures.
"Sometimes when I've been especially bad," I explained to my step-dad, "I told Mark's parents that you kind of have to spank me. Like Mark's spankings."
Ryan put his hand under my chin and gently turned my head so I had to look at him.
"That was a big, fat lie, Gracie, and you know it."
I shook my head. "No, Ryan, it's more like a fib. And even that can be fixed."
"How so?"
"Well, I was thinking," I said, lowering my voice to make it sound more conspiratorial and dramatic, "we could write up a bunch of rules and post them on the wall. And maybe we can make a paddle in your workshop. You know, hang it on the wall, too."
"Let's just assume that I could talk your mother into this," Ryan said. "Why would we want to?"
"Don't you see?" I exclaimed, again amazed at the denseness of parents. "If Mark comes over and sees that you're as strict as his parents, then maybe he can tell his parents how strict you are, and then maybe they'll approve of Mark and me seeing each other. You know, kind of like going steady?"
"I see," laughed Ryan. "And why do you think I would be willing to play the bad guy in all of this?"
"Don't you remember? Right after you guys got married? You said that you thought a good, sound spanking now and then might do me some good. Remember? You said that!"
I tapped my finger right in the middle of Ryan's chest. He laughed and gave me a hug. That's another thing about my step-dad. He comes up and gives me a hug for no reason at all. Mom hardly ever hugs. Which is another reason why I don't get the attraction between Mom and my step-dad. Go figure.
"Yes," he chuckled. "I did say that. But don't forget the context. It was right after one of your mother's awful lectures. I stay out of your discipline and how your mom handles it. But at that time, I was new and I thought a spanking was preferable to that kind of lecturing."
He gave me a quick hug and added, "And besides, that's before I found out what a really great kid you are. Maybe I've changed my mind. Maybe you're not bad enough to spank!"
"Don't say that, Ryan!" I exclaimed in exasperation. "I can be a real brat sometimes. You KNOW that. I don't see why you should change your mind about spankings, just because I'm good SOME of the time."
"OK, so what do you want to do, Gracie?"
"Well," I said, rubbing my hands together, "I think we should have a big family meeting to discuss new rules. Mom says I'm at the age where I can take more responsibility, so I'll write down some rules, and you can add to it if you like."
I smiled. "And if a break a rule, I don't get the Long Lecture anymore. I get a short lecture - from YOU - and then a spanking."
Ryan shook his head.
"We could even show her a paddle," I pleaded. "I bet you could make one. That way, she'll know we're serious and have put some effort into this. You guys can ground me, too, and take away my allowance. But I get a choice to trade a spanking for grounding."
"But if you're grounded for a week, one spanking doesn't seem like enough."
"Well," I said, shrugging my shoulders, "maybe I get two spankings. One at the beginning of the week and one at the end. Instead of grounding."
"Hmmm, you've really been thinking about this, haven't you?"
I nodded vigorously.
"Gracie, can I ask you a personal question?"
"Sure."
"Have you ever been spanked?"
"Well, no, not exactly," I replied. "I vaguely remember my dad giving me a swat or two when I acted up and Mom wasn't around to see. Back before he left. But I was real little at the time."
"OK, that being the case, why do you suppose parents pick spankings to punish their children? And why do kids avoid spankings?"
I shrugged. "I guess because it's so embarrassing. I mean, I can just imagine how undignified it is to go over somebody's lap like a little kid. And I'm sure it's embarrassing to have your pants pulled down. But the way I look at it, I take my panties down several times a day, just to go to the bathroom. The way I would accept pulling my panties down is that a spanking is just like going to the bathroom. Nothing embarrassing about going to the bathroom. A spanking's just another time to pull your panties down."
"I think you're missing the big picture, Gracie."
"What's that?"
"How do you think a spanking FEELS?"
"Well, I suppose it stings," I shrugged. "I know some kids cry. I probably would too, just from the embarrassment. It probably hurts for a while afterwards."
"I guess there's some things you have to learn from experience," Ryan said. "As for your little scheme, I bet we could 'sell' your mother for a trial period. Say two months. Since I'm the one supervising you during summer vacation, maybe she would let me handle things - on a trial basis."
He paused for a moment and I could tell he was thinking.
"OK," he said finally, "if we're going to have a family meeting, let's get this organized."
He spun around, with me still on his lap, and started typing on his computer. 'Rules & Consequences' said the document on the screen. 'Weekly (starts on Monday)' said the next line.
"We've got to double the consequences if you do the same bad thing twice in the same week," Ryan explained.
Then he typed in the typical list of things that parents are always harping on: lying, backtalk, disobedience, chores, curfew, stealing, smoking... You know, the usual things that get parents bent all out of shape - but things most of THEM do themselves. I don't want to come across as critical or disrespectful, but parents say and do the most hypocritical things sometimes.
For most misconduct, the consequence was a spanking - two spankings if I did it twice in the same week. For really bad stuff, like stealing, I could get two spankings the very first time in a week.
When he finished, the list looked pretty impressive - and long!
"Can I have a copy, too?" I asked.
"So you can show it off to Mark and his parents?"
I nodded.
"Sure, AFTER we get the go-ahead from your mom," he replied. "You know, if we go through with this, it's for real. You've got to stick to it, too. No turning back."
"Yeah, sure," I shrugged, nodding my head, "I want this to be for real. Otherwise, Mark might find out and that would ruin everything. And besides, it's not that big of a deal."
My step-dad looked at me skeptically and sighed.
"Well, if we're going to impress your mom with our due diligence, I guess we better go make you a little paddle."
Shortly after the marriage, Ryan built a little workshop out behind the garage. He's kind of a Mister Fix-It around the house. Mom says he spends way too much money on his power tools, but he says we can amortize the cost over the lifetime of the tool. Whatever that means. Anyways, he's got all these power tools - which don't interest me in the least but those tools can be pretty handy if you want to make a nice little paddle in a hurry.
He found a scrap of clear oak, about two feet long and about eight inches wide, a left-over from one of his Mr. Fix-It projects. Fortunately, I thought, it's not very thick. See, I was already beginning to think that - just maybe - there might be more to this spanking thing than a slight sting and embarrassment. Ryan told me the oak was a quarter inch thick, but he would sand it down some more anyway.
I sort of just hung out and watched as Ryan took that piece of wood and cut it into a paddle.
"It's called a gooseneck paddle," he explained, after he shut off the saw.
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