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It played out like this, we would do something naughty during the day and my mom would tell us she was going to tell dad when he got home. We would beg and plead to have more 'chances' and about half the time that would work if the infraction was minor and knocked right off. Otherwise, when dad came home mom would rat us out while we hid in our bedrooms. Dad would sit on the couch and call out the guilty parties and we would go line up in front of him while the interrogation began.
He would ask, “What is this spanking about?”
I would hitch out, “It, it, it, it, it, it, it, is 'ecuse we were fighting and I hit Matt in the face with a stick.”
He would say, “Do we hit our brother in the face with sticks?”
I would say, “No.”
He would say, “Let's get this over with.”
He would then bend me over one knee and trap my legs with the other and give me three to five whacks and then I would be let go. He would then give me a hug and tell me he loved me, but that he couldn't have me hitting my brother in the face with a stick. I would cry like this, 'Uhp, uhp, uhp, whooooooo, Uhp, Uhp, Uhp, whooooooo.' Which is the classic whimper on the inhalation, wail on the exhalation style. After about a minute of that my dad would yell to wherever I was crying and say, 'that's enough turn that mess off.' This always made me visualize a shower tap for my crying and I would mentally try and turn it off. That changed my tune to a jerkily inhaled, 'Uhuhuh, uhuhuh.' and then the drama was over until next time.
