Dad's POV
When my wife told me Max stole from her purse, I was heartbroken. That's the kind of thing I expect from Chris. Not from my angel. "It was definitely Max?"
"Chris admitted to telling him where my purse was," Sally confirms. I bite my lip, and realise I'll have to bite the bullet soon too. Neither of us are angry, but we just can't face him right now. I can't not punish him. But neither of us have the motivation to. When he gets home, I barely even register his crying. I just drag him up and throw him in his room - which I feel bad about!
Sally and I talk about things for a bit longer, we have a cup of tea and calm down. "I-I'll start dinner," she looks at the clock. Wow, we've been talking for a long time.
"I'll go and get the boys,"
I knock on Chris' door and tell him to downstairs, then go to fetch Max. When he see him, my heart breaks all over again. He's huddled in the corner of his bed, clinging onto his stuffed animal for dear life. And he's crying, silently. His pillow is so soaked, he can't sleep on it tonight.
"Max, hey mate," I sit on his bed. This thing used to be Chris', the Spiderman stickers are still on the bedframe. Will this collapse if I sit here for too long? I rub his back. "There's no need for crying, come on. It's dinner time,"
"Nooo," Max buries more into his pillow. "I'm in trouble!"
"We can talk about it later, come on,"
I carry him downstairs and he sits on my lap while we wait for dinner. He calms down, and we have pizza. We don't turn the telly on though, he is still in trouble. When we're finished eating, Sally hugs Max on her knee.
"I'm sorry Mum," he whines. Chris snorts, and I tell him to go upstairs. I don't want him making Max feel any worse than he already does.
"I know you're sorry, Max,"
"Do I hafta get punished?" he asks. My son is so cute, my god.
"Yes," I answer quickly. "We know you're sorry, but stealing is really serious. Why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to go to the shop like the other kids do... and have my own money as well,"
"We can work on giving you pocket money," I sigh. "Give your Mum back the money," He hands over a fistful of coins and notes from his pocket.
"How much did he spend?" I look into Sally's hand.
"There was £23.50 missing,"
She counts it out and there's 35 pence missing. "Right, that's thirty-five smacks then,"
"What?! No!" Max starts fighting and Sally holds him still.
"No Max, you took thirty-five pence from your Mum and you deserve thirty-five smacks," I explain to him. I want him to know why he's getting the punishment he is, but teaching that lesson doesn't work when he's having a tantrum. Sally stands him in front of her and slaps him across his school trousers.
"Stop that!"
His eyes widen and he stops wriggling, letting out just one scared sob. I look at Sally, and we have a silent conversation wondering who will spank him. She too sad to, so I bring him over to me.
"I never want to hear about you stealing from people again. You're getting in so much trouble for it because stealing is something adults get in trouble for too. Do you know wat happens when you steal as an adult?"
"The police come and take you away?!"
"That's right. Max, what you've done is something we'd never expect from you,"
"We're very disappointed," my wife agrees. "And that's why we have to smack you. D'you understand why we're doing this now, eh?" she rubs his arm to comfort him.
"Y-Yeah..." he looks down. "But I really am sorry! I won't do it again! I've learned my lesson!"
"It doesn't work that way, Max. You nee to know there's consequences,"
"I do! Please!"
"I don't want to hear any more of it," I make the decision to get this over with. There's no point in dragging it out longer. Max knows what he did and he needs to learn that crying won't get him out of punishment. I pull him over my lap and bare him. Normally, I'd use a wooden spoon or another implement for something like this. But he's getting thirty-five smacks and he's only five. I'd hoped it cost less than that actually, because thirty-five is a lot for a child his age. But I;ve told him the punishment and I have to follow through.
I pull down his trousers but leave his pants up. They won't protect him, but they lessen the sting a little bit. That'll make up for giving him so many.
"Please Dad! I'll be good! I promise!"
"Be quiet Max," I order. "And since you thought sweets were worth stealing, you can go without them for the week,"
I hit him hard and he cries out. He starts kicking his legs and struggling.
"No Dad!"
I smack him again. Crying doesn't stop a punishment. He needs to learn that.
"P-please!"
I smack him harder to show him his crying isn't working.
"OW!" He cries out and starts sobbing. Hopefully he learns his lesson from this spanking, because next time I don't care how many hard smacks he earns, he's getting the wooden spoon.
"Max, stop that crying. This is your punishment for stealing from your mum,"
He keeps crying as I spank him, giving him a break between smacks so I don't injure him. I refuse to become an abuser and injure him. Smacking itself is considered abuse in the rest of Britain, and is no longer judged 'reasonable'. The people who made that decision must not have had proper discipline. Children who are naughty nee reasonable correction, and I spank my children because that correction will make them disciplined adults who know the consequences for their actions. That's the idea, but as I spank Max I remember doing the same with Chris. That certainly didn't improve his behaviour.
Regardless of whether smacking improved his behaviour, I spank will continue to smack Chris when his behaviour requires it. I won't accept naughty children or disrespectful, delinquent teenagers.
I'm angry now, but mostly about Max's behaviour when being spanked. Kicking and shouting won't get him anywhere.
He cries while I spank him. I stop for a moment to lecture him and give him a break. I have been smacking him hard, and I can see the edges of my handprints where my hand went on bare skin.
"Max, you deserve this. You stole from your Mum. Do you know how naughty that is?!"
He keeps crying. I look down and sigh. Sometimes I forget how much smackings hurt. He's crying too hard to answer me.
"You'll be done soon. Then you can go to bed and stay there,"
"Right, fifteen left,"
For these, I do pull down his pants. His bottom is already very red, but I need this lesson to stick. He can't think he can get away with stealing.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
I give him one extra-
Smack!
Just to instill as much correction in him as I can. When I let him up, he cries and stamps his feet in a childish spanking dance. I pull up his pants and trousers. I send him up to bed and he runs, rubbing his bottom on the way.
Sally gives me a worried look. "You smacked him too hard, Bill. I know he was naughty but you promised to be reasonable with the children. Are you going to hit your daughter like that too?"
"Sorry. I got carried away. I shouldn't have hit him to hard,"
She purses her lips. "You'd better not expect me to cook tomorrow,"
"No dear," I accept my punishment like a contrite child. I realise that I did hit Max too hard, even if I was trying to teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget. Thirty-five is too much for an almost-six year old. I've learned that lesson myself now.