This story did not make the final cut for my book, though I think that it is Ted’s favorite. He is really impressed by the way I “argue my case” with such conviction and humor. I convinced him some 23 years ago, maybe I can convince others today.
The story didn’t make the cut because my editor, who is not a Southerner, believed that it was “not so relevant” in this enlightened age. “Isn’t it illegal to spank your child?”
Well, clearly, she hasn’t been to a Walmart south of the Mason Dixon Line lately. But, alas, I have, and if I could have made a citizen’s arrest there in the parking lot, as a daddy raged on his tantrumming toddler, I would have. But he saw me coming, and eased up on the kid, as he wrestled him into his car seat. I worried all day about that little boy. I prayed that the car ride would calm Dad down, and that the “spanking” wouldn’t resume when they got home.
And no, it’s not illegal to spank your kid at home here in the Sunshine State. But I so fervently believe it is utterly ill-advised.
And I Turned Out Alright
I had thought that this story would not make the cut, that it could be edited out of the book as passé, no longer relevant in this enlightened age, a soapbox I could retire. I wanted to believe that—after all these years, and all that research, and my very own real life case studies—there would be little need for me to tell you about “that daddy hitting that baby.”
But I was wrong. A brief news report on the radio a few months ago, smacked me in the face (or on the buttocks, maybe?) with the issue again, and it stung. Really? Are we still so hot-headed, so lazy, so crude?
This story is out of Florida. Aren’t they all? I am a loyal Floridian, and even I am amazed by all the asinine press we generate. Huffington post has a whole section, Weird Florida, devoted to the wacko’s that make the news here in the Sunshine State: Man Found Naked in Hog Barn Tells Police, ‘I Just Like Pigs.’ Woman Assaults Grandma for Not Accepting Facebook Friend Request. Man Wearing ‘Seriously, I Have Drugs’ Shirt Charged With Predictable Crime. Man Tried to Sell Duct-Taped Iguanas Dangling from Bike.
And Dad Calls Cops to Watch Him Spank 12-Year Old Daughter. And the story brought back memories.
The kids were really small, Myles about four, Taylor two-and-a-half, and we were on vacation at the beach with another couple with boys the same age. After a long sunny day frolicking in the surf, all the mommies, daddies and boys were worn out. Jimmy, my friend’s youngest was behaving just like a tired, hungry two-and-a- half-year-old, a tantrum percolating just below the surface.
It was a small condo, and as Jimmy’s cranky whining started to escalate, Dad thought it best to extricate him from the dinner prep activities for a little come to Jesus meeting upstairs. That alone was hardly remarkable. How many times had we extracted Myles or Taylor from the group for damage control?
In fact, if it hadn’t been for Myles’ innocent question a little later, I probably wouldn’t have even remembered the whole incident. He was in the back bedroom upstairs when Jimmy and Daddy came charging up. A minute later Myles came down, looking sad, maybe a little scared, and genuinely perplexed.
“Mommy,” he whispered, “Why did that Daddy hit that baby?”
Now, “that Daddy” is truly a gentle person. He wasn’t thrashing his toddler. He wasn’t even particularly angry, as I remember it. He wasn’t beating his kid. He had simply given his toddler a spanking.
A spanking. We’ve all had them—I know. That’s what everybody says when the subject comes up. “I got spanked when I was a kid, and I turned out alright.”
Well for a few of those folks, the jury is still out on how they’re turning out, and not much thought is given to how they, as a child, felt about the smacking at the time. Are the parents looking at it as some sort of family tradition, handed lovingly down from generation to generation?
Or are they just lazy. I don’t think most parents who spank are mean or cruel people. Most seem to truly believe that it is their only option. How many times have I heard, “I only spank them when I have to.”
When you have to? Who, exactly, holds a machete to your throat—at precisely the same moment your patience snaps—and demands that you slap your kid’s bottom? What moral imperative mandates that unacceptable behavior requires a physical assault? You have to do it? You have no choice? I don’t buy it, even if you argue the Biblical imperative, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Especially if you argue it. What about that verse fourteen pages before, in Psalms (137:9) that says, “Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.” Why one and not the other? We like Proverbs, but not Psalms? Maybe Mathew, but Mark, not so much. And Revelation, well that’s just some scary shit. I prefer Philippians. Do we get to pick and choose?
A childhood friend of mine, now with three kids of her own, tried to educate me on the “biblical” rendering of corporal punishment. She actually outlined for me the proper steps and acceptable implements to use to spank your misbehaver. Right there in chapter eight of James Dobson’s bestselling book, “The (New) Strong-willed Child.” Here’s how to hit your kid for God.
Was I appalled? Absolutely. Was I surprised? Hardly. That a renowned Christian psychologist devoted 19 pages to a blow by blow (pun intended) tutorial on disciplining your toddler by force, nauseated me, but in all honesty, I wasn’t shocked. People have always distorted spiritual directives, be they from the Bible, the Koran, the Torah, or their Sunday horoscope. All manner of exploits can be justified—racism, terrorism, genocide, to name a few. Not that I equate spanking with these evils. I don’t. But it isn’t up there on my list of ways to make the world a better place either.
James Dobson, founder and president of the Fundamental Christian agency, Focus on the Family, has been among the most influential and enthusiastic proponents of spanking. His radio program has an estimated audience of some 220 million viewers with listeners in 154 other countries around the world. His agency receives so much mail that it has its own zip code. He is also the guy who launched a vigorous smear campaign against SpongeBob SquarePants. Apparently the sexual orientation of the cartoon sponge is suspect. Just say no to Bikini Bottom. Let’s focus on your child’s bottom, and the Godly way to beat it.
Dobson’s books all advocate corporal punishment, especially for toddlers (though the practice is approved for children up to the age of ten or so.) He delineates rationale and process by using examples from his own experience as a spanker as well as a spankee.
Apparently, choice of weapons is extremely important. You shouldn’t use your hand to whack your kid as “the hand should be seen by the child as 
an object of love rather than in instrument of punishment.” He recommends a switch, belt or other “neutral object.” He recounts the amusing story of the time his mother beat him with her girdle for being sassy. A reader misread it and thought that Dobson was advocating the use of an iron griddle to spank, and the reader was incensed. Dobson clarified by describing the “bolts…straps and buckles” on the girdle and he quips, “In some ways, a griddle would have been easier to duck than this abominable undergarment which was flung in my direction.” Another Christian leader (Baptist Minister, Ronald Williams) discourages using the hand because “your hand cannot do an effective job of correcting since you will inflict about as much pain on 
your hand as you will on the child’s buttock.” And, of course, the rod should be an instrument “strong enough to be used in a session of correction so that it will not be broken.” Apparently it is the will of the child you are trying to break, not your rubber spatula.
Should the child be naked from the waist down? Absolutely. “A swat on the behind through three layers of wet diapers simply conveys no urgent message.” Should a spanking hurt the child? Again, “Yes, or it will have no influence.” Spankings should always be administered with a solid implement to the bare buttocks or upper thighs. Dobson explains, “A slap in the face can reposition the nose or do permanent damage to the ears or jaw.” And also, it is much harder to conceal a broken nose than to hide welts on your toddler’s bottom.
Should you spank a baby? Oh, absolutely not. You must wait until they reach the ripe old age of fifteen months before you start to use the “rod” on them. Should you spank them until they cry? Certainly! And furthermore if they don’t stop crying within a prescribed amount of time—two to five minutes—he recommends that you put an end to that nonsense, “usually by offering him a little more of whatever caused the original tears.” Whack him again.
This whole topic has been painful to research. I have actually felt queasy as I read through the literature on the subject. The whole “girdle” incident, incensed me the most. And not because I misread it.
For a mother to beat her young son with her own underwear is simply perverse. It is sickening. Did Dobson’s sister get whipped with her dad’s jockstrap? The shame and humiliation of such an attack on a little boy would have to have far-reaching consequences.
Which brings me back to the headline from just a few months ago, Dad Calls Cops to Watch Him Spank 12-Year Old Daughter.
According to the report, a dad in Okeechobee, Florida called the Sheriff’s Office requesting that an officer come out to witness or supervise the spanking of his pubescent daughter, ostensibly, so he wouldn’t get in trouble—what with all the media uproar over NFL running back, Adrian Peterson and his thrashing of his young son.
It seems the 12-year old girl had gotten into a knock-down-drag-out with her sis, and Dad had had enough. So what do you do when your kids squabble? You call the cops, of course. They showed up, and Undersheriff Noel Stephen stood by watching as Daddy turned his daughter face down and walloped her buttocks four times.
Determining that “no crime had been committed,” Officer Stephen went on his merry law-enforcing way.
Of course, this story infuriates me on so many levels, but what shocked me as I listened to the report in my car was the response of the DJ’s reporting the story. The radio was on a pop FM channel, so I assumed that the guys telling and commenting on the story were at least a generation younger than I. Probably two. But they seemed to be cool with it. Of course, they thought it was funny, but otherwise, yeah, why not? Bitch is misbehaving. Call in the law to watch her be humiliated.
Now, I’m pretty sure that the dad didn’t physically hurt his daughter. I don’t even think that it was ever his intention to inflict physical pain on her. What he wanted, I believe, and what he accomplished, was to utterly humiliate and debase her.
Considering the age of the girl—twelve, and certainly grappling with the complex issues of puberty—it was an absolutely perfect storm of circumstances to inflict maximum psychological damage. Teach her that not only does she not have the right to defend her body against assault, she must lie or bend face down or otherwise away from her aggressor and submit to having her buttocks touched—violently, by a middle-aged man while another middle-aged man, a total stranger, looks on. And the first middle-aged man was her own frickin’ father, who is supposed to be her protector—not her avenger! The second middle-aged man, a law enforcement officer. Again, a person who is supposed to keep her safe from harm, not be voyeur to it.
And another cop hater is born. Who’d blame her? I wouldn’t. Which is a shame. This particular cop has supervised numerous such spankings—a dozen at least by his own reckoning. Creepy. Wrong. So wrong.
And a Reuter’s poll conducted after the event found that 70% of respondents were cool with it. Really? Still? Haven’t we learned anything in the past few decades?
It is no surprise that when I looked up books on Amazon.com dealing with the subject, all but one of the links to other books people have purchased about spanking, were how-to manuals and true confessions on the fine art of erotic spanking for adults. Hmmm. And those books were not even as repugnant to me as the parts in Dobson’s book where he likened raising a child to rearing a dog. I slammed it shut and threw it across the room.
Spanking is not a foreign concept to me. I, myself was spanked as a child. (And I turned out alright—blah, blah, blah.) The last whipping I remember was for leaving a wet towel on my bed (again). I was probably about eight. My sister actually got a spanking when she was 16, for talking on the phone too long (again).
Daddy was a good man. Possibly a great man. He wasn’t cruel or violent. Nor was he sadistic or impulsive or, heaven forbid, kinky. He simply believed he was doing what he had to do to get me to show proper respect for my bedspread. Or the wet towel. I never really figured out which textile I had offended the worst. The spanking was not administered in a fit of rage. It was ritualistic. I do not remember a single word of the lecture that came before. And I do not remember it hurting too much.
What I do remember is the humiliation. In those days, the punishment was delivered to the bare bottom with a bare hand. My budding sexual propriety was shamefully violated. I was disgraced—right there in my home, in my brother’s room, of all places, by one of the two people I loved and trusted more than anyone in the world.
Did it scar me for life? I doubt it. Did I leave a wet towel on my bed again as a kid? I doubt it. Do I leave wet towels on my bed now? You bet. It’s my bed; I have to sleep in it. If it’s uncomfortable for me, it’s my problem and no-one else’s. I obviously don’t mind.
Daddy remained an advocate of corporal punishment throughout his life. I was in my late 30’s when he made that clear to me. No, he didn’t spank me again. He just wanted me to carry on that fine family tradition.
Myles, as a toddler, could have provoked Gandhi. He was quite a handful from the get-go. He was also a heartful. I was often reduced to tears by his willfulness. I was more often exalted to tears by his charm. This was one of those obstinate episodes. I was visiting my parents at their home in Alabama. We were in the kitchen fixin’ supper. Myles was barely two, and he wanted that can of Coke back.
I had let him have a nearly empty can—until he broke off the little pop-top thingy and dropped it into the Coke. Well, there’s an obstructed airway in the making, so I took it away from him. This displeased him greatly, as was evidenced by his loud wailing and gnashing of teeth. I scooped him up but was having little success with pacifying him quickly.
My Dad, hearing the ruckus, walked into the kitchen, just in time to see Myles bop me on the chin with his pudgy little fist. Now we had two irate males in the fray. I removed the little one from the scene, restraining him with the dreaded time-out-bear-hug-vice-grip. Locked in that uncomfortable embrace we worked through the issues, and just as we were returning to the kitchen, I heard Daddy grumble, “Sharla needs to spank that child, plain and simple.”
What better way to teach a toddler not to hit than to hit him? How can that possibly make sense to anyone? If he were to run recklessly out into the street, I surely wouldn’t go waltzing out into traffic myself. Repeating the offense is ludicrous.
If punishment isn’t bestowed in an effort to teach something, what is the point? To show them who’s boss? They know that. You outweigh them by 100 pounds or more. To put the fear of God, and of you, in them? They have plenty of things to be scared of already, do you really want to be one of them? To curtail their unacceptable behavior—only to administer yours? I don’t get it.
(Image, Bonnie Press)
How many times has a parent boasted to me, “My Dad walloped me good for this or that, and I deserved it. You can bet I didn’t do that again.” Maybe you didn’t ever commit that particular crime again. And true, when you’re 40, and the threat of being spanked (by a parent) isn’t imminent, you’re probably not going to revert to ripping the head off your sister’s Barbie, or throwing a tantrum in the Walmart because Mom won’t buy you Fruit Loops.
But did you really refrain back then because the thrashing caused you to transcend your years, develop impulse control, and feel true compassion for poor Sis, Mom and Walmart shoppers? I doubt it. A child’s brain develops over time. That’s what childhood is for. Contrary to popular opinion, you just can’t beat sense into it—especially working from the wrong end of the child.
Besides, I’m sure there were plenty of brand new infractions to replace the Barbie beheading and the market melt-down. Normal childhood development mandates it. The part of the brain governing impulse control and abstract thinking isn’t even fully developed until well into adolescence and into our twenties.
However, we as adults should have gotten the hang of it by now. The vast majority of spankings are administered in the heat of the moment. The parent has simply had enough, and they feel they have run out of options. Most parents call it a last resort.
I am certainly not suggesting that belligerent and disruptive behavior be indulged. Life is all about consequences no matter how old you are. And while I know that it isn’t always possible or practical to make the punishment relevant to the crime, it is a least worth a try. It is always worth your effort.
But it does require effort. It is not the easy way. It can be terribly inconvenient. And they’ve already inconvenienced us enough by misbehaving in the first place.
Let’s revisit Walmart and the Fruit Loops. Who has the time or patience to leave your brimming grocery cart in the aisle, snatch up the raging child, march her out to the car, put her in her car seat, and wait outside the door (of the air-conditioned vehicle) until she gets the message that pitching a fit really didn’t work out well at all for her?
That’s the strategy another “expert” suggests and at least it makes some sense. Susie Q doesn’t get the Fruit Loops or any treat, she is alone and without an appreciative audience, and she is no longer getting a rise out of Mom, or anyone.
While Susie may not be able cognitively to make all the connections—mainly, that failure to respect the rights of others in a public place calls for removal from that place—she will put it all together eventually.
All she learns from a thrashing is, “I am small. You are big. And anytime my behavior doesn’t please you, you may hit me—depending of course, on your mood.”
“Oh, but spanking isn’t hitting. Don’t be so dramatic.” I often hear this from my little soapbox here. Well, it sure is to the child. Someone is slamming a big hand against their body, and it hurts. Got a better definition of hitting?
With the whole spanking philosophy, the only way to affect future behavior is to keep that threat permanently hanging over their naughty little heads, “Remember what happened at Walmart. Don’t make Mommy spank you again.” Maybe that does get them to straighten up and fly right in the moment, but it does nada for them when you aren’t looking.
Clearly, my bottom line is that I believe in my soul that it is inherently wrong to hit a child. Call it what you want—spank, smack, wallop, paddle, pop, swat—it just isn’t right to hit a kid.
Parents have even gone so far as to claim that they want their children to be a little afraid of them. It’ll keep ‘em out of trouble. It seems they fail to make a distinction between fear and respect. One incorporates intimidation and force. The other, compassion and esteem.
No matter what, they will love you first. They love you. No matter what you do to them, they love you. They don’t know how not to. To have to fear you as well, has got to be confusing, demoralizing, and just plain sad. Love and fear make really lousy bedfellows.
I don’t expect many converts when I discuss this—or even as I write this tedious treatise. People who spank, or have spanked, are obliged by having done it, to defend it. If they don’t, they will have to admit, if only to themselves that they may have made a mistake.
Still, maybe someone, a brand new Mommy or Daddy perhaps, will read this and look into the face of that newborn miracle in their arms, and realize that she/he is that baby’s world, their soft place to fall, their champion. You are their hero.
I have recently fallen in love with one of those miracles, actually, two of them. Henley is my neighbor’s baby, less than two months old as I write this. Her brother, Harrison is two. Their parents are as charming and lovely as the babies. I stalked them all until they let me be a part of their little family.
I watch Harrison with awe, as he charges willfully, gloriously, fearlessly through his world. He is, like Myles was, a whirling dervish on speed. He wears us all out. I watch Henley, I really watch her, as she watches me, tiny blue eyes so curious and trusting. She is the most perfect thing I have touched in ages. And to think, in a few short months, just over a year, she will be, according to Focus on the Family’s current guidelines, eligible for a thrashing, should her behavior be displeasing to us big people. Please, no, my friends. Try to remember her as she is now, when her perfection is so obvious. Conjure up those perfect lips, the teensy dark curls just forming by her temple, the skin the color of vanilla ice cream. When things get hard, remind yourself that you are everything to her. And that she is still perfect, even if you, in your frustration and fatigue, are not.
It isn’t easy. I too have been at my wit’s end—more times than I care to remember. It is hard being a parent—especially to a “spirited” child (euphemism for holy terror). I have been tempted.
There was one particularly excruciating day that I thought would never end. I was sick, Taylor was whining and clinging to me like a baby orangutan, and Myles was—well, Myles was unbearable. Truly, he was a little monster that day, and none of those tidy little parenting tricks worked a lick. He was incorrigible. I was infuriated. Ted was at work.
So I threatened him—almost.
I grasped his little shoulders—bared my teeth like a rabid Doberman, got down in his face, and hissed, “Some parents spank their children.”
Silence.
Short-lived. He considered the implications of what I was saying and summarily dismissed the threat. I had promised him, the day when “that Daddy hit that baby,” that I would never spank him. I would never, ever, hit him.
I never have. I never will.
Still, that night, after Ted had gotten home, and we finally tamed the boys and got them to sleep, I lay, totally exhausted in the dark next to my husband. Eventually I whispered, “You know Ted, technically if you use a fist, it’s not spanking.”
But that’s a whole nuther soapbox, isn’t it?
Please share—even if you were spanked and “turned out alright.” Even if you spanked your kids and they “turned out alright.” Can’t we all agree that there is a better way?
Our two “real life case studies,” Taylor and Myles. Never been hit. And they, by all accounts, turned out okay too. Actually, way better than okay.
My new book, My Vices Collide: A Celebration of Being a Little Messed Up, is still available from this website–Shop–(most economical), on Amazon.com, and from any of these gracious local retailers:
At the beach:
Geronimo’s Outpost
69 Via DeLuna Dr.
Pensacola Beach, FL 32561
(850) 435-9555
In Gulf Breeze:
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Gulf Breeze, FL 32561
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In East Hill:
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Downtown:
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Mall area:
Miles Antique Mall
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5109 Bayou Blvd.
Pensacola, FL 32503
(850) 607-6560