There are two kinds of people…people who were spanked as children and people who were just simply grounded. I happen to be one who was spanked.

Up until I was about 10 years old, anytime I did something bad I was given a swat on the backside, and depending on the severity of my wrongdoing, a promise that I would never be able to sit down again. The memories I have of the paddle kept in the top of the closet at my grandparent’s house will be engraved in my head forever.

When I was able to go to school and interact with real-life people who were not my parents, I discovered the glorious art of being “grounded.” I became determined to convince my mom that this was the only way to keep my attitude in check. Despite my pleading, the spanking continued until it simply stopped being effective, and my mom just settled for giving me the death glare until I caved.

Finally, when I was 11 or 12, I decided that my time to be grounded was now. I would more or less “rebel” so I could have a reason to be grounded, and while I was throwing mud at neighbors’ houses and refusing to clean my room, the death glare continued to make an appearance.

One night, I had had enough. I walked right into my mom’s bedroom and said, “Mom, I want to know what it’s like to be grounded. Can you please ground me?” After a moment of my mom staring blankly at me she said, “Okay. You’re grounded for the next four days.”

 I was happy.