I grew up in the 1980s, so spanking was still pretty common. My father was the disciplinarian in the family and was often quick to jump right to spanking when my sister or I got in trouble. From around age 4 till I was about 11, if spanked he would likely use his hand or a belt, but occasionally it would be a switch. From age 11 till my last at age 14 it was more often a belt, occasionally his hand, and again occasionally the switch.

When he would use a switch, which was probably about 5 or 6 times growing up for me, he would normally get it himself and most times if the switch was chosen it was because we were camping or otherwise doing an outside event like fishing. He did occasional choose the switch when at home if he was mad enough. I feel as though the switchings at home were a little worse because he picked them from a bush which seemed to produce a worse sting than one chosen from whichever tree might be nearby.

On a couple occasions, I was told to get the switch myself. I remember camping one weekend when I was 9 and I had talked back and disobeyed one too many times. My dad and I were both sitting at the picnic table and he pulled out his pocket-knife and told me to go cut a switch off one of the trees behind us. I didn’t want to do this, but at the same time I was too afraid to not obey.

I walked over to the trees and found it a little difficult at first to get something similar to what I had seen him use in the past. I had to look at two or three different trees but I found something I felt he would have chosen. I struggled cutting it with the knife, I’m sure more so due to being nervous. Once cut from the tree, I pulled off the leaves and walked back to my dad. He didn’t take it from me though, but rather told me to get in the camper and he followed me. Once inside he shut the door.

This was the second switching I had been given in this camper so I did as I had been instructed to the last time which was pull my pants and underwear down and lean over the table. I don’t know how many licks I got, maybe 10 across my bare butt, but I swear the pain was like being stung by a bee over and over again. He didn’t go fast with the switch so there were times I took my hands off the table and grabbed my butt. He would instruct me, though, to place my hands back on the table. When he finished, he told me to pull my pants up and he left the camper which allowed me to lay down and cry. Later, when I came out of the camper I saw my switch laying in the fire pit.

I was once as well asked to help my sister get a switch. I am three years older than her and she was, I think, 10 at the time. We were at home so I don’t know what she had done to earn a switching but it must have been fairly bad. My dad told her to get a switch, which she did go out with scissors and in tears. She returned about 2 minutes later with no switch and crying even heavier. She told dad she didn’t know how to get it. I was sitting on the couch watching this whole thing and my dad turned to me and told me to go help her. I didn’t hesitate because I knew he was already mad and I told her to come with me. I took her to where dad gets them, which is from a bush that grows by the shed. I cut one off for her and gave it to her to give to dad after getting the little bumps off of it. Once inside, my dad took her to the dining room so she could lean over the table. I sat in the living room listening to my poor sister’s bare backside being switch and her hard crying.