"So what!" snapped the little girl in her rudest tone of voice, "I don't have to listen to you!  I won't!  You're not my real Mommy!"

            Taking a deep breath and struggling to master her temper, the woman sat down on the side of Danielle's bed and replied,  "I am sorry your real Mommy is in Heaven and I know I cannot replace her and I know you miss her."  Jean paused.  "But so help me, if you take that tone to me one more time I am going to put you over my knee and spank you on your bare little bottom!"  The girl glared defiantly back at Jean and said nothing.  "Do you understand," prompted Jean,  "why you will receive a spanking if you behave that way again, Danielle?"

            "NO I DON'T!" shouted Danielle in the same rude tone, "And I don't care!  So there!"  And with that, the little girl sat up in her bed pulled the corners of her mouth apart with her fingers and stuck out her tongue at Jean.
 
 

            "That does it!" snapped Jean as she seized Danielle's wrist and began to pull the child across her lap.  "I may not be able to replace your mother but I can still give you one thing just as well as she did!"  But her grip failed momentarily and Danielle slid off the side of her bed onto the floor.  In a flash, the little girl scampered under her bed and held on to the underside of the box-spring as hard as she could.   But Jean got ahold of Danielle's ankles and pulled firmly until the child's grip failed and Jean slid her out from under her bed again.   "Do you understand why Mommy Jean  is about to spank you, Danielle?" Jean asked, as she stood the struggling Danielle in front of her.

            "NO I DON'T!" shouted her stepdaughter in response as she strove to break free of the woman's grip.

            Danielle flailed and squirmed with all her might as Jean placed her over her left knee and pinned her legs with her right thigh.  But try as she could, Danielle only postponed the inevitable for a second or two longer than if she had cooperated.  "Young lady, I will ask you again," said Jean sternly after securing Danielle snugly into position face down across her knee, "Do you understand why you must receive a spanking?"

            "NO I DON'T!" replied Danielle as she splayed her hands across the seat of her pink fleece pajama pants to try to shield herself.

            Jean easily took both of Danielle's wrists and pinned them against the little girl's lower back, despite Danielle's best efforts to resist, leaving her backside unprotected.  "Danielle, I will ask you once more," prompted Jean as she took hold of the stretchy waistband of Danielle's pajama bottoms.  "Do you understand why you're about to be spanked?"

            "NO I DON'T!" yelled Danielle furiously, trying with all her might to twist around onto her back to bring her vulnerable bottom out of spanking range - but to no avail.

            "Very well then," Jean concluded as she pulled down  Danielle's pajama pants far enough to expose the pale cheeks of her stepdaughter's soft bare backside, "Here is something you will understand!"  Jean raised her right hand and vigorously slapped the two little upturned buttocks, and then slapped them again, and again, and again, and again, and...

            Jean could feel Danielle go rigid as the child held her breath and with every remaining ounce of strength in her little body made one last valiant effort to escape Jean's grasp.  But Jean easily held her in place and continued to deliver crisp, stinging swats one after the other until Danielle sobbed loudly, gasped for air and then began to wail with pain.  Jean continued to administer hard, fast smacks to Danielle's reddening rear until at last Jean felt her little stepdaughter's body go limp as she bawled across Jean's knee, all efforts at rebellion abandoned.  Jean continued to spank the howling child's smarting bottom for several more seconds for good measure. Then she pulled the little pink pajama pants back up over Danielle's now-equally-pink behind, sat the crying girl on her lap and held her for a couple minutes until her tears had subsided.

            When Danielle's wails had quieted to sniffles, Jean tenderly placed her finger under Danielle's chin and turned her little tearstained face upward to look into Jean's eyes.   "Danielle darling, now do you understand why you were spanked?"

            "Yes I do," whispered Danielle sadly.

            "So... tell Mommy Jean why you just got spanked," prompted Jean, triumphantly.

       "Because" replied the exhausted little girl,  "You're stronger than me!"

            "I've had it up to here with your naughty behavior, Alice!"  fumed the little girl's angry father.  "When I was your age, I never got away with half the misbehaviors you do!  When I was you age I got spanked all the time!"

    "Well," replied Alice sulkily,  "You probably deserved it!"
 

            After the children had finished singing, the teacher turned to Jane and asked what her mother had given her for her birthday.   "A Barbie Dreamhouse!" piped Jane with a smile.

            "And what did your father give you for your birthday?" gushed the teacher.

            Jane's smile faded.  She shrugged and looked down at the floor.  "Oh... the same thing he always gives me on my birthday," replied Jane, dejectedly.

            "And what is that?" inquired the teacher.

            "A... spanking..."

            "But... why does your father always give you a spanking when it is your birthday, Jane?"

            "Because my birthday always reminds my Dad of why he had to marry my Mom!"

            Several minutes later, Ethel entered her child's bedroom, hairbrush in hand.

            Mary, wearing only her pink tee shirt, had undressed herself as she'd been told.  But to her mother's surprise, Mary held a vaguely familiar-looking yellowed piece of paper in her hand.  "See Mommy!"  exclaimed Mary, handing her mother an ancient report card of  dating from when Ethel had been in the same grade as Mary.   "When you were my age you got the EXACT SAME grades I did!"

            Ethel frowned as she reviewed her own grades from so long ago, while Mary anxiously held her breath and awaited her mother's response.

            At length, Mary's eyes brightened with hope as her mother sighed, "I have to admit it, Mary...  You are right....  I got the EXACT SAME grades when I was your age."

            Then, quick as a wink, Ethel tossed her daughter over her knee and began walloping Mary's bare little bottom with the hairbrush, adding, "...so I will now give you the EXACT SAME SPANKING I got for that report card!"
 
 

A.  The money was spared and banked...
...Mary was bared and spanked!

       One day her Daddy brought her home a bus driver hat and badge.  Ashley was so excited she went outside, got on her bicycle and tore off down the block. Whenever she saw any children hanging around she pulled up her bike next to them and, motioning abruptly with her thumb, said "All you motherf####rs getting on the bus get on the bus!   All you  motherf####rs getting off the bus get off!   And all you motherf####rs staying on the bus, get to the back of the bus!"

       This went on all afternoon until it was time to go home.  Ashley pulled into the back yard and repeated the entire routine in front of her mother. 

      "Ashley!" scolded her astonished mother.  "That is no fit language for a proper little girl to use!  Don't you ever let me here you use such language again!"  Taking a deep breath, her mother added,  "Why... I already have half a mind to march you straight into the kitchen, put you over my knee, and spank you, young lady!" 

       "Oh yeah!?" snarled Ashley, still imitating her father's tone of voice, "Well it's motherf####rs like you that make the bus late!"

     "Young lady!" scolded her mother, "I was looking out the window and saw the whole thing.  There is absolutely no lion out there." 

      Jessi's mother sat down on the kitchen stool and drew her daughter close.  "Look me in the eye, Jessica Anne.  What did I tell you would happen the next time you told me a fib?" 

      Jessi gulped and looked up at her mother with wide eyes but said nothing.

     "Answer me!" snapped her mother.

     "Y-you said you would sp-spank me..." stammered Jessi, unhappily, "But Mama!" she continued in a louder tone, "I thought it was a-"

     "Be quiet, Jessica Anne!" ordered her mother, sternly.  "You told a fib and you are going to be chastised for it.  Pull down your shorts and panties and lie down across my lap... NOW, young lady!"

     Weeping, Jessi obeyed.  And no sooner had she placed herself into position then her mother gave Jessi's little upturned bare buttocks seven quick, stinging slaps.

     When Jessi had mostly finished crying her mother instructed her to pull her clothing back into place and apologize for telling a fib, which Jessi promptly did.  Then Jessi's mother told her to also get down on her knees and ask God to forgive her for telling Mommy that a harmless pet dog was a vicious lion. 

     After a few seconds of murmured prayer Jessi looked up at her mother and chirped, "It's all right now, Mama. I told God what happened and He says He doesn't blame me! He thought it was a lion too when He first saw it!"

    "All forms of family violence are connected," her professor intoned, gravely.  "And underlying them all is what I call 'the virtuous violence,' which goes by the euphemistic name of 'spanking.'  Study after study, has linked so-called 'spanking'  with higher rates of child abuse and spousal abuse later in life, higher rates of substance abuse and depression, as well as sexual obsessions."  Pausing to give the scribbling students time to transfer this to their notebooks, the professor then concluded, "It is clear by now.   The evidence is in.  Any well-informed parent who truly loves their child will never, ever spank them.  That concludes today's lecture."

     Fiona's brow knit with worry as she packed away her books.   What would her revered mentor think of her if he discovered she routinely spanked her strong-willed little daughter, Kayla?  Since Fiona was having the professor over for dinner right after the lecture, she certainly hoped Kayla would be on her best behavior.

    As Fiona and her professor walked across the campus she listened respectfully while he expounded further upon the evils of spanking and summarized the growing mountain of  peer reviewed studies in prestigious journals all showing its many negative effects on the child.   Approaching the graduate student housing,  she saw her daughter looking up at one of the workmen who was building the new concrete bike path.  The workman looked angry as he jabbed his finger in Kayla's direction, then pointed at the fresh concrete which had just been poured, then back at Kayla, who stood her ground, her face a defiant pout. 

    "Hello Darling," said Fiona to Kayla, then turning to the workman, "What seems to be the problem?" 

    "Is this your kid?" demanded the workman testily.  Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "She keeps drawing pictures in the concrete, and when I smooth them over, she goes right back and does it again when I am not looking!"  Kayla made no attempt to deny this charge, but looked sullenly at her mother to see what would happen next.

    Vexed, Fiona pulled her hairbrush from her purse.  "I am very disappointed in you, Kayla!" Fiona scolded, waving the all-too-familiar brush at her daughter's eye level for emphasis.  "You've been a very, very bad girl and for that I am going to give you a good-" Suddenly Fiona remembered herself, glanced self consciously at the professor, then back at her daughter, and stammered, "a-a good, talking to!" 

     She brushed back a wisp of Kayla's hair which had come loose from one of its pigtails as if that had been the hairbrush's original mission, then quickly replaced it in her purse.  With a look of disgust, the workman snapped, "Just make sure your daughter doesn't do it again, lady!" 

    Humiliated, Fiona watched as the workman turned on his heel and stalked off without another word, shaking his head to himself.  Then she glanced downward.  There before her astonished eyes squatted Kayla, beside the freshly poured concrete, beginning yet another new picture. 

    Mountain of studies or not... enough was enough.

    Retrieving the hairbrush from her purse, Fiona said grimly, "Professor, will you please excuse us for a moment?"  Seizing Kayla tightly by the arm, Fiona marched her protesting daughter to a nearby park bench and bent the struggling child across her knee so that the fabric of Kayla's cordouroy overalls stretched snugly across the plainly visible outlines of her two pert, little buttocks.   Then, as her mentor looked on aghast, Fiona began to swat the plump cheeks of Kayla's  bottom repeatedly with the back of the brush - a procedure which soon had her child roaring with pain.  Fiona did not relent until Kayla's stinging backside had received sixteen solid smacks. 

      While Kayla continued to bawl across her mother's knee, Fiona returned the hairbrush to her purse,  then stood Kayla onto her feet and marched her directly to the now-smiling workman,  and made Kayla apologize to him as best she could manage through her tears. 

      Then came the part Fiona dreaded.  Leading her crying daughter by the hand she rejoined her mentor, his face ashen with shock.  With a look of profound sadness, he glanced down at Kayla as she wept miserably and rubbed the seat of her overalls, then up at Fiona.  At last he murmured, "How could you, Fiona?  How could you inflict pain on your very own child?  Don't you love her?"

     Taking a deep breath, Fiona replied, "Let's just say that
I love my daughter very much in the abstract...
but not in the concrete."