I am The Pie Baker...and I am a spanker. But, wait! Before you call Social Services on me, let me explain. When the Pie gets a spank, it's only after she meets certain criteria established upon the first incident of undesired behavior. I only spank with my hand, no other object is used. And a singular spank is what she gets. Not a barrage of smacks on the buttocks. but one solidly landed spank. I know there is an ongoing and fiercely heated debate regarding this issue and I'm not, repeat, AM NOT asking for support, a comment blast, or chastisement, or finger-waving or whatever else fanatical people do to make normal people feel bad about themselves. So, kindly zip it. Now, let's move on.
It occurred to me that The Pie has received more spanks in the months since she turned 4 than she received in her entire first 3 years. Now, I have not conducted empirical, variable or any other kind of real research on this fact, but the only sense I can make out of it is that for the first 2 years she did nothing that warranted an actual spanking and now as her personality takes a more solid shape (some days it's a gargoyle, but most days it's a sunflower) she is testing the boundaries as well as my willingness and ability to enforce them. I get it...it was part of the sign-on bonus I got when I gave her life. But what I do often wonder is what will she remember about my hands?
Will she be haunted by memories of my hand hitting her little bottom or will she smile when she recalls my fingers clenching her tiny chubby hands as she took her first steps? Will she suffer flashbacks of getting spanked for an act of defiance or will she one day revisit when my hands soothed her boo-boos and gently wiped tears from her soft cheeks? It's my hope that she remembers all of these things and more...because what I hold in my hands is the story of a life. Mine. Hers. Ours.
I like to think of it this way...a sculptor begins with a raw material and his or her job is to create beauty from that material. Whether it is clay that must be pounded repeatedly to obtain the perfect curve, or steel that must be hammered into shape, every medium used to create art sustains hitting in order to achieve the artist's vision. During the process, the artist becomes just as much a part of the medium as the piece of art itself.
In that vein, The Pie must withstand my hand occasionally hitting her bottom so that I can shape her into the work of art I see but cannot describe. She must learn consequences and discipline and focus and order. The lessons she learns by my imprinting my hand on her tushy I hope will be passed down to her child as she holds it in her hands and shares its secrets.
What I remember most about my mother's hands is that they were always *busy*. They were cooking or cutting coupons or washing clothes or doing crossword puzzles or bringing my father something or rubbing cream into her face...along with all of the things she did for me...the spanking, the tear wiping, etc.
ReplyDeleteI think Pie will remember how much her mother loved her when she thinks of your hands, and all the ways you used them to care so well for her, her grandfather and your self. =)