In my earlier days, I viewed parents who resorted to spanking their children as falling into two distinct groups: those who lacked faith and were abusive, and those who used their religious beliefs to justify their actions. The non-religious parents would often claim that a good smack was an effective form of discipline, citing their own upbringing as proof of its efficacy. They would say, “Look at me; I turned out just fine. My kids will be fine too.”
I was too timid to respond, choosing instead to roll my eyes and walk away, feeling superior in my convictions. I believed that I would be a better parent, employing logic and time-outs instead, ensuring my children would never experience the confusion of being hit by someone who loved them.
At the same time, I found the arguments of the more devout parents equally infuriating. They would twist biblical verses to create a mandate for spanking, claiming that God’s word required them to discipline their children with a rod. My inner thoughts would scream in disbelief—how could a loving God condone such actions?
Then, the unexpected happened: I became pregnant. The surge of hormones turned me into someone who couldn’t hold back her opinions. I became particularly vocal about my beliefs regarding pregnancy and parenting. I often debated my sister-in-law, whom I had nicknamed “Mrs. Spanky McSpankerson,” sending her articles and texts about the harms of spanking. In hindsight, I realize I was a bit of a jerk.
When my son arrived, everything changed. He was colicky right from the start and soon transitioned into a constant source of whining. It felt like nothing could satisfy him—everything was wrong. As he grew older, he took on the label of “strong-willed,” a phrase that really means he is a handful.
We attempted various forms of discipline—stern conversations when he misbehaved, time-outs when he resisted simple requests, praise for good behavior, and natural consequences for his choices. Nothing seemed to work.
One fateful day, he slapped me in the face. In that moment, I discovered a third type of parent: those who, out of sheer necessity and desperation, resort to the age-old method of spanking. My carefully constructed beliefs about parenting crumbled in an instant. I calmly turned him over, pulled down his pants, and delivered a swift smack on his little backside. I didn’t argue or plead. I simply stated, “You will not hit mommy. That is disrespectful. I am in charge, and this is not a choice.”
He cried, big tears rolling down his cheeks. I was shocked and scared too, but we hugged afterward, and I reassured him of my love. Within minutes, he was over it. I didn’t break his spirit; rather, I helped him become a more respectful version of his strong-willed self, one who thinks twice before acting.
My perspective has since evolved. I no longer view parents who spank as abusers. Instead, I see them as individuals who are simply strong-willed themselves and perhaps a bit overwhelmed.
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In summary, my views on spanking have transformed dramatically from strict opposition to understanding the complexities of parenting. Sometimes, the pressures of raising a child can lead to choices we never thought we’d make.