PREPARATIONS AND PASSAGES

DESTINY'S CHILD

Most people when they are growing up never question how they are raised. It is because there is nothing to question. Iis your world, it is your universe; it is the norm.

 

Welcome to the world according to Pippi, aka, Kerrilyn, Aura, and Brat (compliments of Brother Bob!).  In my first "diary entry" I mentioned that a DD lifestyle had sought me and followed me around most if my lifetme.  let me explain:  At 26 (now 27) I have lived my whole life in this area, with just my mum and daddy, and my incredibly wonderful some-of-the-time, pain-in-my-elbow most of the time brother, Q.  Growing up, my world was simple. I got up, went to school, went to soccer, and went to music. I came home, ate, showered, and studied. As long as everything went along with the status quo, and all of our family rules were followed, all went well.

But my brother and I didn't always stick to that expected status quo and follow those rules. Later I found out that our family handled things in the discipline department quite differently than my friends' parents did.  I later heard the term "corporal punishment" used to describe how my parents used to discipline both of us...

 So, when those rules were broken, daddy took no hostages.   No excuses were accepted.   The lawyer in him, daddy always needed to get to the truth. He completely believed in everyone getting their just rewards, be it good or bad.  Be it bad, he always needed to justify his punishments.   Mind you, they really were usually justified. 
 So when a rule was broken, he would call for a "family assembly" during dinner, when the family was all together. "Opening arguments  would start with daddy  

stating that he was afraid one of us had broken the "family trust" by disobeying a family principle. He would state his understanding of the fraction, ask his questions, then call upon us to explain. Well, explain we would. This would be followed by "trial by family" as it were, where everyone was permitted to question, to comment, to voice disappointment.  To not answer was unthinkable, to lie,  never. 

 After a complete breakdown of the sin in question, the "sentence" was announced with daddy standing and removing his belt.   This became  ritual.   Mother would rise, take our elbow and "escort" us into the den with family in tow. With everyone seated in place, mother would escort us into our 'position of reckoning' . My brother was tall enough that he could lean over the back of the couch quite comfortably, but I was far too short for that.  If I were the unfortunate fraction-breaker, my mother would  draw over her extra-padded, slung back, never sat-upon Chesterfield, and push me down over its back. 

Oh yes, while she was getting that chair, I was to remove my jeans and stand there in my panties. Nothing remained private in our household.  Oh, did I mention that these beltings were family sport? Our "corporal punishment" with the family was not just limited to the "trial". Anyone staying at the house were privy to these beltings. 

This is what I hated most. So, not only was mum and daddy there, but also my brother, and even on occasion my grandmother, who looked on with complete distaste.

Daddy would then tell me to hold onto the sides of the chair cushion, and that if I let go, he would make sure I got "it" worse.  However, I have NEVER had that sort of self-control.

My mother would then seat herself in front of me. It was her job to grab and hold my hands if I released them, or started to try to get away. Of course, this ALWAYS happened. I did not go into my punishments, even tho always deserved, with any sort of grace or dignity. I am NOT and never will be, any of those strong women, who accept their fate with strength and poise.  Oh, no, I was so far away from graceful that my picture was next to the antonym of grace. 

 For you see, I HATE pain. I don't handle pain well at all. I think I'm dying. I want to die. Maybe I am dying. The ordeal of my father and his belt I'm sure was recorded in the annals of our local Home Owners Association. I have no doubt most of the neighborhood also shared in my humiliation.
However, the pain wasn't the worst part of these punishments. For even as I was bent over that specially upholstered and designed to match the premium wall paper Chesterfield, in my panties, the only prayer running thru my mind was not the prayer that daddy would somehow change his mind and stop, but please, please, don't let the neighbors be outside. Please keep the mailman away, just this once. Please be late enough in the afternoon that the housekeepers were already gone . You see, daddy knew that pain was somewhat fleeting. It was always the humiliation that you remembered. And as I heard the quick swish of the belt flying straight to my bottom, and the crack of the belt against my skin, as pain seared across my body and started to burn down into my soul, the realization that Mrs. Jones is hearing me scream and beg, promising that I will no longer embarrass my family, that I would never, ever do this awful crime again, was really the true punishment. A teenager never wants the world to see their weaknesses. A teenager needs to walk with an air of perfection. But Mrs. Jones didn't hear any of my finely practiced arguments, for she was getting her nearly perfect daughter to listen as well. Soon, the neighborhood was discussing my poor bottom and wondering what I could have done, this time, to warrant such a bountiful beating.  Not only that, discussions on how long it had been since their last "show" and placing bets on when the next one would come were heating up everywhere.  And chances are, it wouldn't take too very long....

 

IN the reflection of yesteryear as well as where my life is today, I now realize there is a certain amount of comfort in those spankings of the past as well as in the punishments of today, for they have continued into my marriage.  I have always known the rules and expectations set before me.  They were more than adequately discussed prior to use.  In having known paths laid out for me, I know that I am in charge of the direction my life will take.  The choices I make are always my own.  And based on these decisions, good or bad, I know what will ensue.  You see, when I have decided to take a path I know I shouldn't have followed, the punishments I now get are what I myself have ordained. In essence, I have written the back of the book before the chapters were even thought out.

Even though we had established a DD relationship prior to our marriage, Scott took a while to gear up and find his courage.  Becoming brave enough to actually put his foot down and follow through with what he knew he needed to do and what I needed to receive took quite a while!   However, what I learned during these initial months of confusion and pain is a lesson I will never forget.  You see, now that Scott has stepped up to be the HoH he was meant to be there is quite a difference in the condition of our hearts. For the intense arguments of the past now remain in the past. There is therefore now none of the stress acquired when two opposing worlds collide; no vicious, wounding words flung, floating forever on the winds of eternity, rising at will.  There are now no names launched causing the roots of icy bitterness to send its tentacles into hearts once consumed with love.

I truly wish that I could tell you that I have never taken this destructive pathway before, even after our advent of DD  -  but  regrettably I have, even recently.  For I have thrown out in my anger pure ugliness, words that burn when they leave my mouth.   Daggers that penetrate the soul and spirit of the one I adore, who I have given my life to.   The physical pain of any punishment doesn't compare to the residual wounds I can and do inflict upon myself.  The intensity of the guilt I feel in  being the bearer of such destruction is overwhelming, all consuming. I almost cannot support its weight.

However, Scott with his gigantic heart filled with such love and grace completely understands my world of erratic emotions and hormones. He understands me so much more than I do myself.  He knows that I cannot support such anger and guilt alone. So he so lovingly offers his forgiveness.  He indeed has sought to forgive, to restore, to rebuild.  Even the God we truly believe in and follow and have given our lives to has offered us the ultimate in forgiveness - a never-ending sacrifice of true love. Even with all this so readily offered to me, I find the cruelty I express during these arguments sometimes utterly shameful and unbearable. But Scott has found a way to guide me through - to gently take my hand and provide a way to clean my soul, to pay a price and start new.  For he has shown me the cost of taking the pathway from our own expectations, and he has followed through, as he said he would, as I anticipated and knew he would.  And even as these "slate-cleaning" punishments occur, when I am held over his knee, or across the end of our bed, sobbing and begging for relief, I realize that release indeed has come.  And as he later holds me, reminding me that its complete, that all is well, of his never-ending love for me and our marriage, I know that it is indeed over, that he has forgiven me, God has long ago forgiven me, and the funny thing is, it feels like I can now forgive myself.