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Repost: The Old Kitchen Table

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The Guv'nor

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Jan 7, 2004, 7:01:41 AM1/7/04
to
1964: I don't need digital technology to revisit the past, I can see it
all so clearly. Come, my unseen friend, hold my hand I will take you
there.

A grey suburban street, on a grey suburban day, in grey suburban England.
That house over there - the one with a small front garden bounded by a
greeny grey privet hedge - that's my house.

Two phrases from the past spring to mind. "Our house, is a very, very
nice house" and "Semi-detached Suburban Mr James". Who was it who sung that.
Oh never mind, it will come to me when I least expect it.

Walk with me up the front path, but be careful, a few slabs are out of
place. My Mam has been onto my Dad for ages to fix it. Here we are, the
front door. 1960's National Health Service waiting room green, frosted
glass near the top. No doorbell, just a slot for the letters and a
knocker. Come in, but wipe your feet or my Mam will have a fit.

Don't worry about that room, that's the living room. My Mam is in there
watching Dixon of Dock Green pretending that everything is normal.

It is not. Not today.

This is the room I want to show you, the kitchen. Come on in, don't be
shy. See that girl? Does she look familiar to you? Yes my friend, the
sixteen year old girl standing sucking her thumb, is me.

Would you just look at the skirt - how short it is. No wonder my Mam had
a fit when she saw me in that. My parents had a lot of fits!

"Your Dad will have a fit when he sees that. Just wait till he finds out
my girl, you'll be for it mark my words".

Looking at it now, can't say I blame her. Oh my, do you see the make up?
LOL. I thought I was so sophisticated, cool and "with it". I look like
Chee Chee the panda on a bad day.

You can smell it too can you? Maybe I should have put a bit more perfume
on; at the moment they can only smell it half way to Scotland! Oh well,
oh to be young and foolish. And I was foolish to think I could get away
with wearing that skirt!

The kitchen table. Big enough for me, Mam, Dad, and my sister to have our
tea on. Normally the bare wooden top would be covered at tea time with a
red checked tablecloth. Not now though. I wont be sitting down for tea.
Not for some time.

Notice how I stiffen with the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.
That's my Dad. He's been to fetch his belt. The wide, black leather one.

In he comes. No particular expressio nor sign of greeting from me. But
look at his face.

Poor bugger.

I can imagine the scene. My Mam saying, "Now Jack, you have to do
something about that girl before she gets herself into mischief." My Dad
trying to play the diplomat, not wanting to hurt me and not wanting to
get on the wrong side of my Mam.

"Now Alice, she's only young, youngsters do all sorts of things. Nowt to
worry about, just let it be for a while and see what happens. She'll soon
grow out of it"

I loved my Dad, but my Mam knew me a lot better than he did!

So there I am waiting, looking at his face - so dismayed, almost
apologetic. I'm also looking at his black, wide leather belt.

2002: Bit different isn't it my unseen friend. Weathers a lot warmer for
a start. Haven't had a drop of rain in this part of New South Wales for
well on a month now.
Pretty little house isn't it. Come on in, I'll show you around.

Here we are. The kitchen. Recognise anything? Yep, the same kitchen
table. When my Mam died I went back home for the funeral. I didn't want
much, just knick knack's. I didn't need what little money she had to
leave us kids, I own my business and pretty successful too if I may say
so.

Money can't buy you love they say. They can't buy memories either. Only
knick knacks can do that. Silly little things like old biscuit tins we
kept the old photos in. Odd how the photographs don't bring back
memories, but the old biscuit tins do.

That's why I made sure I got the kitchen table. It meant a lot to me
then, and means a lot to me now.

Gone a bit older haven't I!! Hairs a bit greyer, but figures not bad. No
miniskirt, but in my view, the white moleskin, R.M.Williams jeans I am
wearing look just as sexy. The blue denim shirt matches nicely too.

Notice my face? The same look of apprehension. The same appearance of one
waiting nervously. Sounds carry a long way in the bush, and that sound
you hear is my husbands Range Rover coming up the drive.

He doesn't have to go upstairs to fetch his belt. He is wearing it around
his faded Levi's.

You know what I said about sounds carrying in the country? Let's just
hope they don't carry too far!

1964: You must admit, my Dad at least tries to act the part. Like a poor
mans Jack Hawkins trying to look and sound severe. In the end, he decides
though to give up the ghost.

"Now lass, why did you want to go and do a thing like that for. You know
what your mother said about miniskirts" Of course, I can offer no
suitable response. Sorry Dad, no loophole!

"She's right you know too. I mean any red blooded male
would......well...you know what I mean lass. You need to be careful." As
he speaks, he is doubling the belt.

His sigh comes from a heavy heart. He is my father, it is his duty to do
such things. Everything combines to make this so. Era, background,
upbringing, education, socio-economic conditioning - the lot. Poor Dad.
Out of place, out of time.

"You know what I have to do don't you lass?". I nod my head.

"You know what *you* have to do, don't you?" he askss with another sigh.
Again, I nod my head. I raise my short skirt and bend over the edge of
the kitchen table, my arms stretched in front of me. Only my pink Marks
and Spencers knickers offering any protection or privacy. They wont come
down. Dad would die a thousand deaths to think such a thing.

2002: How do you like my husband? Distinguished looking isn't he. His
silver hair contrasting nicely with his weathered skin and almost the
same blue shirt as mine. His arms are the arms of a country boy. Tanned,
weathered and showing his silver watch strap so beautifully. He is a bit
older than me, though you would never know it. His laughing eyes betray
his age, his worries, his fears.

He is worried now. Trying to explain to me how we couldn't really afford
that new dress I bought. I know that, but it seems clothes have a habit
of getting me into trouble.

He is so patient as he tells me about the downturn in the markets, how
overseas tariffs are affecting our way of life. I understand all this. I
understand too that I just loved that dress.

His voice is a little sterner than dads you notice. Years of haggling and
negotiating with city slickers and tough rural businessmen and farmers,
give him the confidence and assertiveness that my Dad lacked.

I knew what to do in 1964 and I know what to do now. Only this time there
is a difference. It is not my Dad carrying out the punishment, it is my
husband. A husband who is quite used to seeing my bare bottom.

Marks and Spencers Knickers stay up, Bonds Full Seated Briefs rest
somewhere around mid thigh, before all the kicking and jerking send them
sliding towards my ankles.


1964: Have to give Dad credit, he lays them on pretty well. Did you see
my reaction to that stroke! Dad noticed too. That's why the next stroke
is a little weaker. It still hurts though. I mean it would wouldn't it. A
leather belt on a 16 year old girls backside on a cold day, it's bound to
hurt a bit.

The sound is what gets me. The crack sounds so awful. Even my Mam, who
only wants and means the best for me, will be wincing. My sister will be
looking silently at my Mam then silently at the TV, thanking God it's not
her in the kitchen. She's older than me, so been there, done that.

How many did you count? I made it about nine, but seemed a lot more
somehow. LOL look at me rubbing my bum, my skirt around my waist. My Dad
looks away!

Poor old thing.

"Are you decent?" he asks before turning around. He looks at me, then at
his feet, the belt dangling loosely by his side.

"Can I go now Dad?" I ask. Hear his voice. How soft.

"Aye lass. You can go."

I leave the room. I decide it is prudent to change my skirt before going
in and joining the others for Saturday night TV. Saturday night TV -
something I will be watching for the next three Saturdays!

Mam and my sister look at me. The silence lasts an eternal two seconds.
My Mam speaks.

"Sit down love, this will be finished soon, then you can turn it over to
the other channel"

Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said. We didn't have the word
"closure" in those days, but that is what her words meant.

2002: It used to be easier to bend over this table. I could swear it's
higher than it used to be.

Yes you are right. There is quite a difference in the way my husband
wields the belt compared to my Dad. Years ago when we discussed all this,
I told him how hesitant my Dad had been in such situations. My husband
was too at first, but in time, he came to understand my needs.

Notice how I jerk, kick and yell each time the belt lands. It's not that
I feel the pain more these days - I'm a tough old chook and it takes a
lot to make me yell or cry these days.

Seen too much, forgotten too little.

Nope, it's the force my husband puts into the whacks. No nonsense,
workmanlike. He always was a good worker.

Watch carefully. Notice how he places the belt on the table and doesn't
wait for me to make myself decent.

He holds me close, his huge strong hands holding each of my bottom
cheeks. I rest my head on his shoulder and the tears flow. One of his
hands moves from my bottom to my hair, stroking softly, slowly,
rhythmically.

His voice too is soft and low.

I slip out of my jeans, but pull up my knickers. Silently we move to the
bedroom.

Closure.

That, my unseen friend, is the story of my life. The way it was, the way
it is, the way it will always be.

The way I always wanted it to be.

Mike
--
New Perspectives R.O.D.
Realistic Online Discipline For Adults
http://newperspectivesrod.bravehost.com/


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