by Alan Alton
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 30 Jan 2007
It was the spring of 1979 when Jamal and his family moved into the predominantly white neighborhood of Harbor Springs, Missouri. His mother, father and sister had left the comfort of Southern Mississippi when his dad got a new job in Harbor Springs.
As a typical, african american 11 year old, he was into sports, comics, and music. It was the latter which brought us together when Jamal joined the elementary school band, where I was the Staff director. I was immediately attracted to Jamal because his musical skills were not only perfect, but he oozed with enthusiasm and confidence.
Two months into the new school year, Jamal and I developed a type of outside relationship which his parents totally supported. I asked and received permission to take Jamal to a local concert, where he listened intently to the philharmonic play a Beethoven Symphony.
One day, Jamal's mother asked if I would like to come home for dinner, sort of a way for them to thank me for taking an interest in their son.
Jamal was only to happy to have his teacher come for a meal, so I agreed.
I had never met his father, only his mom, but Jamal had mentioned him on occasion, saying he was strict, but nice. Somehow the conversation got around to punishments and Jamal admitted he had never been in much trouble and had avoided any reprimand from either of his parents.
When I arrived at the house, I heard a ruckus as I walked towards the door. It was obvious their was something going on and as I approached the porch, I noticed Jamal's sister crying and their father holding a belt in his hand.
No one saw me as I got nearer the door and I stopped to see if I could figure out what was going on. His dad was saying something about stealing his sisters CD's and Jamal seemed to be defending himself, saying he had done no such thing.
Then his father produced the CD in question, which he apparently had found in Jamal's room and Jamal said nothing.
His father told him the time had finally come for him to get his first whipping and ordered Jamal to pull down his pants. His sister and mother were seated on the couch, his sister having finally stopped the crying.
Jamal begged his father for another chance, but his dad once again told him to pull down his pants. Jamal slowly lowered his basketball shorts, leaving only his boxers on.
His dad told him to bend over the couch and when he had done so, his dad reached over and pulled down his boxers, exposing for the first time his small, round, bare bottom.
I could not believe my eyes as I stood, transfixed, on the porch.
The next sight I saw was Jamal's father raising the belt above his head and slapping it hard on Jamal's rear end. The slap of the belt on bare flesh echoed in the room and Jamal let out an audible groan.
Again is father spanked his son's bare bottom and again Jamal whimpered in pain. His bottom flinched at each stroke and it was all he could do to stay on the couch.
Finally the spanking was over, but his father gave each buttock a final spank with his hand before telling Jamal to get up.
He did so and pulled up his pants. At about that time his mom noticed that I was on the porch and invited me in. Jamal looked at me with horror on his face, stilled by the fact I may have seen him being spanked.
But I didn't let on and to this day he does not know that I witnessed his first spanking.
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