The Wooden Spoon

I don't ever remember being spanked with the wooden spoon, in fact, I don't ever remember being hit by my parents at all, ever. Nevertheless, I remember being afraid of the wooden spoon.

Some families used a belt. School principals used a paddle, the worst and therefore most effective, had holes that allowed air to pass through thereby creating a greater thwack, I'd heard, but had never seen. My mother and her sisters would tell of how, when they were kids, their parents would simply say, "Get a switch," and they'd have to go outside and find the thinnest twig that would become their weapon of punishment.

In my house, it was The Wooden Spoon.

Who knows what childhood offense I might have committed to warrant the threat of The Wooden Spoon, certainly the same as any other four-year-old--not picking up, saying no, talking back, generally asserting a will of my own.

"Oooh, you little Sugar Shit. Do you want me to get The Wooden Spoon?"

This would send me running, generally under things. In particular I remember hiding underneath the dining room table. From this vantage point I could see Mom's chubby legs storming toward the kitchen. I studied the clawed feet of the table and wiggled one of the metal claws loose as I waited in fear. All she needed to do was shake the drawer that contained The Wooden Spoon to provoke the desired apology.

One time I was sitting on the bricks in front of the wood stove in the living room, playing with my doll, who evidently had been not picking up, saying no, talking back or generally asserting a will of her own. I had anticipated this and so had The Wooden Spoon handy, but when I spanked her, the Spoon slipped, hit the bricks and broke. The round part of the spoon that makes it The Spoon, splintered off and was rendered useless. I promptly burst into tears. Life as I knew it was over. Not realizing that I had dismantled the household implement of torture and would soon be greeted by munchkins singing my praises, I instead marched sobbing, doll and spoon in hand, to Mom, and awaited certain doom.

From her place on the couch, she looked up from her book and said, "What's the matter, Sugar?"

"I baahh daa baadaaa paaaaa!" I sobbed. She tried not to laugh. I tried again. "Sally was bad, so I spanked her with the wooden spoon, but then I broke it because I was sitting on the bricks and I didn't mean to." Fresh sobs ensued as I produced The Spoon and its other half.

My mother assured me in the kindest, sweetest voice, "That's okay, honey. We have more wooden spoons."