Dear Drummer:
I am Mike's "Dad."
I don't know if you remember Mike. Almost two years ago, I had him sit down at this typewriter and write a long letter to your magazine about a stiff paddling he received from me in the woodshed on this ranch. You printed his letter in the Daddies section of Drummer and later reprinted it in Drummer's Daddies 2.
I enclose copies of two letters. The first is from Mike to me, describing some trouble he got into while I was away. The second letter is my reply to him. I'm sending them to you because I think you guys understand a thing or two about discipline, and you seem to understand the special bond that can exist between a "Dad" and a "son" when both are fully committed to their roles, as we are.
I realize that not every Father/son relationship relies as heavily on discipline as ours, but these letters are submitted in the spirit of this discipline, as advice to other Dads, and as a warning to their sons.
This morning, Mike received his fifth paddling from me in five days. The reason this action was necessary is explained in these letters.
There is a 30-year-old "boy" upstairs right now, crying his eyes out, rubbing a swollen and badly bruised ass with both hands. He and I know how it got that way, and why.
Mike and I need the same thing. He needs to get discipline; I need to give it. We're still together after three years. We'll be together a lot longer.
Mike's Dad
Dear Dad,
How is everything going up in Fort Worth? It's only been three days since you left, and I don't know if I can make it for another week.
The reason I'm writing is because there's something I have to get off my chest. I was going to wait until you got back to tell you, but I'll feel a lot better once you know about it. I've done something that is very wrong, and even though I don't want to ruin you trip, I want to tell you about it myself.
Over two weeks ago, when you asked me if I had been checking the oil level in the water pumps in the North pasture, I told you that I had just checked it and it was fine. That was a lie, Dad. I hadn't checked it in weeks.
Yesterday morning, when I rode up there to check the cattle in the pens, I discovered that there was no water--I couldn't get the pump to start. I panicked and called Mr. Fisher to come over and look at it. He said the motor had burned out because it had run out of oil. Mr. Fisher returned to his shop and brought out a new motor (the only one he had). He started up the pump, and we got water to the cattle.
I don't think they were without water for more than one day. Mr. Fisher said that if he hadn't happened to have that motor in his shop, the cattle would have had to go without water for at least two more days. He also told me that the new motor, including his time and mileage to and from the ranch twice, would come to about $250.
Dad, I know that everything that happened was my fault. And I deserve whatever I've got coming to me. I know that if I had obeyed you in the first place, none of this would have happened. I also know that I lied to you, and that is what hurts me the most about all of this.
In addition to whatever you decide to do about this, I want you to know that I have enough money in savings to pay for the motor. It won't completely make up for what I've done, but I will feel much better about it. I started to pay Mr. Fisher myself and keep this from you, but I couldn't lie to you twice, Dad.
I'm sorry I lied to you about checking the pumps. I guess I was afraid of getting paddled. Now I know how much I deserve to get paddled. I am ready to pay for what I've done, and for what it has cost you.
Most of all, I'm sorry that I have proved that I can't be trusted. I betrayed the trust you placed in me to make my own decisions and run things by myself. Like you always say, I seem to always need to learn things the hard way. I deserve to be punished and will accept whatever punishment you feel is necessary to make up for what I've done. During the last three years, you have never given me a paddling that I didn't deserve. I know that my behavior needs your strong control, and I need your constant direction and discipline.
Please forgive me, Dad, and accept my apology. I will accept my punishment and try not to let you down again. I want to prove to you that I can be trusted. I want to make you proud of me again.
If I've ruined your business trip, I'm sorry for that as well. But I couldn't stand to keep this from you any longer. I'm sorry, Dad.
Your loving son,
Mike
Dear Mike,
I have just finished reading you letter several times. I will save the lectures for later, but I will say that you have gotten yourself in some pretty serious trouble. I will also tell you that you did do something right. In spite of the fact that you lied to me and disobeyed me, your main obligation was the safety of those cows. You acted wisely ;by calling Fisher in to tend to the pump. Secondly, you did the right thing by telling me about this yourself and providing an accurate, honest account of your negligence. I am proud of you in these areas, and these areas only.
I am very angry with you son, and you will have to pay for your actions. Your letter tells me that you feel you deserve a good licking, and that will make everything alright between us. Well son, I've got some news for you. I'm going to bust your ass. Not just once, but I'm going to bust your ass five times.
First, I'm going to bust your ass for lying to me.
Then I'm going to bust your ass for disobeying me.
Then I'm going to give you the paddling you deserved two weeks ago.
Then I'm going to paddle your butt for endangering the cattle I trusted you with.
Finally, on the fifth day, I'm going to take every penny of 250 bucks out of your backside. You can keep your allowance. I'm going to take it out of your hide. Believe me, you're going to find out just how much money that is.
Every morning, for five days straight, you will report to the woodshed at ten o'clock SHARP. You will wear a jock strap and a clean, freshly ironed pair of jeans, a belt, and your boots, shined and ready for my inspection. You will interrupt your chores and report to the shed at the proper time. Afterwards, you will be expected to complete your chores as usual. You will deal with the discomfort in such a way that your work does not suffer. If I find that your work suffers, you will receive additional licks. Also, during these five days, you will not pout, sulk, or display any sign of anger or resentment. Remember, these behavior and attitude problems can be easily corrected with a paddle in addition to your punishment.
Also remember that you are getting no more punishment that you actually deserve. I will not start sympathizing with your discomfort by the third or fourth day. You can plan on the cumulative effects of five paddlings in five days to be quite unpleasant. I will not weaken or become the slightest bit compassionate with your circumstances toward the end, and I guarantee that you will feel the last licks the most.
In addition, to insure that these five paddling do you the most good, I want you to do some serious thinking about them. You are going to make the paddle yourself. You will follow the instructions I dictate, to the letter. If you do a good job, you will regret it. If you fuck this up, you will regret it a hell of a lot more. You are not, under any circumstances, to use any of my electric tools (saws, drill, or sander). You will make this board the old-fashioned way--by hand. You are also not to use any of my boards.
Tomorrow morning, after your morning chores, you are to go to my drawer, remove the keys to the truck, and ride into down to the cabinet shop. You will have Bill cut you out a 6" by 25" board of solid ash wood, a full 1" thick. If he's out of ash, get oak or maple. But make damn sure it's the right size and a full inch thick.
You will then return directly to the ranch. You will not place the board in the back of the truck or beside you in the front. You will place it across the driver's seat, directly under your ass. I want you to settle your ass down on it and get used to the way it feels across your butt. You and that board are going to get to know each other very well.
When you get to the ranch, I want you to do directly to the shed and get to work on it. Take a pencil and a yardstick and mark the board as follows. You will use the entire length of the board, and the entire width. In the middle of one end, draw in a 11" handle that is exactly 1-1/2 inches wide. At the end of the handle, go out on either side at 45° angles to the edge of the board. Clip the corners off the other end of the board at 45° angles.
Take the hand saw and carefully cut it out. When you get it cut out, I want you to sit down (while you still can) on the steps of the shed and sand it. Sand the edges good, the handle, and both sides. Sand it till you think it's smooth enough to pass my inspection. Then sand it some more.
Then, take the pencil, and in an even grid, place and drill (using the HAND drill) twenty-seven holes 3/8" in diameter. (Three across the face and nine down.) Roll up the sandpaper like a cigarette, and sand the insides of each hold until you think it will pass inspection. Drill and sand the hole in the tip of the handle, and run a rawhide thong through it and tie it in a knot.
The whole time you're drawing, cutting, sanding, and drilling, you will think about what that board's going to feel like across your butt. Because, son, you may think I've given some hard licks in the past, but you haven't felt nothing like you're going to get when I get home.
If you fail to do this to my satisfaction, you will regret it. You are expected to complete this task in addition to your regular chores. You will clean up all sawdust, etc., and will clean all tools and put them back where you found them. If I find any evidence that you have used my electric tools or taken any shortcuts whatsoever, you will be punished.
You may not ride the bus into town and on to the airport as originally planned. Instead, you will report directly to the shed and wait for me. You will leave the paddle on the steps of the shed and assume your position inside, with your boots spread, bend over, grabbing your ankles. You are not to greet me in any way, or even turn around.
I want your eyes fixed straight ahead on the wall in front of you. I don't want to hear a sound out of you. I want you bent over, waiting for licking Number One. The first of five.
I want you to think about it hard, and I want you to wait for it.
When you hear the screen door on that shed slam shut, and you feel the fire of that first lick, you'll know I'm home.
Affectionately,
Dad