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(original in Spanish, gracias Ingrid)
In Guatemala it is usual, even now, using physical punishments for disciplining children. In the past, people accepted it and it was more public, now it is still done, but in a more private, for not saying more hypocritical, way.
At home, discipline was applied by my father. If he was home, he hit us immediately and if he wasn’t, my mother passed him the complaint. In both cases, I was sent to the room, their room, and, once there, I had to take off my clothes form my waist down and lay face down on the bed, with my legs hanging. My father came, opened his closet and took the belt for the flogging (how we feared that belt! and also my father). He decided, according to the fault, the number of lashes to receive. I don’t believe that it had been less than five. He usually left my buttocks marked…and how they stung! At home, the threat was “I will give you the belt” or “I’ll leave your bottom green and purple”.
When my brother and me were punished together, he used to enter the room first, and I stayed outside hearing the sound of the lashes hitting his bare buttocks, his crying and his painful shouting. I felt a horrible hole in my stomach, because I knew that after he was finished with him… he would follow with me.
I was punished from when I was five, and until I was 12.
Ingrid"
Published: 11/12/04
(original in Spanish, gracias, Cristina)
"I’ve read something that always interested me. The punishment ritual for a girl attracted my attention, that’s why I want tell something that I have never told, and that is rigorously true.
I could go back a lot in my childhood, because, as it is natural, it marked me. I remember perfectly how my mother got angry with me, for not eating, for not studying and that she was very upset when, after combing me and getting me ready for going out, I was sent for peeing, and I didn’t wanted, but as soon as I stepped outside, I needed to go.
Most of the times the ritual, which was always the same, began then. She took me hard from an arm and went back home. As soon as we passed the door, her hands went to my hair, what was more painful still, and I was almost pulled inside my mother’s room.
She closed the door with the bolt; I can still hear the noise. "Casually", there was nobody at the house then. The radio started; my mother used to sit always in the same straw chair, she pushed me over her legs and I began to cry inconsolably. She pulled my skirt up, she pulled my pants down to my ankles, and the spanking and the threats begun “I’ll buy a whip for not hurting my hands”, “Shut up or I will not stop hitting you”, “I will sew your cunt for you never asking me to pee again”.
The more I cried, the more she hit, in the left cheek, then in the right, but between slaps, when she remembered that I had make her come back for peeing, she scratched my cunt with her nails.
The punishment was long. I remember that my mother laughed, her face changed, her eyes frightened me...
When she tired of hitting, she sent me to the bathroom. There, after peeing, I sneaked a look at my butt at the mirror and got pleasure form it, that’s why the need for peeing sometimes was true and sometimes was just looking for the “ritual”.
I never understood it: it hurt but I liked it, and I’m sure that my mother also, and perhaps even more than me.
I was punished from as far as I can remember and until I was 13 or 14. This is the story, of which anyone can infer what he or she wants.
Cristina"
Published 05/17/05
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