Tyler Malone
I’m sure that everyone would agree that there are different types of interruptions— some you like and some you don’t. For instance, interruptions that involve screaming, bleeding, or vomiting— especially when I’m asleep or in the middle of a good book or movie— are not my favorites. On the other hand, interruptions that involve cute little boys wanting a snuggle aren’t bad at all—
especially if they come when I’m doing paper work.
After meeting Van’s first grade teacher - Kim Malone - and learning that she and her family lived in the Arbor Grove housing development (and that she has five school age boys), our families started getting to know each other. If you’ve read Van, BCA, and Mrs. Malone, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that she and her husband are strong believers in corporal correction. Our kids had a lot in common, but it turned out that we did as well, and the Malone’s would often come over for a Friday evening of cards (and you have to watch Kim when you’re playing Hearts - she’ll run those suckers if you give her half a chance). And, I’m not positive, but I think that not only do my younger boys get along with their boys, and not only do I get along with the parents, but I think Cal might be a little sweet on their oldest child, Christa, who’s 14, and the only girl except for 3 year old Morgan. Our families were even planning to share part of our Christmas celebration this year. So it was natural that, when I learned Curtis - Mr. Malone - would be spending a long weekend at a business seminar right before Christmas, that I told Kim she could send any of the boys to me to deal with, if they were trouble. After all, I was only being a good neighbor. (Quit laughing!)
Now Tyler Malone has the same thin, straight hair as most of his brothers, in a hard-to-define shade between light brown and dark blond. It was almost collar length when I first met him, and by now it was starting to hang in little curls over the collar. His eyebrows are slightly darker than the hair on his head, which really serves to accentuate his eyes, which are light blue with just a hint of green. His eyes have a slight downward slope towards the outside, which makes him look a little like Haley Joel Osmant.
Tyler’s face is lean, but his cheeks still manage to be just slightly chubby. His nose is straight and not too wide, but it has a little bulb on the end. His upper lip is thin and straight, but there’s a little droop to the lower one that makes his smile (or frown) very expressive. His body doesn’t manage to be even a little chubby. All the Malone boys are active, but Tyler borders on hyper, and it seems like he’s always moving when he’s up. (The only reason I don’t think he is hyper is because he can sit down and play board games for a long time and enjoy them). His body shows all the activity, though. He’s not hard or ripped, but he is very trim, with a well-defined belly, and he’s even showing a little definition in his chest, which seems unusual for a boy who won’t be nine for nearly another three months.
The point is, it was December, it was dreary outside, it was the first weekend of Christmas vacation, and my boys had spent the morning complaining about having to do chores so that they could have friends stay over all week; I was having to wade through the obligatory, monthly ton of paperwork for the stores; and I was very happy for any distraction that didn’t involve a trip to the emergency room. Since Tyler qualifies as a very cute boy in my opinion, it was one of those pleasant interruptions I mentioned above.
At least it was for a minute.
My head turned at the tap on the door. I’d heard the front door, but hadn’t felt like racing any boys to answer it. If it was for me, they’d pass it on. When I heard the tap, I turned to see Tyler leaning against it.
Ty was wearing blue jeans, ankle-high, brown hiking boots, an off-white thermal top, and as a jacket, he was wearing an insulated flannel shirt that I’d given him when the weather had started to cool off (it had been Barry’s, but the twins didn’t really like it). I smiled at the boy until I saw the look on his face. He looked like someone with really bad news who was trying to hold himself together.
"Are you okay, Tyler?" I asked, and I think the concern in my voice undid him.
As the boy stepped away from the door, shaking his head, I saw that his hands were trembling. It only took me a couple of steps to realize that his knees were knocking and he wasn’t walking steadily. It suddenly occurred to me that he’d hurt himself and must have come here because he was closer. Of course, that didn’t actually make much sense, or else whoever had answered the door wouldn’t have just sent him to my office; but I’ve found it’s best to assume the worst in a possible emergency, then be happy if it’s not that bad.
Before Tyler could take three steps, I was moving towards him and managed to pick him up before he’d had a chance to fall.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" I asked as I knelt down, holding him against me with one hand, while running the other over him to check for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
"I’m not hurt, Uncle Jack, but I’m in real bad trouble." It was hard to understand him from the start, and he was crying before he finished.
I didn’t care what the trouble was—not then. I picked him up and carried him over to my desk chair, where I sat down and snuggled him to my lap. The boy was crying hard, so I just held him for a minute, pushing my cheek up against his to make sure he wasn’t feverish. As soon as he started to settle down a bit, I pushed him far enough away to push the jacket off and let it fall to the floor. After that, I started rubbing his back, and that seemed to do a lot to calm him down.
Tyler tried to talk to me after a couple of minutes, but I shushed him and just held him until the last hiccup was done. Like I said, Tyler was lean but firm, and he’s about average height for a boy who was closing in on 9—maybe 4’ 4" or 5" and 60-something pounds. When he’d stopped crying, it was easy for me to lift him up and turn him away from me so his back was resting against my chest and he was straddling my left leg. I leaned back and pulled him against me. He let his head fall back upon my shoulder, and I wrapped my left arm around his waist to keep him from sliding, reached up with my right hand to pat his chest, then let it fall and patted his right leg before leaving it there. We sat like that for a moment before I broke the silence.
"You feeling better now?"
"A little," he admitted.
"Would you like to tell me why, if you’re in trouble, that you came here instead of going home? You’re not running away, are you?"
"No, sir, Uncle Jack. Mama sent me here. She said she’s too mad at me." He suddenly twisted around so he could look at me. His already bloodshot eyes were glistening with tears again as he asked, "Would you give me a spanking, please?"
In case I didn’t mention it before, not only is Tyler really cute, but he’s very likable. I enjoy having him around. I’d spanked Scooter, and all the Malone boys knew it, but I’d never needed to spank any of the older boys. However, I’d be lying if I said I’d not thought about spanking Ty. To have him ask me straight out like that, though… It threw me off my game a moment, to say the least.
I had to glance away while I got my thoughts under control. I hate to admit that my first impulse was to get him up and get started, but it was. After a second, though, I was able to get matters straight in my head and I looked back down at him.
"Tyler, are you asking me that because you think you deserve a spanking, or did your mom send you over here to ask?"
"Yes, sir… Both, I mean. I was really bad, and Mama said she was just too mad to spank me, so she told me to come over here."
The boy had looked away from me when he admitted that, but it wasn’t hard to tell he was crying. I picked him up and turned him so he was straddling my legs and I pulled him in tight against my chest.
"You’re not bad, Ty. You may have done something you shouldn’t have done, but I know you’re not bad."
"H… H.. " Sniff, snort, cough "How do you know I’m not bad? I was…."
"I don’t care what you did, Tyler. I know you’re not bad because I don’t love bad little boys, and that means you can’t be bad."
He had to think about that for a second, but then he pushed away from my chest and straightened up to look at me.
"You mean you love me?" His voice was a little less pitiful now.
"Of course I do, Tyler. Why wouldn’t I? You’re a great kid, you’re pretty smart, you have a great sense of humor, and you’re usually happy and fun to be around."
"But I…."
"It doesn’t matter what you did. Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody does things that they shouldn’t do. You might have… I guess you did do something wrong and maybe you deserve a good spanking for that, but that only makes you human, not bad."
The relief in the boy’s face was blatant and he sagged back against my chest, just letting me hold him for a minute. I could tell he was still crying, but it was softer now, not the heartbroken, heartbreaking sobs it had been earlier.
I held him like that for a minute until he settled down, then picked him up and turned him again, where we could look at each other a little more comfortably (and where my legs might not fall asleep so fast).
"If you and your mom both think you need a spanking, and you both want me to do it, I guess I can; but it would probably be a good idea for you to tell me what happened first. If nothing else, I need to know how hard a spanking you need."
Allow me to step out of the story for a moment. Have you ever spoken with an 8-year old boy? Since you were one, I mean. I think it took about 20 minutes to get the whole story. I could probably knock about 6 minutes off that, just by omitting the various ‘ums’, ‘ers’, ‘likes’, and ‘you knows’, but it still rambles a bit. Instead, as Inigo Montoya once said, "Let me ‘splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."
As I said, Curtis was out of town at a business conference and wasn’t due back in until late that night, meaning that Kim had been alone with the kids all weekend, even though her oldest, Christa, is a great help to her from what I’ve seen. They also had Christmas coming up in just a few days, and Kim was trying to get everything taken care of and ready for company.
As I said, Tyler wasn’t nine yet, and his mother was still the center of his life. However, he had three little brothers and one younger sister, so she seemed to have switched him to the ‘big boy’ category in her mind. All weekend long, Tyler had been wanting to make Christmas cookies with his mom— just to spend a little time with her. All weekend long, she’d been busy. I really think he’d tried to be patient and understanding with her because she was working (not to mention that it was nearly Christmas and he didn’t want to get labeled naughty at this late date). Still, all weekend long, she was doing stuff around the house, had the older kids doing stuff around the house, and was spending time with the little ones.
Now, Kim is a great teacher from what I’ve seen as one of her homeroom parents this year and from what I’ve heard from Van. Still, it seems to me that she has more patience with little kids and with girls and she doesn’t always watch that as well as she should. When Tyler again asked if they couldn’t bake cookies or play a game or something, she snapped at him. It wasn’t hard to understand, since she must have been exhausted, and she was doing it all so they’d be ready for the Christmas parties and everything, and she probably felt that Tyler wasn’t being very appreciative (most 8-year-olds aren’t, but that’s easy to forget). That’s not to say that Kim did anything wrong. From what Tyler said, it sounded more like one of those, Why-do-I-have-to-tell-you-this-again? snaps than that she actually said anything mean to him.
Still, I can’t think of much that hurts worse than being blown off by someone whom you care about, especially when all you’re asking is to spend time with her. I’m not sure— he wasn’t sure— but I think Tyler might have seen that she was stressed and was just trying to get her to take a break and relax. Whatever his reason, his feelings were hurt, and when he saw her playing with Brandon a few minutes later (who was only 21 months old at the time), it was worse. And he had an inspiration.
My house is larger than the Malones’, so they come here most of the time; but I have been to their house. It’s like a miniature obstacle course with all the safety barriers strewn around. Looking at one of those and at Brandon motoring around, it occurred to Tyler that if Brandon or Morgan (the 3-year-old sister) got into trouble, maybe Mom would get mad at them and put them to bed so she’d have some time for Tyler. And he moved the safety gate. Unfortunately, as he was trying to lure Brandon into the living room, where there were plenty of things to play with— and plenty of messes to make— his mom came into the room.
Which led to Tyler sitting in my lap, crying again.
During all the moving around, the thermal top had come untucked, so I slid my hands under it, rubbing them in opposing circles on his upper and lower back. The crying slowly quieted, but I kept rubbing until I could feel the sobs die away. Once he was still, I spoke his name, nearly in a whisper, "Tyler?" I asked, barely loud enough to be sure he heard it. If the kid had cried himself to sleep, I wasn’t going to wake him for a spanking. He hadn’t though and pushed against my chest, so he could look at me.
"Do you believe me that you’re not bad?"
I’m not sure he really did, but he nodded.
"Still, what you did was wrong. Do you know why?"
"Mom said because Bran could have been really hurt, like if he pulled a lamp over on him or fell against the fireplace."
"That’s right and it’s a very good reason. But there’s another reason, too. It wasn’t fair, Tyler."
The repentant look on his face went blank and questioning, so I continued.
"First of all, how would you feel if Riley or Tim did something just so you’d get in trouble?"
He didn’t really answer my question, but his blush was answer enough. He’d not thought of it that way before.
"The other reason it’s not fair is, when you were that age, your mom gave you all that attention. Now you don’t need it, but they do. One day Brandon will be your age, but you’ll be riding your bike wherever you feel like going, and he’ll be jealous of you. You see how it all works out?"
He thought about it for a second, his brow creasing and his nose crinkling, before he nodded. "Yeah, I didn’t think about it like that."
"You really didn’t think about it at all, did you, Tyler?"
He shook his head before answering, "No, sir."
We were still sitting in basically the same position, but my hands had come down off his back. Now I patted them on his hips. "Lift your arms."
He gave me a curious glance, but obeyed. As soon as his arms were over his head, I grabbed the hem of the shirt and lifted it off his head. It was snug enough that it mussed his hair, and I smoothed it back down, after putting the shirt down on the desk behind me. The boy looked happy for the contact and nervous about me removing his shirt at the same time.
I turned him a bit and helped him get his boots undone and off, then I patted him on the back, saying, "Hop up now, Buddy."
He gave me a mischievous glance that I was happy to see after all the tears, as he said, "I’m a kid, not a cat!" I had to smile. It was a family joke, because Bryce’s Persian is named Buddy. I was glad to see both that he was around us often enough to know the joke and that he was comfortable enough to use it, even if his bottom was about to get roasted.
"Well," I said, putting on a mock-stern face and voice, "kid or cat, you need to hop up so we can get those pants off."
He’d been watching me but was suddenly nervous again and looked down and away. He knew what was coming, and no matter how much he understood the reasons or felt he deserved it, he didn’t want it. Still, he obeyed me and climbed off my lap, then stood there next to me, with his hands by his side.
"I know your mom uses a hairbrush, doesn’t she?"
"Just on the big boys. She still spanks me with her hand."
"And your dad always uses his hand?"
"Except on Mike." He thought for a second, "and maybe Tim."
"But they both spank your bare bottom?"
He opened his mouth, then shut it and just nodded.
Tyler’s eyes went wide as I reached for the waist of his pants, but he didn’t try to move away or stop me as I slid the zipper down, then unhooked the button. I spread the fly, revealing a snowy white waistband with the Old Navy logo repeating across it, then I slid them down his long, firm, smooth legs. He stepped out of the jeans without resistance but flinched when I reached for his briefs. He didn’t try to stop me, but I looked up at him and really saw him.
"You probably don’t feel real good, do you?"
"No," he answered in a tone that flirted with being disrespectful; but I realized it had been a bad question.
"No, I don’t mean about acting up and that you’re about to get spanked. Look at your poor eyes. They’re bloodshot and your nose is stuffy and you must be thirsty. I guess before we spank you, we should get you over your last batch of crying. Come on."
He didn’t seem worried at all, as he trailed behind me out of my office. Several of the guys, including a couple that weren’t mine, were in the living room and gave Tyler a glance; but, if you spent any time at all around my house, you learned to basically ignore anything that looked like a boy getting spanked, unless you wanted to risk drawing the wrath of the paddle down upon your own head— or wherever. Tyler didn’t even notice them.
I don’t think Tyler had ever been in my room before, but he was following me like a puppy, just happy to have someone paying him attention and telling him what to do. In the bathroom, he blew his nose and let me wash his face, then he got a big glass of water and peed. When he was finished, I had him wash his hands, and he splashed a little more cool water in his face, then got another drink. Even though he was standing there in nothing but his briefs with the guy that was about to spank his bottom, he seemed to be relieved and much more comfortable.
"You ready to get back to business?"
"You mean spanking me?"
"That’s what I mean."
He nodded, not eager, but not scared either. This was obviously a boy who understood the cleansing value of a good spanking.
I turned to the door, but, before I could take more than a step, Tyler had caught up to me and placed his little hand in mind. I took it and led him back to the office.
With him standing in front of me again, I slid his briefs down and off, stacking them with his other clothes. He was totally unconcerned with his nudity, but he did start to watch with a nervous intensity when I opened the paddle drawer.
"Do you got to spank me with the paddle, Uncle Jack? My dad don’t."
"I know he doesn’t, Ty. But, I’m not your dad and I don’t spank the same as him. Do you still want me to spank you?"
His nerves were obviously getting worse and his eyes were starting to shine again, but he nodded as he answered, "Yes, sir."
I dug around a bit and finally laid three paddles out on my desk, then called Tyler to my side.
"This one, I said, pointing at B4, which lay on the left end of the line, "is what I spank Bryce with. Bryce is older than you are, but I think you’re a little bigger than him, aren’t you?" Tyler nodded quietly as I moved to the next one.
"This is the Little Deer. I’ve only used it with Bryce once because he’s pretty small for his age; but when the twins were your age, it’s what I spanked them with."
His eyes widened a bit, and I saw his hand twitch, so I held the paddle out to him. He picked it up and weighed it, even giving it a test swing and patting it against his left palm. After he’d turned it over and looked at it a bit more, he handed it back to me.
"And this is the bottom brush." It looks just like a flat-backed, wooden hairbrush, but has no bristles and is thinner. "I made it a few years ago, when Huck was having some troubles and I thought he needed more than the Little Deer, but didn’t think he was ready for Heat or the real brush yet."
"Heat’s what you spank the twins with, isn’t it?"
"Most of the time."
I waited for more questions, but he just nodded, so I went on. "There are three reasons that I think boys need spankings, Ty. The first is that you guys have to learn that actions have consequences, and bad actions have bad consequences. When you’re an adult, that can mean getting fired or even going to jail, but now it means…."
"Getting our butts fired!"
I had to smile. "You got that right. Still, it’s a lot better to learn now than have to learn when you’re grown up." I paused and he nodded his acceptance, if not his agreement."
"The second reason," I went on, "is that when you do things you already know you shouldn’t do, you need to be given a good reason not to do them again." I paused and looked at him for a minute. "Even if you didn’t want Brandon to get hurt, you still knew it was wrong to take that gate down; didn’t you?"
He winced, but nodded.
"And I think a sore seat will help you remember that. Don’t you?"
He nodded again, refusing to look at me as he answered, "Yes, sir."
"But there’s a third reason, too, Tyler."
I said it softly and warmly, with no hint of lecture in my voice, and Tyler looked up at me, curious now.
"The third reason is that little boys feel bad when they do things they know they’re not supposed to do and getting a good spanking gives them a chance to cry out all the bad feelings; and it lets them know that they’ve paid their debt and they can start over— fresh and forgiven."
As he took that in, Tyler was looking right in my eyes, and I saw a tear trickle down his cheek, even as he smiled weakly at me. I leaned forward and put my hands onto the boys hips to make sure he was facing right at me, then I put my hands on his shoulders.
"Now, listen close, Tyler. I think you already know what you did was wrong. I think you didn’t want to hurt anybody. I think you’re sorry you did it, and sorrier that you made your mom mad at you. Am I right?"
He nodded and I saw that the tears were starting to flow again.
"So here’s what I’m going to do," then I paused and had to clarify something. "Have you ever talked to my boys about how I spank?"
The boy nodded. "Yes, sir. They say you spank really long and it hurts real bad."
That was clear enough.
"Okay, then I’m going to let you make some choices now. I know your mom told you to come over here and ask me to spank you, but you did that. If you want to, you can go on home now and talk to her and tell her how sorry you are. I don’t know what’ll happen then, but if she wants you to come back over here, I’ll spank you then; and, if she sees how sorry you are, maybe she’ll just let you off."
"Or," I continued, without giving him time to interrupt, "if you want me to go ahead and do it now, you can go over there and pick what I’m going to spank you with, then hand it back here."
Without hesitation, he walked over and started looking at the paddles.
"Ty, are you sure you don’t want to go talk to your mom first?"
He turned back to glance at me, then shook his head. "No, sir, Uncle Jack. I’d rather get it over with. Even if Mama’s not mad at me, I really do deserve it. Besides, I wanna cry all the bad stuff out so I can feel better."
There wasn’t anything I could say to that, so I just nodded, and he turned back to the paddle. As he did that, I turned a bit, so I could lean back and appreciate the round and full, yet well-shaped little bottom that was revealed before me. His briefs hadn’t been exactly snug, and it had been obvious, even through them, that his rear was nice, but how nice had to be seen to be believed.
It only took a few second for Tyler to turn back to me with the bottom brush in his hand.
"Are you sure, Tyler? Do you know the difference between hurt and harm?"
He shook his head to indicate he didn’t.
"Didn’t your mom tell me that Tim broke his arm last year?" Tyler nodded. "Well, that was harm. Hurt is like bumping your funny bone or stubbing your toe. It feels really bad, but you don’t have to go to the doctor or anything. I’d never harm you, but a spanking with that is going to hurt real bad. And once I start, I won’t take it easy on you or stop till I’m done. Are you really sure?"
After listening to that, he looked a little unsure, but he looked me straight in the eyes as he asked, "Did you spank Huck with it when he was my age?"
"No, I didn’t make it until after that, but I spanked Barry and Johnny both with it, when they were about your age."
He nodded for a minute, looked away, then looked back at me. "I’m sure, Uncle Jack. I was really b…." Then he paused and gave me a little smile. "I mean, I acted really bad and I feel really bad and I think it’s what I really need."
I reached out towards the paddle and he started to hand it to me, but I ignored the paddle and wrapped his entire little hand in mine, then pulled him to me. He slipped between my legs and I wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me back as I quietly talked to him.
"I think you’re probably right, Tyler. And I want you to know that I’m really proud of you for accepting that and admitting it. I know it must be really scary, so I think we should probably go ahead and get it over with. Don’t you?"
Now that Armageddon was here, Tyler looked incredibly nervous, but he nodded and didn’t resist as I pulled him around to my right side. I turned him a bit, so I could grab him by the hips, then I picked him up and laid him across my lap. As soon as I had him in the right position, I had him hand the paddle back to me.
The real terror of the brush was not just in its extra density but in the fact that it was much smaller than my regular paddles and it required a lot more spanks to cover the same area. I don’t know if Tyler had never tasted his mom’s hairbrush, but when the first smack of the bottom brush smacked down in the center of his rear, the boy squealed. He took the second swat better since he knew what to expect, but it was still obvious it was stinging a lot worse than he had expected. I didn’t hear anything for the next two or three smacks, but he was quickly wiggling and squirming, making me glad I’d already taken a firm grip around his waist.
Instead of my normal pattern, I was spanking in a circle. The first swat had landed right on his crack, but lower down than I normally started. Then I placed four more spanks at each of the cardinal points and four more between those. Then I made a bigger circle around those that ended up leaving his entire bottom red. By the time I finished that and moved back to his legs, he was crying loud and hard.
Tyler squealed again when the little brush smacked against his upper thigh for the first time and didn’t get any quieter when the blow repeated on the other side. The six swats I placed on either leg left him thrashing and wailing, and it didn’t get any better when I went to work on his bottom again.
The new blows landing on his already fire engine red cheeks pushed him totally over the edge. His back arched and his arms began flailing, trying anything to protect himself. Before he could reach back far enough, I intercepted his right hand with my left and pinned it against his hip. He actually managed to get his left hand between my side and arm but couldn’t reach far enough back to interfere, so I ignored it.
The bottom brush is much lighter than a real hairbrush, but still denser than the paddle I’d normally use on a boy his size, and just two, slightly overlapping series of spanks had his bottom a dark, angry red that would have had me afraid to apply a third set, even if I thought he needed them.
After another set on his legs had left him totally broken and lying across my lap, too weak and sore to do anything but bawl, I reached slightly further around his waist, jackknifing him up a bit, then placed a last series of spanks, tracing right across the creases of each leg, which hadn’t had as much attention. He found the energy to cry a little louder as those cracked down, tracing from left to right on his left leg, and the opposite way on his right leg, so both sets ended right over his little pucker-hole. Two last swats, one on each sit spot, finished the spanking, and I flipped the small, broken boy into my arms and gently settled him where not too much weight would rest on his bottom.
I’m not sure how long we sat like that, me cuddling him against my chest as he cried himself out. As he settled himself down, I felt him pushing his face against me and his arms snake around me and start to squeeze.
Once his crying was mostly under control, he asked me in a hoarse, wet, broken voice, "Should I go to the corner now, Uncle Jack?"
"No, babe. I think you’ve had a bad enough day. We can call it even this time. Is that okay with you?"
His smile was shaky and weak as he looked up at me, but it was there, as he nodded.
When he felt up to it, Tyler let me carry him back to my bathroom, where we took our time getting him cleaned up again. Then I put him down on my bed and stretched out beside him and talked, not about his spanking or his behavior, but just talked. It only took a few moments for him to drift off.
About 15 minutes later, as I was struggling to shovel the rest of the pile of paperwork, a naked but much improved-looking Tyler came back into my office.
"I fell asleep," he said, in a boyish statement of the obvious.
"You sure did. I guess I really wore you out. Are you feeling better now?"
He nodded. Tyler had come into the office and pushed the door a bit more closed, glancing over his shoulder a bit. Maybe now that his punishment was over, he was feeling a little shy. Or, maybe he just didn’t like everyone checking out his blazed tail.
"You want to get dressed now?"
He shook his head in a very energetic no, then reached behind him to give himself a very energetic rub. "I guess I should, though. I should probably go home…."
"I already called your mom, Ty, and she says it’s okay for you to stay here for a while." Then I added slyly, "If you’d like."
He just smiled and nodded, then walked over to start dressing. I hated to see him covering that work of art, but I was sure I’d get a chance to see it again sometime and couldn’t begrudge him a bit of modesty.
It was about time to take Tyler home, and I’d gone to Bryce’s room to find him, but they weren’t there. Cutting through their bathroom, I heard oohs and aahs coming from the twins’ room. When I pushed the door open, Ty was standing in the center of the room, jeans and briefs around his ankles, looking back over his shoulder, as Bryce, the twins, and even Noah were examining the damage.
"Is it still pretty red?" I asked.
You should have seen the boys jump and blush.
Turns out it was still pretty red.
Since it was nearly Christmas, it was already pretty dark out and getting chilly, so I drove Tyler home instead of walking with him. It wasn’t a long drive, but he was quiet the entire way. Even though things didn’t feel tense, I was beginning to think he was mad at me for spanking him so hard. When I pulled up in front of his house, he finally broke the silence.
"Uncle Jack, you’re a good dad. Ya know how I know?"
"Nope," I said, going along with the joke. "How do you know?"
"You must be good because I love you, too."
He followed that with a short hug and a quick peck on my cheek, then jumped out of the car and ran inside, smiling at me and waving over his shoulder.
I was a bit surprised late the next morning, to see Tyler at my office door again. Not that I minded him being there, but that evening was the kids' big Christmas Party (see Gordy's First Time), and I'd not expected to see him before that. Still, at least he had a big, bright grin on his face this time.
"You really did talk to Mama, didn't you?"
"Just a little. Why?"
The boy just smiled and crossed the room to me. As he approached, I realized he was holding his hands behind his back. When he reached me, he pulled them in front of him and presented me with a saran wrapped, red plastic plate, heaped with Christmas cookies - fresh baked, judging by the steam on the plastic.
"Me and Mom made them this morning, and I asked if I could bring you some. She said that was a good idea, and she gave me an extra one of these to give you, too."
With that, the boy wrapped his arms around my neck and gave me a tight squeeze. After a moment, he shifted so his mouth was next to my ear, "She even said she was sorry that she hadn't made time for me before, Jack. Thank you."
I couldn't supress the tear sneaking from my eye, so I just smiled at him. "I told you she would, Tyler."
We broke away when we heard a honk from a car horn. "Gotta go. Mom's waiting on me."
"Now you stay out of trouble until tonight, okay?"
"You mean I can act up after that?" He asked with a gleam in his eye, and ran out the door as I reached out to give him a smack.