Our families had never been close, though we had lived across the street from each other for well over a decade. Yours was the house with the white shutters and red door, delicate rows of pansies in the beds, immaculate lights at Christmastime. Your kids were out of the house now and the neighborhood gossip was that your husband had left soon after. That meant the house was all your own—a lonely thought.

The only times we had ever seen you or your family was at our annual 4th of July party. From our front yard, you could see the city fireworks display better than almost anywhere else, and every year my parents made margaritas and hot dogs and invited friends and the neighbors.

It was at this event that we started talking. I was back from my senior year in college, still trying to figure out what to do with my life. The world was a wide open box and the weight of navigating all those paths had left me a little lost. Grad school? Apply to jobs? Find something temporary?

Our conversation started on the usuals: vacations, family, the summer heat, etc. But as I was describing the juncture in my life after school, you said something that caught my attention.

“I’ve always thought young men like you could use some direction, some discipline, if you will.”

“Discipline?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

You smiled at that. “Oh I really shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“No, please tell me.”

You took another sip of your drink. “I believe that at a certain age, young men benefit from structure, from an authority figure who sets and enforces standards of behavior.”

“Enforces how?”

You paused. “There is a paddle in my house—one that I keep in the closet. It only has one purpose, if you understand.”

I gulped but did not reply.

You put your hand on my shoulder. “I really should make the rounds. But if you’d like to know more, feel free to drop by after the party. You know where to find me.”

As you walked away, I stood rooted to the spot, only becoming conscious over time that my jaw had fallen open and my heart was pounding through my chest.

If you’d like to play this out with me, please feel free to reach out. I’m hoping to keep this primarily focused on corporal punishment, but I’m open to other ideas as well.