The Lock Down Unit
(Picture "The White Door")

**

I hated walking down that corridor.  Stark white and cold tile. 
Officer Finney accompanied me.  Out on a day trip and I got busted for
shoplifting. I couldn't explain why I did it.  I had money.

This was my latest screw-up.  My school counselor said that I was
expressing grief at losing my mother and anger at my father.  That
session was 6 months earlier and I'd only gone downhill.  I did miss
Mom.  Things sure changed when she died.  One thing didn't change; my
father worked 60-hour weeks.

We walked through the white door and were buzzed into the lock down
unit. It was a dreary place.  I was tired of shrinks, therapists and
counselors.

The nurse summoned Dr. Tate.  I knew what he would ask.  "Why did you
do this?"  He's the shrink.  Why can't he tell me?

The good doctor came into the waiting area, spoke briefly with Officer
Finney and then led me to our usual therapy room.  I settled in my
usual chair and waited for the usual question.  He surprised me.

"I think you want to be punished."

"Interesting theory, Doc.  What makes you think so?"

"Each plea for attention is a little louder than the last.  Your mother
was the disciplinarian in your life and when you lost her, you lost the
boundaries she enforced.  Firm limits are security and you want yours
back."

I thought about it.  "So, what will be my therapeutic exercise this
session? Should I go stand in the corner?"

"You mother made you stand in the corner."

He was getting to me.  I felt a squirminess in my stomach.

"Yes."

"She spanked you too, even as a teen."

I didn't like where this was going, but I wanted to go.

"Yes."

"Nothing else has worked for you.  Come bend over the back of the
chair." He was taking his belt off.

I didn't want to, but I did.

"Wait a minute, your mother bared your bottom for a spanking.  Drop
your pants."

My stomach went from squirmy to slightly nauseous.  It was embarrassing
but I figured he was a doctor and had seen more bottoms than I ever
will.  I lowered my jeans and panties and bent over.

I heard the first strike coming and it landed in a blaze of sting.  I
cried out.  He spanked harder than Mom.  The second, third, fourth, I
stopped counting.  Mom had never given me more than ten but he went
well over that. When the pain got too hot, I begged him to stop.  He
said, "Not just yet."

He kept going when I cried and stopped when I was crying hard.

When it was over, we settled back in our chairs, me not too
comfortably.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Upset, confused.  Was that the aim of this session, Doc?"

"You are out of your ambivalent funk.  One more thing, you are not
allowed to call me "Doc" anymore."

"I'll call you Dad if you are home more often."

"Deal."