Beyond the Spanking Stick

Steve happened to be the closest to the door, so he got up and opened it. Standing there with his chest puffed out, snowflakes in his hair, and his head arrogantly cocked to one side was Officer Meyers. “Good evening. I’m looking for Timothy Major.” I then realized how peculiar Tim’s behavior actually was. He was in some sort of trouble but I knew when to keep my mouth shut. Meyers inquired again for the whereabouts of the one and only Timothy Major. Steve seized the golden chance to further his involvement in law enforcement. He had seen enough cop movies to qualify him to work for Scotland Yard and now he was going to finally get his feet wet. Steve yelled down through our long narrow kitchen, “Okay Tim, you can come out now. They’re here for you!” He repeated himself one more time. Finally, the bedroom door slowly creaked open and Tim sheepishly stepped out. Giving himself over to the authorities, he submissively walked up to Officer Meyers who stood there out of uniform—off duty but yet still on the job protecting the citizens of Kellogg from dangerous hooky-bobbers. “You are coming with me young man!” Meyers ordered Tim. Tim glared over at Steve and gave him a look of true hate. How dare he betray his own brother? There wasn’t much I could do except yell at Steve about turning him in. Steve claimed that he wanted to be a cop someday and would turn in even his own brother if he broke the law. Tim left with his captor and was ushered out to Officer Meyer's beat-up truck. From there he was driven uptown to our local police station. Mom came home an hour later with Allyson and learned what had happened to Tim. Her jaw dropped in total disbelief. She immediately rushed out the door and headed to the police station where they held her youngest son. It was crazy. Hell, Officer Meyers could have been home drinking eggnog or doing something productive like making Christmas cookies, instead he spent his spare time taking the law into his own hands patrolling the streets at night looking for bandits. At the police station my mother grew absolutely appalled. Meyers had taken her son out of the safety of her house, across town, and up to police headquarters—a place for true criminals. To detain him until Mom could arrive, Meyers had the audacity to haul Tim downstairs and lock him behind the bars of a prison cell. Sitting on the worn-out, blue-striped mattress, the undersized ten-year-old Timothy Winthorp Major pondered the thought of punishment for hooky bobbing in a communist country. Would he be put in front of a firing squad or sent up Vergobbi Gulch for ten years of hard labor breaking up boulders with a sledgehammer thus making little ones out of big ones? After pacing the cell for hour, Tim spotted a folded-up wad of paper under the bunk. He reached down and picked up what seemed to be a familiar shade of green. It was a two-dollar bill! Life wasn’t so bad after all. Tim scored!