The Shipping

MNote: there is truth in this story, for those who look for it. Otherwise, it is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is merely coincidental.

The one thing I wanted for my eleventh birthday was a new bike. I had a bike, but it was a kid's bike, and my dad had bought it second-hand and fixed it up and painted it red, and it was old and other kids in my neighbourhood had better ones, racing bikes, the kind with more than one speed and caliper brakes.

My old bike had a tough time keeping up with my friends' bikes, and I thought I was old enough for a real bike, not a worn-out old kiddie bike like the one I had.

I felt guilty for wanting something so extravagant, when my parents, with four kids, struggled to make ends meet and, besides, were spending a fortune to keep me in an exclusive public school, while my sister and my brothers went to regular schools.

But, it didn't keep me from wanting a new bike. I was well enough behaved and made good marks and I really felt that I deserved it. After all, I was going to be eleven, and that really wasn't being a child any more. After all, I was finished with grade school; I would be in first form in the Fall, and I could wear long pants to school. I was pretty grown-up, I felt, and ready for the responsibility of a full-sized bike.

As it got closer to my birthday, I tried to drop a few hints, without sounding too much like wingeing.

"My bike is really getting kind of worn out," I told my dad one afternoon."The chain rattles and the front mudguard is about to fall off."

"That would be a good project for Saturday," my dad said." I'll help you. We'll get it fixed up, good as new."

That was a joke; it had been old and beat-up when I had gotten it, three years ago.

I even told my dad about my friend Georgie's bike. He had gotten one past Christmas, and it was brilliant. I told my mum all about it. She listened, and then explained to me how tight money was and how we all had to do with less, since my dad had spent the previous year out of work. She didn't mention the cost of my school, but I understood.

The day of my birthday came. My mum had baked my favourite cake, with pineapple filling. My grandmother came, and several of my friends: Georgie and Brian and Ritchie, and we had cake and ice cream in the back garden.

I got lots of presents. I got some clothes, including a new pair of jeans that I had wanted. I got a couple of ogreat model airplane kits. I had model airplanes hanging from the ceiling in my room.

Best of all was my grandmother's present. My grandmother always gave money for birthdays: one pound for each year, so I got eleven pounds, which was like getting a whole years' allowance all at once! My grandmother always hand-made birthday cards, and they were elaborate. The envelope had a window cut in it, so that the Queen's face seemed to bep looking out. My head was spinning with ideas of what I would do with the money, and none of it involved putting it into my savings for when I went to university: that was so far into the future that it seemed like a dream.

We had tea and then supper and I must have looked somewhat disappointed because my dad asked me if something was wrong and didn't I have a good birthday and I said yeah, and then he asked me if I felt all right and I said yeah and sat down to watch television.

I sort of watched some Western and tried to forget about not getting a new bike. After awhile, my mum looked up from her magazine.

"Bwill," she said to my dad, who was immersed in the evening newspaper."Didn't you have something else for Carl?" My dad looked at me over the paper.
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"As a matter of fact," he said, laying the paper aside and rising from his chair."I believe I left it in the garage..Why don't you come along?" He said to me.

I was more than a little anxious about going out to garage: it was the location of some of the worst spankings I had ever gotten. But I got up and followed my dad out to the garage, just a bit worried that I might have done something wrong. I couldn't think of anything, and besides, I didn' t think my dad would whip me on my birthday.

We went into the little garage. It was pitch black inside. My dad flipped the lights on. There, on the middle.of the floor was a brand-new green racing bike, a three speed model with caliper brakes and everything. For a moment I wqw speechless. Then I started jumping up and down and yelling.

I hugged my dad and thanked him over and again.

"This is q real bike," my dad said."It isn't a toy. It's q big responsibility. You're going to have to take care of it and put it up when you're not using it."

"I will! I will!" I insisted. I.was really going to take care of this bike. I wanted to keep it in my room that night but my dad said no, that it would be fine in the garage. I finally relented, but I could barely get to sleep.

The next day was Saturday, and I couldn't wait to show Georgie and go riding. Georgie Townsend was my best friend and we were always together. He was my age and, like me he was kind of small and skinny. In fact, we were about the smallest boys in our class.

Georgie was blond, like me, with cool blue eyes. He wasp about the coolest boy I knew. We went to school and church together, and were both acolytes. He was the greatest fun to be with. We were inseparable.

Georgie's family was prominent in town and they had money, but Georgie never put on airs like some of the other boys. He always shared with me and I with him. We had the greatest fun. He was up for anything I came up with and I usually went along with anything he wanted to do.

I had had my new bike for about a month. It was getting into August, and it was beautiful and warm out. One Saturday, after lunch, we were down by the playground trying to come up with something to alleviate our boredom. We had pretty much covered the whole area that we were allowed to ride around.

I suddenly had an idea. I knew if I told Georgie that he would want to do it too, and that we would wind up doing It, even though we would really be in trouble if we were caught.

One of the coolest places to go was down at the Water. We used to go there with our dads. You could have a great time down there: there were huge cranes and other machines loading and unloading all kinds of exotic goods to and from the ships that came in and there were ships from all over the world. We used to play a game, seeing who could spot the most different flags.

"I have an idea," I said."but I guess we had better not."

"What?" Georgie said, eagerly. I knew I shouldn't tell him but I couldn't help myself.

"We could to down to the shipping," I said."Only we' d better not." Georgie screwed up his face for a moment and then broke into a grin.

"Yeah," he said."But it would be brilliant!"

"Not if we get caught," I said. We both thought about this for a moment. If we got caught, there would be Hell to pay. We both knew that.

"We could take the side roads," he mused."my dad is watching telly. He won't be going anywhere."

"Mine either," I said. We talked about it for awhile. The more we talked about it the better the idea seemed. We could take the back roads, instead of The Ave, which was very busy and we weren't allowed on it. Nobody would see is and if we saw anyone we knew we'd duck out of sight until they were gone. We finally resolved to go.

It was a long ways from Portiswood to the harbour. The ride took over an hour because we took the back roads and got lost at least twice. When we got there we bought a couple of cokes and some candy floss. We ate junk food and rode around the Quays for a couple of hours.

Around four we started back, so as not to miss tea. We for back to our neighbourhood and split up, Georgie headed towards how house and me to mine.

I put my bike up in the shed and walked into the kitchen. My mum was having tea and my dad, who didn't drink much tea, was having a cup of coffee. I could hear the television blaring in the parlour, some stupid kiddie show the younger kids were watching. I said hi and started up to my room when my dad stopped me.

"Have a seat, son," he said. My mother excused herself and left the room.

"Uh, okay," I managed. All of a sudden, my jubilation turned to worry. I got a coke out of the fridge and sat down at the table.

"So. How's the new bike doing? You and Georgie getting some riding In?"

"Uh, yeah," I mumbled. I had the feeling that he knew something and wasn't letting on. I squirmed in my chair."It's smashing. It's the best thing I ever got. I really love it."

My dad just studied my face with those cool grey eyes of his, like marbles. He had a slight smile. I suddenly felt very nervous. How could he know? He couldn't. He was just trying to get something out of me. If he knew, I reasoned, I probably wouldn't be sitting down right now. I decided to bluff it out.

"Where did you and Georgie go riding?" he asked, in a quiet, even tone.

"Uh, just around," I answered."You know."

"Just around the neighbourhood?" he asked. I felt sweat trickle down my ribs. If he knew and I lied about it, I would really be in for it. If I admitted it, I might squeake by with just a spanking. If I lied, he would know it, and I'd be punished twice, once for what I did and once for lying. I was quiet for several minutes.

"Carl," he said finally."Is there something you want to tell me?" I swallowed hard. My stomach turned over. I felt like I might throw up.

"Georgie and I went down to the shipping," I heard myself say. It was almost like someone else was talking. I waited for him to blow up, but he didn't.

"It was honest of you to tell me," he said."But that doesn't excuse it. I thought you were responsible enough to handle a big boy's bike, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I need to put it up for a couple of years, until you grow up a little more."

"Two years?" I blurted out. I couldn't believe my ears. I had had my bike less than a month.and now I was going to lose it! "Please, Dad, don't take my bike away!"

"All right," he said."We'll talk about this later. In the meantime, I want you to think about what you to think about what your punishment should be." Then, he left.

That has to be about the dirtiest trick a father can play on his kid: having him set his own punishment. If you suggest something too lenient, he is apt to think that you aren't taking things seriously, and double it. If you suggest something too harsh, he might agree with it, and then you are stuck. I sat in my room, brooding, until supper time. i didn't want to lose my bike. I knew I was in for it, but I would have taken double spankings to keep my bike.

I was quiet during dinner. I didn't eat a lot. I went up to my room and waited until my dad came upstairs. He knocked on the door and then he came in.

"Have you thought about your punishment?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I said. "Well ... uh ... I guess I deserve a spanking."

"You're getting a spanking," my dad said. "What else?"





Else? Wasn't that enough? I was sure my dad was going to skin me alive. I tried to think of something I could add that wouldn't be two bad.

"Uh, maybe you could take my bike away for a week?" I said.

"A week?" he shook his head. "How about this: you don't get to ride your bike again until I feel that you are responsible enough to handle it. Then, and only then, will you get it back."

My heart sank. He could keep me from my bike indefinately! I might not see it again ever!

"Please, Dad," I pleaded. "Don't take my bike away!" I was almost in tears.

"You brought it on yourself, son," he said, pulling his belt out of the loops. "Now, pull your jeans down and bend over."

I pulled my jeans down and bent over my father's knees. The belt stung like hell, especially after he pulled my briefs down and gave me about thirty licks on my bare bottom. I was bawling by the time he was through. My butt was on fire. It felt like bees had stung it. I jumped into my bed and cried into the pillow for a long time.

The next day was Sunday, and I was an acolyte at our church. So was Georgie. We met up in the vestry, where we changed clothes. I told him what had happened, and what my dad had said.

"Damn!" Georgie said. "I got the same thing. My dad whipped my butt when I got home and told me I could have my bike when he was sure I was responsible enough."

This was weird: us being punished exactly the same. I thought about it for awhile, the whole thing smelt fishy. Georgie and I compared our battle scars. His butt looked about as sore as mine. We both had trouble sitting in the high wooden seats during the service.

Three weeks went by and no bike. I was absolutely angelic; my mother remarked that she had never seen me so helpful. Still, my dad didn't mention my bike and I was afraid to bring up the subject with him for fear that it would mske mstters worse. I resolved to stay quiet about it and I swore Georgie to silence, too.

At the end of three weeks, my dad asked me to sit down and talk with him..

"You have been a great help over the past few weeks. Your mother is very proud of your behaviour. If you will promise to stay within bounds, and not to do anything stupid, you can have your bike back."

I was ecstatic. I couldn't wait to show Georgie. I rang him up to tell him all about it.

"That's funny," he said, over the phone. "My dad let me have mine back, just this morning. I was just about to ring you."

This was very disconcerting. First, our dads already knew about our little excursion and, second, both Georgie and I received the same punishment. For a long time, we thought our dads had some kind of ESP or something. Every time we were about to do something that might get us into trouble, we looked over our shoulders.

Of course, the truth behind the story, which I learnt much later, was much simpler: a neighbour, who hated kids anyway, had seen Georgie and me down by the Queen's Quay and rung my mum to tell her. She had told my dad, who had called Georgie's dad, and they had worked out a scheme to punish us exactly the same, just to keep us on our guard. It had worked, because, for the longest time, Georgie and I were pretty much convinced of our fathers' omniscience.