(Author Note: This is the eighth story in a series. The characters and situations were introduced in the episode:
Camp Torowa Falls 1964 - 01: A Fair To Remember
Read that episode first!) Then read episodes 2 thru 7 before reading this one.
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Corey was riding the hump again, sitting in the middle of the back seat of his Dad's car. It was a short ride to Uncle Karl's house, but Corey was still in a bad mood. In fact he and Jerry were both wearing their "recently dosed with castor oil" faces again.

As Corey's Dad carefully maneuvered the car around some standing water on the aptly named Basin Street in south Allentown, Corey's Mom looked around and addressed the grumpy boys in the back seat, "Will you two boys please stop being so childish? You can't fly model rockets in thunderstorms!"

"We know that, Mom!" said Corey, testily. All their wonderful plans for launching their rockets that morning - including Jerry's maiden flight - had been scrubbed by a line of thunderstorms that had roared through the Lehigh Valley an hour after dawn.

The storms had passed out of the area by late morning, leaving behind a gorgeous clear blue sky that mocked the young rocketeers as they climbed into the back of Dad's car with Becky to head for the Hoffman family's July 4th picnic.

Corey had wanted to try and fly their rockets at the picnic - Uncle Karl had a huge yard, after all. But that idea was shot down. All Dad would promise was that, if the boys behaved themselves at the picnic today, he would take them to fly their rockets on Sunday afternoon - weather permitting, of course.

During the previous week Mom had tried to warn Jerry what to expect today - Hoffman family picnics could be a little intense. When Mom's parents - Victor and Ann Hoffman - got together with their five children, their children's spouses, and their 21 grandchildren ranging in age from 17-years-old to just over one-year-old, it was a scene of barely restrained chaos. You were talking about 33 people, not to mention neighbors and friends of the family, like Jerry.

Jerry came from an extremely small family with only one cousin that he knew about. He had trouble coping with the idea of twenty cousins - particularly twenty cousins who were all together for one picnic. Corey laughed at that and said that he had trouble coping with it sometimes, too, although for Corey it was one silly little sister and 19 cousins - just on the Hoffman side of the family.

As they sat around the loft in their underwear on Friday evening watching the paint dry on Jerry's rocket, Corey had tried to sketch out for Jerry the basics of his Mom's family, so Jerry would have some idea of whom he was dealing with on Saturday.

Penelope Hoffman was the third child of five and the eldest daughter. She met Corey's Dad when they were students in the same class at the Pennsylvania State University - the main campus up in State College, Pennsylvania. Penny, as everyone called her, majored in accounting. After graduating in 1949 she married William Lane, a Philadelphia native who had majored in economics and was in the Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC).

William Lane served on active duty in the US Navy from 1949 through 1954, including a 10-month tour in Korea. He served as a damage control officer on the USS Phillipine Sea (CV-47), a Ticonderoga-class aircraft carrier. His ship was cruising in the Sea of Japan - her air wing dropping bombs on North Korean targets - when Corey Lane was born in Oakland, California, on January 18, 1951.

Rebecca Lane was born in San Diego, California in March 1953 when their father was serving as a damage control instructor at the Naval Training Center there. William Lane left active duty in early 1954 and the family moved to the Lehigh Valley to be close to Penny's family - and not all that far from William's family in Philadelphia. Becky usually got spanked by her mother. She wouldn't tell Corey how, nor would his parents. Corey got it with the hairbrush from his Mom, of course, and with a birch switch from his father. The birch tree in their back yard died last winter, so Corey didn't know what Dad was gonna do once the switches that he had already cut were used up. Corey was rooting for nothing, but didn't really have a lot of hope for that one.

Karl Hoffman, Penny's eldest brother, was a freshman engineering student at Lehigh University in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania when Pearl Harbor was attacked. He would have signed up to serve, but already had - he was an Army ROTC cadet. Karl was commissioned in 1943 after only two years of college and served with the 5th Ranger Battalion, which included landing at Omaha Beach in the D-Day invasion. After the war Karl finished his education at Lehigh, graduating in 1947. Karl married Lillian Hartzell in 1947 and they have four children: Donna (14), Joseph (13), Dorothy (11), and Raymond (9). Karl retired from the US Army Reserve in 1963 as a Major in the Army Corps of Engineers. He works as an industrial engineer for the Mack Truck Company in Allentown. Uncle Karl has a paddle he uses on Joey and Ray. Donna and Dottie get it from Aunt Lil, usually with a hairbrush.

Andre Hoffman, Penny's next-oldest brother, graduated from high school in 1943 and immediately enlisted in the US Army Air Corps. He served as an aircraft mechanic through the end of World War II. When he returned to the Lehigh Valley in late 1945 he brought home a war bride, Pamela Truesdale, a girl he met while stationed in England. Andre stayed in the aircraft mechanic business, and is the co-owner of an aircraft service company at A-B-E Airport. Uncle Andre and Aunt Pamela have five children: Gary (17), Edward (15), Sandra (14), James (12) and Virginia (11). Uncle Andre has a special English kind of stick called a cane that he uses on Gary, Eddie, and Jimmy. Aunt Pamela (never call her Aunt Pam!) has a smaller, but similar cane she uses on Sandy and Ginny.

Jerry needed to be aware that Uncle Andre and his family talk a little funny, having been taught English names for things by Aunt Pamela. For instance, the boys always call their pants their "trousers", and they refer to their briefs as "pants" rather than the normal "underpants". Oh, yeah - that English cane thing. Corey had heard stories from his cousins Eddie and Jimmy about it, but had never seen them get whacked with it. As far as Corey knew, it was just a switch from a special kind of tree called rattan. He'd heard it grew in India, or someplace like that. Apparently this rattan doesn't dry out very fast like Dad's birch switches do. Actually, his cousins make this cane thing sound really terrible. They seem amazingly well behaved, so they probably hardly get it anyway.

Vivienne Hoffman, Penny's younger sister, graduated from high school in 1947 and trained as a hairdresser. She married Stanislaus Bielecki in 1949 and they have seven children: Samuel (13), Peter (12), Gloria (11), Charlotte (10), Donald (9), Rose (7) and Nicholas (5). Uncle Stan works for the Bethlehem Steel Company in Bethlehem. He has a strap he uses on Sam, Pete and Donny. Nicky still just gets it with the open hand. Aunt Viv uses a hairbrush on Gloria, Lottie and Rose. The Bieleckis are Roman Catholic.

Mitchell Hoffman, Penny's younger brother, graduated from high school in 1951. He enlisted in the US Navy, where he served from 1951-55, including a tour in Korea. He married Patricia Snyder in 1956, and they have three children: Susan (6), Richard (4) and Elizabeth (1). Uncle Mitch owns - and is chief mechanic for - his own automobile service station in Whitehall, Pennsylvania, which is just west of Coplay. Uncle Mitch and Aunt Pat still just swat their youngsters with their open hands as necessary.

It was a lot of information, but Corey had told Jerry that if he studied hard, he'd do fine on the written test. After being wrestled to the floor and saying "Uncle", Corey continued on more seriously, telling Jerry that his Mom's family were wonderful, friendly people, and that Jerry would fit right into their family picnic.

The Lanes arrived at Uncle Karl's house at noon on the dot. Corey's Dad was very punctual that way. Some of the families with younger children weren't as organized, and they gradually streamed in over the next hour. The first major barbeque session was scheduled to have lunch ready to go at 1 o'clock. But that was for grilled food. There was snack food - potato chips, pretzels, and so forth - available all day long.

Jerry was welcomed warmly, which was the Hoffman - and Bielecki and Lane - way. He patiently answered the many questions about where he was from, about his family, and so forth. All of Mom's brothers and sisters insisted that Jerry use the Aunt and Uncle monikers. Jerry was fussed over by Corey's grandparents, who treated him the same as they did their many grandchildren, and Corey could see a tear in his friend's eye as they walked away afterwards. Jerry had never known any of his own grandparents.

There turned out to be a natural grouping of six boys aged 12 and 13 at the picnic, and they immediately banded together, of course. Jerry and Corey were joined by four of Corey's cousins. The other two 13-year-olds were Sam Bielecki and Joey Hoffman. The two 12-year-olds were Pete Bielecki and Jimmy Hoffman. The next oldest boy was 15, and the next youngest was only 9, so the six adolescent boys pretty much kept to themselves.

They made good use of Uncle Karl's huge back yard, which Corey reckoned was nearly as big as Mrs. Bauer's, but without the extensive garden and greenhouse complex. This left plenty of room for games. In addition to the classic American summer picnic games like tossing horseshoes and bean bags, the boys whiled away the day throwing around frisbees, baseballs, footballs and, occasionally, each other. The adults kept things from getting too rough, but even the occasional argument was pretty good-natured. They were adolescent boys, however, and so they challenged, dared, and competed with each other constantly.

Of course Jerry had been to picnics before, but never one quite like this. He told Corey it was more like a small town carnival than the picnics he was used to back home, which had maybe 8 to 10 people at the most. And there were some Pennsylvania Dutch customs that just plain confused the young man from New York.

"They let kids drink beer?" asked Jerry soon after they arrived, as he pointed out one of the younger boys, 9-year-old Donny Bielecki, who had just filled a clear plastic cup with a reddish, foamy liquid from one of the large iced kegs sitting by the garage. As Jerry spoke Donny walked away, drinking the beverage in plain view of several adults.

"Yeah," said Donny's 13-year-old brother Sam, "birch beer."

"Birch... beer?" said Jerry. "Who makes it?"

"A-Treat, more than likely," said Corey. "They make most of the soda around here - that's not national brands, like Coke or Pepsi, of course."

"So birch beer is soda?" said Jerry.

"Of course!" said Joey. "They don't let us drink real beer, with alcohol in it!"

"I think birch beer is a local thing, Jerry," said Sam. "But you must have root beer in New York, right?"

"Yeah, sure we do!" said Jerry. "But it comes in bottles, not in kegs!"

"Yeah, well, here birch beer and root beer come both ways," said Sam.

So Jerry tried draft birch beer for the first time in his life, and found that he liked it quite a lot.

Despite the ever present chaos, the kids were largely able to stay out of serious trouble, much to the adults' apparent surprise. The only major incident in the early part of the day was at lunch, when 9-year-old Ray Hoffman (Uncle Karl's youngest) decided to "help" Jerry, their guest, add condiments to his hot dog. Ray asked Jerry if he wanted mustard. When Jerry said yes, the little smart alec loaded it up with Dusseldorf mustard, an extremely spicy German mustard.

Jerry almost choked on his first bite of hot dog. When Uncle Karl found out what had happened, he was furious. Ray ended up getting a few healthy swats of his angry father's hand on the seat of his shorts. He was made to apologize to Jerry for tricking him. Then Ray was firmly seated at the picnic table and forced to eat the incredibly spicy hot dog himself. The poor little guy fussed and lingered over that hot dog for more than an hour, and was in tears the entire time.

The day passed like even the laziest, haziest, and craziest days of summer eventually will. Soon it was time to fire up the grills again to barbeque the evening meal, which was scheduled to get underway officially around 7 o'clock.

As the sun began to set, the sparklers came out. Soon all the kids aged 4 to 11 were charging around the twilight with sparklers. The six "grown up" adolescent boys resisted such childish behavior for nearly five minutes before joining them.

After it got dark, it was time to bring out the heavy duty fireworks, an essential part of any true American celebration of Independence Day - the "rocket's red glare", just like it says in the national anthem. In years past, the Hoffman clan would pile in their cars and head over to Dorneyville to watch the professional fireworks display put on annually by Dorney Park, the largest amusement park in the area.

But for the past two years, Uncle Mitch had been able get some high quality fireworks from somewhere, and they fired them off in Uncle Karl's back yard. Such fireworks were illegal in Pennsylvania, except when being set off by professionally licensed pyrotechnicians. But on July 4th, this rule was pretty much overlooked. Provided that nobody was injured, and you didn't set your property - or your neighbor's property - on fire, the police ignored home fireworks displays.

Nobody in Corey's family was a pyrotechnician, but the Hoffmans were mostly engineers and mechanics, so they tended to be cautious and well-prepared when doing anything the least bit dangerous. There were two garden hoses primed and ready to go, and no fewer than three buckets pre-filled with water sitting around in case they were needed.

Uncle Andre's older sons, 17-year-old Gary and 15-year-old Eddie were allowed to help their father (and Uncle Mitch) set off the heavy duty fireworks. Uncle Karl and Corey's Dad (who was known to Corey's cousins as Uncle Will) stayed further back towards the buildings, ready to direct fire-fighting operations as necessary. To the chagrin of Corey and his peers, the younger teen boys were reduced to "standing by the buckets" with Uncle Karl and Uncle Will in case of problems.

The fireworks were impressive, as always. Corey wondered where Uncle Mitch got them from. Once about half of the heavy duty "star shell" type fireworks had been set off, they took a break to let the younger kids fire off some lighter fireworks, like bottle rockets and Roman candles. Corey and his pals were thankful to at least be able to participate actively in this part of the show.

Corey and his cousins were big fans of Roman candles, long thin tubes that looked a bit like mortars. When you lit them, they fired balls of fire into the sky, in differing colors depending on the candle, and made some interesting noises. They looked cool from a distance, but the boys liked to stand as close as possible - because it was an even better show at close range, when you could actually feel the heat of each shot fired by the candle on your face. The problem was that the adults were always yelling at you to stand further back.

There had been a fair amount of arguing the previous year about which boy was able to stand closest to the candle he had just ignited as it fired off its shots. Sam had pointed out that if they kept getting closer as a challenge, eventually one of them really would get hurt. Then any boys that didn't end up in the hospital from fireworks-related injuries would end up there anyway because their parents beat them half to death.

So eventually it had been decided that this year they'd all stand the same distance away from the same candle. That way honor would be served and they'd all prove themselves equally brave, without getting anybody injured. Jerry had heard about all this earlier in the day, and had been told he was free to participate or not, it was up to him. Of course Corey knew what Jerry's response would be to this kind of challenge. He almost instantly agreed.

So that's how it came to pass that all six companions rushed in together and stood (at a distance of less than five feet) around a Roman candle entitled "Rocket's Red Glare". This was Corey's favorite type that year, a candle with 30 shots of red, white and blue flame. Sam lit the fuse and rushed back to his place in the impromptu circle. As the adults became aware of what the boys were doing, harsh yells came out of the darkness, ordering them to move further back.

Corey knew that they'd get yelled at a bit, but since nobody would be hurt, it would blow over quickly. He stared at the candle with the burning fuse, wondering if the first shot would be red, white, or blue. It was white, but it didn't travel up into the air as expected. Instead there was an enormous white flash...

The next thing he knew, Corey was laying flat on his back in Uncle Karl's back yard. There were excited voices, and there was an enormous, bright white fireball in the night sky. Damn! The Russians must have decided to nuke us on July 4th, the crafty bastards! Then he realized that he could see the fireball even with his eyes closed. That's weird.

Eventually Corey became aware that Uncle Mitch was leaning over him, asking him if he was alright. And then Corey's Dad was there. Corey found he couldn't speak, but could nod his head to indicate he felt okay. In fact Corey was too dazed to feel much of anything, which must have been obvious to the adults. Corey's father picked him up in his arms and began carrying his son back to Uncle Karl's house. As Corey looked up at his father's face, a mask of commingled fear and anger, he realized that the Roman candle must have simply exploded.

Corey tried to look around as he was being carried - Uncle Karl was carrying a boy in his arms - probably Joey. Had any of the others survived the explosion? What about Jerry? "Dad," Corey managed to croak, "Jerry?"

"Jerry's alive, son," said Dad, his voice a bit unsteady. "At least he was a minute ago. Mitch will bring him."

"Corey!" said Mom, rushing up to them, "Are you alright, darling?"

"I'm okay, Mom," said Corey, unsteadily.

"What on earth possessed you boys to do something so stupid?" said Mom, her face pale with fear.

"I dunno, Mom," said Corey, who was having trouble thinking straight. "I'm sorry."

One of Uncle Karl's neighbors was a retired surgeon who had stopped by with his wife for dinner and had stayed for the fireworks. George Howser, M.D., a kindly grey-haired gentleman, carefully examined all six boys and said they would survive. Miraculously none of them had suffered burns or shrapnel wounds. They had just been stunned and were probably in very mild shock.

Dr. Howser suggested taking the boys home and putting them to bed for the night, delaying any punishment - no matter how well deserved - for the next day. Let them get a good night's sleep, then give them a decent breakfast in the morning. If they can keep it down until after church - or at least for an hour - then the parents may proceed as needed in the disciplinary area.

It was deathly quiet in the Lane family car as they drove home that night. Even Becky was too frightened by what had nearly happened to her brother and his friend to tease the boys about their pending punishment. Before being sent to bed the boys were informed that they were grounded until further notice. They were also told not to plan on being able to do much sitting down after church on Sunday.

Corey stood in his parents office, his nose pressing a quarter against the wall. He couldn't see much from this position except wall. But if he canted his head just slightly to the left and used his peripheral vision, he could just make out Jerry standing on the other side of the window, his nose pressing a quarter against the wall. It seemed to Corey like they had been standing there for hours, although it probably had been less than 15 minutes.

Corey had not slept very well. The horror of what almost happened to them last night, combined with the fear over what his Dad - both his parents, probably - would do to them in retaliation was tough to deal with. Then they had to eat breakfast. Both boys started out by just picking at their breakfast - pancakes, a fine last meal for the condemned. But they were forced to clean their plates... or else. Then it was off to Sunday School and the main church service. Somehow Walt and all their other friends knew they were both in for it. Becky must have alerted the local kid grapevine.

A group of kids had followed them home from church, hoping to hear Jerry and Corey suffer for their sins. Corey knew that some of them were still out on the sidewalk. He could hear them chatting as they stood around, hoping to hear the two miscreants get thrashed. At least Dad had allowed them the dignity of walking home under their own power, rather than being dragged by the ear like the Lichtenwalner boys last Sunday. When they arrived home, they were ordered to change back into casual clothes, then wait for Dad in the office.

Corey's stomach churned as he stood there, waiting. It had been just over 12 hours since the Roman candle exploded, knocking the six boys on their asses and dooming them to be beaten today. At this point Corey just wanted it to end quickly, whether it was a switch to his bare backside in the garage, or a noose hanging from the dead birch tree in the back yard. Whatever his punishment, Corey just wanted it over - even with these neighborhood kids listening - all this waiting seemed almost as painful as the punishment itself.

The phone rang in the office. This startled Corey so much that he almost dropped his quarter. Dad answered the phone on the second ring. Apparently it was Uncle Karl with the report Dad had been waiting for. Corey guessed that Dad wanted to make sure none of the culprits had been seriously injured after all before deciding on their punishment. It sounded like everybody was okay - thank God for that! The end of the conversation sounded weird at this end - something like, "We'll leave immediately, be there in 30 minutes." Where were 'we' going?

Dad hung up the phone and said, "Okay, you two, give me those quarters back. It's time to leave."

"Where are we going, sir?" said Jerry, as he handed his quarter back to Dad.

"Back to the scene of the crime," said Dad. "It was Uncle Karl's idea. You six little idiots conspired together in that stunt last night. So today you can pay the piper together. Let's go."

As he followed Jerry and Dad out of the room, Corey thought that at least those jackals out on the sidewalk in front of their house will be disappointed today. Then he realized that he had an additional thirty minutes to wait for his punishment!

The Lanes lived the furthest away from Uncle Karl's house, so they were the last to arrive. Mom and Becky had stayed home - thank heaven for small favors. Of course Mom had made it clear that she intended to administer double dips when they got home. So Becky would get to hear them cry again today anyway.

Upon arrival they learned that Aunt Viv had taken her daughters and 9-year-old Ray down to the local park for an hour or so. This left the six boys alone in the house with the four men who would be punishing them.

The six boys were soon lined up in Uncle Karl's living room. Uncle Andre took charge of the situation, lining the boys up in the order he wanted, talking (seemingly to himself) as he did so. "Starting on the right we'll have my own boy, Jimmy; then Karl's son Joey; then Jerry and Corey, who will both be dealt with by Will. This leaves Stan's sons Pete and Sam on the left end, with Sam bringing up the rear, so to speak."

The boys were lectured on their behavior at that point - at length - with the four men taking turns. When Uncle Karl ran out of gas, Uncle Andre took up the gauntlet, when he faltered, Uncle Stan took over, and when he slowed down Uncle Will took a turn. Most of them even took a second turn. The gist of the tirade was how stupid they had been, how incredibly lucky they were to still be alive and in one piece, and how richly they deserved the punishment they were about to receive, and then some.

Of course Corey had been lectured plenty of times before a whipping. But this was different. The explosion of that Roman candle had truly scared Corey. He could have been killed or maimed for life, or seen Jerry or one of his cousins suffer the same fate. Last night Corey came face to face, for the first time, with his own mortality. He was more ashamed of his behavior than he had ever been in his life, and had cried himself to sleep - he just hoped that Jerry hadn't heard his sobs.

The boys were ordered to relieve themselves, and be back in these same positions in ten minutes, hands behind their heads, with no talking allowed! The four men then left the room, and the boys headed for the bathroom. As Corey waited to use the toilet, he was wondering what the men would use on them. Dad would be punishing Jerry, that was hardly surprising. Dad was probably outside cutting switches right now, or would he make Corey and Jerry cut their own switches? He looked at his best friend, who gave him a crooked, wry grin and an absent shrug. How many times over the years had they waited together like this - waited to be punished?

Pete and Sam looked like they were both scared shitless. Joey was looking a bit seasick as well. Only Jimmy - the youngest of the six boys - seemed unperturbed by the situation. In fact Jimmy seemed even more nonchalant about the whole thing that Jerry. And Jerry was the coolest cucumber that Corey knew when it came to this sort of thing.

Ten minutes later the six culprits were back in line, hands clasped behind their heads. Right on time the four men returned, and they each were carrying... a rattan cane! Uh, oh! It looked like Corey and Jerry were in for a genuinely new experience.

"Well, boys," said Uncle Karl. "Look at the gifts that Uncle Andre just gave us!"

"That's right," said Uncle Stan. "He gave them to us, but they're really for you!"

Great! Uncle Stan was trying to be funny. Corey hated to hear jokes when he was about to get a sore backside. He glanced around a bit. Jerry looked okay, but concerned. Joey looked even more queasy than before. Pete looked ready to faint. Corey suddenly wondered how he looked? He hoped for as good as Jerry, but would settle for a lot better than Pete.

"And now," said Corey's Dad, "Uncle Andre will give us lessons on how to use these things."

"Right, then," said Uncle Andre. "Let's get started. Move over here, everyone." Uncle Andre arranged the group so that they were gathered at one end of the living room facing the right end of the large sofa. For the first time Corey noticed that a couple of towels or a small blanket had been draped over one arm of the sofa. That usually wasn't there. The boys were still lined up in order, with the men responsible for them standing behind them. Corey felt his father place a hand gently on his right shoulder. He glanced around and his father's right hand was placed comfortingly on Jerry's left shoulder. Corey glanced up at his father, who gave him a reassuring nod, then wordlessly indicated that Corey should pay attention to Uncle Andre.

"Now, you boys," said Uncle Andre. "I want you to pay attention to Jimmy here. He will demonstrate the behavior that is expected when a boy receives a caning. I also want everybody to be patient. You boys just want to get this over with, but your fathers - and guardian - need to learn how to do this properly. Believe me, the cane hurts bad enough as it is, you don't want them making any mistakes. Right, Jimmy?"

"Yes, sir!" said Jimmy.

"Right, you men," said Uncle Andre. "Pay close attention while I cane Jimmy. I'll describe what I'm doing as I thrash him. Then I'll help you get it right while you thrash your own boys."

Corey was concerned with how often the word "thrash" was entering into the conversation. Not that Corey had never been thrashed, but this rattan thing seemed a lot scarier now that his own bottom was about to feel it. Corey had always given short shrift to the stories his cousins told about the terrors of the cane as wielded by Uncle Andre. Now that he was about to see the man give a class in how to use it - and his own father was one of the students! - Corey felt a lot less cavalier about the whole thing.

"Alright, James," said Uncle Andre formally, "step forward." Jimmy stepped forward and stood next to the arm of the sofa, his hands held stiffly at his sides. It looked like Jimmy was still wearing his church clothes, although he was wearing dress shorts, not the long trousers customarily worn by boys over the age of five at Grace Evangelical.

"Trousers down," said Uncle Andre. Jimmy unbuttoned his navy blue dress shorts and dropped them to his ankles. Then he straightened back up, leaving his hands at his sides. The seat of his white briefs became a natural focus of attention, but not for long.

"Pants down," said Uncle Andre. Jimmy repeated the lowering process with his briefs, leaving them down at his ankles, his hands held at his side. Now his bare bottom - accentuated by tan lines - became, and would remain, the focus of attention.

"Bend over," said Uncle Andre. Jimmy obediently bent over the end of the sofa, resting his head on the sofa cushion. Corey immediately became aware of pale bluish marks that stretched across the bottom curve of Jimmy's backside. What the heck was that all about?

"Now, gentlemen," said Uncle Andre, turning to address the audience. "You'll note that I made use of the English terms - trousers for pants and pants for underpants - when addressing Jimmy. I do that because my boys are used to those terms. You may use whatever terms you see fit, as long as you end up with your lad in the proper position."

Uncle Andre turned back to the bending Jimmy, and used the tip of the cane to trace the pale marks on the lower side of his bottom. "You might have noticed these marks, which are left over from Jimmy's last caning. When did you get these stripes, son?"

"Wednesday, sir!" said Jimmy, his reply somewhat muffled by the fact that his head was down on the sofa cushion.

"Yes, Wednesday," said Uncle Andre. "Jimmy here saw fit to mouth off to his mother when she asked him to help her with something. I gave him three strokes, isn't that right, Jimmy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do they still hurt?" said Uncle Stan.

Good question! That's exactly what Corey had been wondering.

"Not really, sir," said Jimmy. "But they will in a minute."

"Yes, they will," said Uncle Andre. "The stripes hurt for a day or two - which is incidentally why you try to concentrate the stripes on the lower curve of the buttocks..." He traced that part of Jimmy's obviously trembling posterior with the cane tip again. "....so the boy feels them whenever he sits down. It adds to the deterrent effect. So does the fact that even when the primary pain has gone away, the boy will feel more pain from a future caning - or any other form of corporal punishment - if his stripes haven't completely disappeared."

Corey had always thought that Jimmy and his brothers were amazingly well behaved. Now he began to see the reason why. This cane thing left visible marks on your bottom for days! Corey suddenly found himself praying for the courage to get through this without crying.

"Well, I think we've kept poor Jimmy waiting for his thrashing long enough," said Uncle Andre. "Ready, son?"

"Yes, sir," said Jimmy, unenthusiastically.

"Very well," said Uncle Andre. He stepped back next to the sofa, then turned, and lined up the cane on Jimmy's bottom. "Note that I'm lining the cane up so the tip is just about half-way along his right buttock. Pay close attention to where the cane is now, compared to where the stripe appears." Suddenly he pulled the cane far back... and... sssssss.crrackk!

The cane struck Jimmy's bottom solidly, just where it had been resting a second before. There was no real reaction from Jimmy, and a whitish streak had appeared across both cheeks were the cane had struck. Jimmy said, "One, sir." Then as the audience watched, over the next few seconds the upper and lower edges of the white streak turned blood red, leaving what could only be termed a stripe. At about that time Corey noticed that Jimmy was finally reacting, his head shook slightly twice. But at least the boy made no sound, other than the count.

"You'll note that I have my boys count the strokes as they're administered," said Uncle Andre. "You may choose to have your boys do it, or not, it's really up to you. I'm going to give Jimmy the rest of his six strokes now."

The cane was lined up just below the existing red stripe, pulled back, and... sssssss.crrackk! "Two, sir," said Jimmy.

The cane was lined up just above the first red stripe, pulled back, and... sssssss.crrackk! "Oww!" said Jimmy. "Three, sir."

The cane was lined up just below the broadening red stripe, pulled back, and... sssssss.crrackk! "Ahhhh!" said Jimmy. A pause... "Four, sir!"

The cane was lined up just above the broadening red stripe, pulled back, and... sssssss.crrackk! "OOOWWW! Oooch!" said Jimmy. He gasped out, "Five, sir!" There were slight gurgling sounds coming from the pillow where Jimmy's head was resting. He appeared to be crying.

The cane was lined up just where the bottom of the buttocks met the tops of the thighs, pulled back, and... sssssss.crrackk! "EEEwwwhh!" squealed Jimmy. "Owwww, oowww! ... "Ss..six, sir!" Jimmy's body was shaking as he wept.

"I believe that was most effective," said Uncle Andre. "Please note that the boy is required to stay in place until told to get up. Notice how the individual stripes run together."

It was true, the bottom of Jimmy's backside looked almost like it had been painted bright red, with just a few blotches and lines of white mixed in. "Alright, James," said Uncle Andre, "you may get up."

Jimmy slowly, and quite painfully, pushed himself up off the sofa. As soon as the boy was on his feet his hands went immediately to his bottom where he grasped and rubbed the wounded area, trying to remove the sting. "Turn around, James," said Uncle Andre. The boy turned to face the audience. He face was almost as red as his bottom, and tears were flowing down his face as he cried openly.

The damage the cane appeared to do to Jimmy's bottom caused a hollow sensation in the pit of Corey's stomach. This was really getting scary. Corey glanced over at Jerry, and gulped at what he saw. For the first time in all the years he had known Jerry, Corey saw real fear in his friend's eyes.

Soon Jimmy was made to shuffle back to his place in line, his shorts and briefs still around his ankles. Once back in line, Jimmy was made to stop rubbing his bottom and clasp his hands behind his head once again. There were still a few tears in his eyes, and he was still sniffling a bit.

After witnessing the practical demonstration provided by Jimmy and Uncle Andre, the other three men were invited to practice their caning technique on a pillow which Uncle Andre placed over the arm of the sofa where Jimmy had just suffered. Corey paid special attention to the way his own father lashed at the pillow with his brand new cane, which looked to be about 2 and a half feet long. He was shocked at the creases his father's new instrument of correction left in the pillow case as he thwacked the cane solidly into the pillow time after time. Corey glanced around and noticed that all the uncaned boys were looking a bit seasick by that point.

Eventually the practice session ended and it was Uncle Karl's turn to cane his son, Joey, who looked about ready to puke as he stepped forward to face the arm of the couch. Uncle Karl didn't bother with English terms, just ordering Joey to drop his pants... and then his underpants. As Joey bent over, it was clear his bottom was unmarked. Not for long.

The "sssssss.crrackk!" of the cane was heard again, repeated six times. Each stroke was followed by increasingly frantic howls from Joey, and the struggling lad was barely able to gasp out the count for the last two strokes.

Soon the openly bawling Joey stood facing the group as he clutched at his wounded backside. As the sobbing, half-naked boy waddled back to his place on line, Corey's father moved forward to replace Uncle Karl next to the sofa.

"Alright, Jerry," said Dad, "step forward." Jerry stepped up next to the arm of the sofa as required, his hands held stiffly at his sides.

"Trousers down," said Dad. Jerry unbuttoned his khaki shorts and lowered them to his ankles. Then he straightened back up, returning his hands to his sides. The seat of his brand new white jockey briefs was now on display.

"Pants down," said Dad. Corey had to stifle a laugh at his father's use of the English terminology. It sounded so strange even though his father was a first generation American of English ancestry. Jerry lowered his briefs and came back to the attention posture. Jerry's bottom was several shades paler than the surrounding tanned skin - it would make an inviting target for the cane.

"Bend over," said Dad. As Corey watched Jerry drape himself over the arm of the sofa he realized that he was next in line to do so. Let's just hope Dad knows what he's doing. "Count the strokes as you recieve them, Jerry."

"Yes, sir!" came Jerry's muffled response from down on the sofa cushion.

The cane was lined up in the center of the bottom curve of Jerry's backside, pulled back, and... sssssss.crrackk! "One, sir!" said Jerry.

Corey's father followed Uncle Andre's example, placing each new stroke just below, or above the ever-widening red stripe across Jerry's bottom. Dad always was a quick learner! Jerry gasped after the second stroke, groaned after the third, and started yelping from the fourth stroke onward. By the time Jerry faced the audience, vigorously rubbing his injured seat, there were tears running from his eyes and his face was red, but he wasn't bawling outright. Corey hadn't seen if Jerry had an erection before he bent over the sofa for his caning, but he definitely did not have one as he shuffled back into place next to Corey.

"Alright, Corey," said Dad, looking towards his only son, "step forward." There were butterflies the size of B-52 bombers zooming around Corey's stomach as he approached the arm of the sofa. He just barely remembered to hold his hands stiffly at his sides.

"Trousers down," said Dad. Corey fumbled with the buttons of his khaki shorts, then unzipped and lowered them to his ankles. He straightened back up, returning his hands to his sides. Corey knew he was displaying the seat of his jockey briefs to the audience. The bottom that seat covered was already tingling in anticipation of the pain to come.

"Pants down," said Dad. Corey still thought it funny to hear his Dad refer to his underpants that way. Of course he was far too intelligent to laugh at the man who was about to give him a thrashing. He dropped his briefs to his ankles and returned to position.

"Bend over," said Dad. Corey draped himself carefully over the arm of the sofa. As his face contacted the sofa cushion he realised the surface of the cushion was wet. Presumably he was feeling the combined tears of the three boys who had suffered here in the past few minutes. Corey intended to be as brave as he could, but suspected he would be adding his own tears to the mixture quite soon. He heard Dad say, "Count the strokes as you recieve them, Corey."

"Yes, sir!" said Corey, trying to sound brave.

After a few seconds Corey felt the rattan against his skin for the first time in his life. Dad had pressed it gently against the spot on his lower bottom where he wanted to land the first stroke. Odd, the cane felt cool to the touch. This after Corey had seen it light a fire in Jerry's bottom. How could that be? Did Dad switch canes with someone?

The pressure disappeared. Dad must be drawing back - it's showtime! sssssss.crrackk! Did anything happen? "Ssssssssss!" Corey hissed as he involuntarily sucked in his breath. The pain that exploded across his rump was incredible! It was unlike anything Corey had ever felt in hundreds of spankings, switchings, paddlings, and even a strapping or two. He finally remembered to say, "One, sir!"

There was the slight pressure of the cane again, feeling strangely cool on his throbbing backside. It disappeared again.... sssssss.crrackk! "Aaaahhh!" Corey groaned as the pain filled his senses. "Two, sir," he said. Two? How could he possibly hold still for six?

sssssss.crrackk! "OOWwwwww!" Corey yelped in earnest as the pain overwhelmed him. He realized that last one had forced tears from his eyes. So much for being brave. "Three, sir," he panted.

sssssss.crrackk! "NOOoooooo!" Corey howled as the pain evened out, but at an astonishing level. The tears were simply flowing from him now. Finally he said, "Four, sir." Corey felt like his bottom was being cut in two with a sword.

sssssss.crrackk! "EEeeeeeee!" Corey screamed as the cane bit into a previously damaged area near the crease between his bottom and his thighs, causing the pain to double, which would have seemed impossible just a second ago.

Dimly Corey was aware of his father gently touching his shoulder and saying, "Sorry, son."

All Corey had the energy and inclination to say was, "Five, sir." He felt his father squeeze his shoulder gently, and then the touch was gone. Corey had long since stopped feeling the cane as it was lined up on his bottom pre-stroke. There was just too much pain back there.

sssssss.crrackk! "OOooocchhh!" Corey yelped again, but the pain had already crested. It didn't get any better, but the last stroke didn't make it any worse. Dad must have found an undamaged place to hit. Thank God! Finally he forced out, "Six, sir."

From somewhere in the distance Corey heard his father say, "Alright, Corey, you may get up."

Corey somehow managed to get himself upright, and stood there, his hands moving of their own accord to clutch at and then massage his frighteningly sore backside. "Turn around, Corey," said Dad.

Corey turned around, almost stumbling on the pants around his ankles, and stood there, with tears and a bit of snot on his face, as he kept rubbing for all he was worth. He just had to get that incredible sting out of his backside. "Back in line, son," said Dad. Corey limp-waddled back into line and turned to watch the thrashings of the Bielecki brothers, who both looked white as sheets after watching the four other boys get soundly beaten.

Stan Bielecki dealt out two solid thrashings to his sons, who responded with the expected howls and bawling. Corey was too preoccupied with his own personal world of pain to pay much attention to the rest of the show.

Eventually there were six boys standing in line, with red, tearful faces and dreadfully sore backsides. Uncle Karl treated the suffering boys to one final lecture, which ended with his fervent hope that the boys would never need to be thrashed like this again. That was a proposal that would have won in a landside, at least counting the under-14 vote.

Finally it was over and the boys were told to get dressed. This proved difficult. Corey gingerly pulled his briefs back up over his ravaged rear end. These were followed, slightly less gingerly, by his khaki shorts.

A few minutes later Jerry and Corey rather delicately seated themselves in the back seat of Dad's car. Dad placed the cane on the front passenger seat. As they drove home, Dad informed the boys that since the birch tree had died, he would be using his new cane on them whenever they needed a good dose of discipline. He also reminded the boys that Corey's Mom was waiting for them at home with her hairbrush. This reminder brought a fresh round of sniffles from the back seat.