I knelt down and ran my hand over the short coat of my mom and step-dad's Scottish Terrier. His name was Scotty, (very original) and as I ran my hand over his soft fur, he looked up at me with the most innocent looking brown-eyes I had ever seen. I beamed back down at him.

My step-dad, Ian, was sitting on the sofa, smiling at the both of us, and as he knotted his tie, he talked to me. "I'll pay you seven dollars an hour to look after him today while I'm at work, Adam, but be sure to feed him and let him out in the back yard every few hours so he can exercise and do his business.

"Sure, no problem," I replied with a smile as I wrestled a little with Scotty. I really appreciated that Ian was offering me this token job, because after a bad car accident six months ago, I had lost part of my hearing, and in consequence, my job. I was a lab assistant at the local hospital, and because it had taken so long to get my hearing aids working properly, they had gotten fed up, and had let me go. It had been a real blow to my self-esteem, and Ian had bucked me up as usual. He told me that I could do better than that anyway, and he payed for me to enroll in junior college, just until I was ready to go to SMU, where I had been planning to go before the accident.

Actually, my hearing wasn't the only thing affected by the car wreck. I had some short term memory and retention problems too. In high school I had been on the honor roll, and now I could barely balance a checkbook. It was frustrating and demeaning to have to put my plans on hold, and to have to make lists all the time just to get through the day.

The one thing I wouldn't give up, was my apartment. It was my only link to independence, and so Ian would give me odd jobs and sometimes would slip a fifty into my palm when I was leaving after visiting him and my mom. I didn't like to take handouts, and if it had been anyone else, I would've flatly refused. Ian was the exception, and he never acted like it was charity, or like he felt sorry for me. he was just very matter of fact about it. "Everyone goes through rough patches, Adam," He'd told me once. "I know you would do the same for me." He'd said that the first time he handed me some cash, and I'd accepted it inn the spirit it had been offered in.

I felt Ian's hand on my shoulder, as he knelt down and kissed the top of my head, and then I refocused on the task at hand. Playing with the dog.

"Now remember sport, feed him when you have your lunch, and then let him out into the back yard."

"Gotcha," I answered, as I craned my neck and looked up at him.

"Do you need to write that down?" He asked quietly, and I could tell by the tone of voice that he was a little concerned about offending me.

"No, Dad. I can remember that much, at least!" I exclaimed, pretending to be hurt, but smiling in spite of myself.

He knelt down once more and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, and I could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave. It was the same scent he always wore to work, and when I was a little boy, I had imagined myself wearing that same aftershave and going out to do important and grown-up things.

The scent lingered after he had left, and as I scratched Scotty's belly absently, I wondered if I was ever going to be able to do important and grown-up things again. I really hoped I could get through college, and have a good career, and a good life, but sometimes now, I wondered.

At noon, I carried Scotty into the kitchen and set him on the floor near his bowl. I made sure to feed him before I ate, so I wouldn't forget. Scooping up some dry food from a big bag, I put it in his bowl, then made myself a sandwich. After setting my plate on the table, I walked over to the bag of dog food, so I wouldn't forget to feed him before I ate. When I saw that his bowl was already full, I plopped down in a chair and pulled out my notepad and pen. 'Fed Scotty' I wrote, and then left the pad open on the table where I could see it if I forgot again.

I knew there was something else I needed to do, and I stared over my empty milk glass at Scotty, hoping he could give me a clue. He stared solemnly back at me, with soft unblinking eyes, and if he knew anything, he wasn't revealing that information.

"OK pal," I said as I carried him toward the front door, pleased at having finally remembered that he needed to go out. "Be a good fella and stay in the yard."

He licked my face in reply.

I stood on the front porch in my stocking feet and wrapped my arms around myself. It was chilly day, and I'd forgotten to put on my jacket. "Be right back, Scotty," I told him as he walked around in a circle snuffling at the ground. I figured he'd appreciate the privacy anyway, but I hurried because I didn't want to take the chance that he'd wander off.

Just as I opened the closet, I heard the screeching of brakes and then a loud yelp. With my heart in my throat, I dashed through the living room and out the front door. A red pickup was parked in the middle of the street, and the driver was standing outside the truck and looking down at something.

I looked around the yard as I ran, hoping against hope that Scotty was still there, but I knew...

"This your dog?" The guy asked in a shaky voice. I looked into his pale face and I think I nodded, before looking down. Scotty was hurt. Really hurt. His little back leg was twisted, and a glimmer of bone could be seen through the dark fur. I knelt down and put my hand on his head. he looked at me then, and his eyes were glazed with what looked like terror.

I carefully lifted his small body up into my arms, and cradled him close, my heart pounding, and my mind in a state of disbelief.

"Get in the truck and I'll drive you to the vet," The man ordered, and I quickly climbed into the truck's cab. Scotty whimpered as I settled in him into my lap, and I stroked his head, and tried to reassure him. "It's gonna be OK," I whispered as I tried to avoid looking at his leg.

Scotty was rushed into surgery as soon as we arrived at the veterinarian's office, and the man gave me his number before he left and told me to let him know how things went. I nodded, and then sat down to wait. I didn't understand how this had happened, and I started thinking that what a bad idea it had been to let Scotty go the bathroom in the front yard. The more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed that Ian would instruct me to take him out there. Surely, Ian should know that it wouldn't be safe to do that.

And then I remembered Ian's earlier words. And that's how my trickster of a memory was. I'd remember things hours later sometimes. I remembered he'd said the back yard, not the front. And then I realized that out of foolish pride, I hadn't written Ian's instructions down. If Scotty died it would be my fault.

The whimper he had made in the car came back to me, and as I recalled the soft, pitiful sound, I became frantic. I wanted to call Ian and let him know what was going on, and I wanted his reassuring presence with me. But, how could I tell him what I'd done?

My lips began to tingle as I became more and more panicky, and when a voice in my head told me to run, I did. I scrambled toward the exit, and was vaguely aware of someone calling out from behind the reception desk. It didn't matter. I was too overwhelmed with the situation and what I had done to cause it, that I just quickly walked away from the clinic and my responsibility to Scotty.

I hailed a cab, and pulling out my notebook, I read off my address to him. My hands were shaking violently as I replaced the notebook in the back pocket of my Levi's, and I took a deep breath to try to calm myself.

Once inside my apartment, I sat down in the couch and tried to collect my thoughts. I knew Ian would be upset if he came home and found that Scotty and I weren't there. 'THINK!' I said harshly to myself as I tried to figure out what to do next.

I kept a list of numbers on the fridge door, and I knew Ian's work number was one of them. I knew I had to call mt step-dad and let him know that Scotty was hurt. Had to tell him what I'd done and also had to let him know where I was. I knew that, but it took all of my inner strength to dial the number.

He didn't seem to comprehend what I was telling him so I made an extreme effort to slow down. "Scotty got hit by a car, Dad, and he's at the vet clinic. I didn't know what to do so I left, but then I came home. I'm sorry," I heard my voice choke on the last few words, and I covered my mouth with my sweaty palm, feeling humiliated at the sound.

"OK, son, stay where you are and I'll go right now, and see how Scotty is. Which hospital was it?"

I wracked my brain, but I just couldn't remember. "Hold on, Dad." I looked through my notebook but couldn't find anything about it.

"I don't remember," I said in a low embarrassed tone.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Dad, are you still there?" I asked loudly.

"Yes Adam, I'm just thinking. OK, I'll check all the clinics around town. Did you tell anyone Scotty's name or your name?" His deep voice was calm and I felt very reassured about his ability to take care of things.

"Yes, I told them my name and Scotty's too."

"I'll call as soon as I know anything. You stay put, Adam and wait for my call."

"Yes sir," I whispered back.

"Write it down, Adam," he said firmly, and his tone of voice brooked no arguments.

"Write what down?"

"Write that you called Dad and he's going to see how Scotty is and that you must stay put."

I pulled out my notepad and scribbled down what he said. "I wrote it down," I told him. "I'm really sorry," I mumbled repentently.

"I know, now stay there." The authority in his voice calmed me down some, and as I put the phone on the coffee table, I told myself that my job was stay at the apartment.

I sat with my notebook open, for what seemed like hours, and worried. I told myself that even if I wasn't acting like a man anymore, Ian always would. I had to believe that Scotty would be all right too, and that Dad would find out where he was. I tried to picture the small black dog, coming home with Ian, his eyes sparkling and maybe a cast on his leg, but all I could picture were those eyes full of terror and that little whimper.

It was a long afternoon, and when the phone finally rang, I jumped. I had been sitting in the same position as when I'd hung up the phone before, and I think I may have been drowsing.

I grabbed up the phone and clicked the talk button. "Hello!" I burst out anxiously, as my heart thudded in my ears.

"Adam, it's Dad, Scotty is out of surgery and they didn't find any internal bleeding or other serious damage. They said he should be OK, even though his leg is badly broken."

My heart soared at his words. "That's so great," I said with a smile.

His voice held the same calm, gentle tone as he spoke. "Yeah, kiddo, it's great news." Then I heard a note of seriousness that I hadn't noticed before. "I'd like to come pick you, and I'd like for you to spend the night with your mom and me."

"I don't think there's any need, Dad, I'll be fine, now that-"

"Adam," he interrupted, "We need to talk about what happened today, and you left your car here anyway. I think the best thing would be for you to spend the night. I'll be over in twenty minutes. Stay put," he repeated his earlier instruction.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked jokingly, and then laughed a little, remembering how I used to ask Ian that when I was little and he'd used the same authoritative tone with me.

I waited for his returning laugh, but heard only silence across the receiver.

I furrowed my brows in confusion. "Am I in trouble, Dad?" I asked again, feeling suddenly subdued.

"I just want to know what happened today, son. I need to understand some things," he replied.

Guilt rushed over me as I remembered what had happened earlier, and I then felt a small amount of resentment at the way he'd been bossing me around since I had first called him. I pushed it away though, because I had screwed everything up, and he had rushed in to fix it. I knew I deserved the way he was reacting. Totally deserved it.

"Um...OK, I'll get a few things together and wait for you." I responded, barely above a whisper.

"I'll be right over," he said softly, and then hung up.

"Is Mom home from work yet?" I asked as I carried my gym bag into the house and set it down on the lowest step of the staircase.

"Yes, but she went to the market," he answered, and then gave me what seemed like a forced smile. "She wanted to get some steaks, since you were coming over."

"Sounds good." As I looked over at Ian, I began to shiver. Then when the image of Scotty lying in the street rushed through my mind, my legs weakened beneath me

I walked over to Ian and wrapped my arms around him. "I didn't mean for Scotty to get hurt," I rasped out, and then jumped, as one my hearing aids began to shrill in my ear. I ripped it away from my ear and flung it to the floor, hating it as a representation of what I'd become.

Dad hugged me back tightly, and kissed my cheek. "Pick that up and put it back on. You need to be able to hear me when we talk."

There was that bossiness again, and I bristled at it.

Still feeling shaky, I bent down and retrieved my hearing aid, then adjusting it a little so it wasn't squealing, I stuffed it impatiently into my ear. "I don't know why you keep ordering me around, Dad. I know I made a horrible mistake, but I'm grown, you know?" I knew I sounded petulant, and not at all grown at that moment, but I didn't care.

He nodded, and I noticed the serious, thoughtful expression on his face. He waited a long moment before speaking. "Yes, you're right. It's been a scary and exhausting day, hasn't it? But, I really think we should talk about what happened, because I've been worried about you, as well as Scotty, and if you can clarify some things for me, it'll put my mind at ease. Can we sit down and do that?"

I nodded and sat down on the sofa. He sat beside me, and I turned a little so I could see his face. His serious brown-eyes were only inches from my own, and he gazed steadily at me.

"Let me explain what happened," I said as I shifted slightly under his gaze.

He nodded, but didn't reply.

I nervously pulled at the knee of my jeans, trying to put the events of the day in the right order, and hoping not to forget anything. I took a deep, steadying breath and started. I told him how I'd let the dog into the front yard instead of the back, and that Scotty ran into the street. I told him about going to the vet, and about how I panicked and left.

He tapped my leg gently. "You just left Scotty?" There was no real judgment in his voice, only what sounded like mystification that I would actually do something like that.

I pressed my lips together and looked away, trying to remain calm through my feelings of tremendous anxiety.

"I was freaking, Dad, and there's no way you can understand how overwhelmed I was. I knew I had done something so horrible...I just-"

"Did you think of calling me before you took off?" He asked, before I had even finished my sentence.

I sighed heavily. "I couldn't do that, because I knew how worried you'd be, and...I didn't really have your number with me either. And..." I stopped and shrugged, unable to continue with my excuses.

"And what, Adam?" He calmly prodded.

"Ian, try to understand how it is with me. I did my best today to do what you said I should do. I remembered to feed Scotty, and I thought I remembered you saying to take him into the front yard. It was only later that I realized you said the back yard. I wish I could be the same person I used to be, but I'm really not. I have some problems that make it hard for me to be the same as I was, but I'm trying." I flushed at the admittance, feeling humiliated that I had told him of my weakness, and hoping he didn't see me as I saw myself. What I saw was that I couldn't be counted on to do the simplest things, and my behavior today had definitely reinforced that belief.

"Will you look at me, son?" He asked. I turned my eyes toward him, expecting to see pity on his face. What I saw was a look of steady resolve.

"I understand all of what you're telling me. Did you think that I didn't already know all the challenges you face since the accident? I know you aren't exactly the same as you were, and I don't expect you to be."

I nodded, feeling relieved. I could tell he didn't pity me, and it made a world of difference in how I felt about myself. "Thanks Dad," I said quietly.

"What I do expect," he continued, "is that you do your best to compensate for your difficulties."

"But, I..."

He held his hand up in a silencing gesture. "Do you remember that I asked you this morning if you needed to write anything down?" His voice was calm and steady as he posed his question.

I thought back, and then nodded, not really sure.

"You said you didn't need to. You said you could remember. Why did you tell me something that wasn't true?"

"I squirmed miserably. "I guess, I wanted you to think that I was capable," I reluctantly admitted, knowing that was why I told all my family and friends that I didn't need to write things down.

He smiled warmly at me. "I know that you're more than capable, but I also think you have to be honest about how things are, right now. You have to be honest with yourself, and with me," he responded, putting emphasis on the last few words.

"I know that now," I replied, feeling chided by his words.

He lightly slapped my knee. "Scotty's going to be fine, and no matter what happens, you know that I'm always here, and that I'll always love you and be proud of you. You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Dad," I sort of growled, as emotion made my throat tighten.

"Good, if you need to write that down, do it, because it's important that you remember."

I pulled my notebook out of my back pocket, and scribbled it down quickly. Then I grinned over at him.

"That's good, because until something goes into your long term memory, it's likely to be forgotten." He cleared his throat then and I looked at him questioningly.

"I think you need to be punished for not writing things down, like you knew you should, and also for running away. I want it to be crystal clear that you can't run away from things. Because, It doesn't help, and usually just makes things worse. You have to remember that, Adam. It's imperative, son."

He'd lost me at the word 'punished'. It was like he was speaking a foreign language or something, and I thought that maybe I had misunderstood him. I reached up and tapped my hearing aids to make sure they were working, and the answering ringing told me they were. "Did you say punished?" I asked in astonishment.

"Yes, I think you need to be punished." His words were clear and concise, and there was no mistaking them this time.

I stood up and began pacing around, as feelings of anger, guilt and resentment warred within me. "No!" I spat out, knowing that when he said "punished", he meant spanked, because that's all that word had ever meant when I was growing up. "I AM NOT a kid anymore." I pointed a shaky finger at him. "How would you like somebody saying you needed to be punished, just because you were in some kind of accident and couldn't remember things properly?"

Ian stood up quickly, and in one long stride, stood beside me, his face dark with anger. My finger was still pointing in the air, and he firmly pushed it downward until I was pointing at my own shoe.

"Listen," he said tersely. "I am not just 'somebody', I'm your dad, and this has nothing to do with the accident, and everything to do with your behavior today. Look me in the eye and tell me that leaving Scotty was the right thing to do, and we'll drop the subject." He shook his head before continuing. "If you can look me straight in the eye and tell me that there was no reason for you to write down my instructions this morning, that you had never forgotten anything before, then OK."

I looked at the floor and then back at him. "Yeah," I grumbled, "must be so easy for you to make these kind of judgments. You have a good memory and you can hear everything that people say, too."

He shook his head quickly. "Now are you saying that you didn't hear what I said this morning? That your hearing aids don't work?" He asked mildly.

"I hate you!" I burst out, feeling trapped by my own words, and knowing that at that moment I had nothing with which to counter his offense, I resorted to the only weapon I had, the weapon of the utterly powerless. "I hate you," I repeated in a low shaky tone, knowing I was proving just how childish I really was.

He looked stunned at my words, and for a moment the room was completely silent, as he gazed intently at me. "Do you really, Adam?" he finally asked, and I could hear the hurt in his deep voice.

"No," I mumbled, realizing that I didn't; that I could never hate Ian. "No, I don't hate you." I finally admitted reluctantly.

He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. "How many times have I punished you in your life?" He asked gently.

"I don't know." I said shortly, feeling embarrassed by the question. "Not many."

"Did I ever punish you for little things?" He asked in the same calm tone.

"No."

He lightly rested his hand on my shoulder. "You know you messed up today, don't you?" He questioned.

I nodded. I knew I would never forget what had happened today, and that I was to blame. I knew it would be etched into my memory forever.

Unwanted tears invaded the back of my eyes, and made the inside of my nose burn. I fully realized I deserved punishment, and that I was going to have to accept it.

"OK," I said gruffly.

At my single word of acknowledgment, Ian took me by the shoulder and guided me steadily to the couch. He sat down, and placed his hands on the sides of my hips and looked up at me. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary," he assured.

I looked away, not feeling reassured at all. I couldn't remember ever feeling this humiliated and afraid before a spanking, and I remembered every spanking I'd ever received, because old memories had not been affected by the accident.

His hands went up to the snap on my jeans and my hands moved reflexively to block them. "I can do it myself," I croaked out, my throat dry from fear.

"Go ahead."

I slowly unsnapped my jeans as my stomach growled, voicing it's displeasure at my impending punishment. "I'm too old for this, Dad," I tried one last time to get out of it.

"You're too old to run away when things get tough, aren't you Adam? And you're too old to deny problems."

I didn't answer, just unzipped my jeans and slid them down to my knees. "I didn't mean to leave Scotty alone," I murmured, knowing he didn't understand how panicked I had been, but knowing I shouldn't have done it anyway. I looked searchingly into Ian's eyes, wishing he could understand.

He pulled me across his lap, and I felt like a small boy again. "This won't last long," he told me as he positioned me so that my upper body was resting on the couch, and my toes were touching the carpet. I grabbed a throw pillow and held onto it.

SWAT!

I jumped as the first spank landed in the center of my boxer-clad backside, and felt my face getting hot. I could feel his left hand, holding my right hip firmly as the second smack landed hard.

I exhaled and dug my fingers into the pillow, as the third spank landed right in the center of both cheeks.

"How much longer?" I gasped out.

"Not much longer," he replied, and then I felt an extremely hard smack land just above my right thigh, making it sting terribly.

As his hand continued to land, I squirmed a little, but I also realized I could take it.

When he stopped, I heaved a sigh of relief, knowing I had gotten through it without crying out or otherwise making a fool out of myself.

When I felt his fingers tugging at the waistband of my boxers, I bucked as hard as I could in outrage. "No, Dad!" I yelled out.

He gripped me around the waist with one hand, pinning me close to him, as he pulled my boxers down to my thighs.

And then his hand slapped down onto my bare skin. Pain is one thing, I knew a lot about pain. After the accident I had been in a world of pain, and there were certain tricks you could use to help manage it. But the embarrassment of being spanked on the bare bottom, at my age, was something I just couldn't deal with.

Ian was spanking fast and hard, and I gritted my teeth, as the sting built. But, all I could think of while he swatted me--and the sound of skin hitting skin rang out through the living room--was that he could see my bare butt.

Tears leaked from my eyes, and my body jumped with each spank, but I didn't cry out.

Within a few short minutes he stopped, and by that point my bottom felt like a blazing inferno. Mercifully, he quickly pulled by boxers up over my butt, and then released his hold on me.

I couldn't look at him, as I stood up and snatched my jeans back up and fastened them. I just wanted to go home and never have to see him again.

"Sit down with me, and I'll rub your back while we talk," he offered.

"I shook my head, and then ran my palm over my running nose. "I think I'll just go home now," I told him, and then suddenly wondered where I had left my car. He had picked me up in his car, so where had I left my car? I walked over to the window, my bottom stinging with every step and looked out the living room window. My car was parked in the drive. It was then that I remembered that I had left it there that morning, when I took the dog to the vet.

"I'd rather you stay here tonight son," Ian's voice held that note of authority again. "Your mom is going to bring home some steaks, and after dinner, we can watch movies."

I turned to look at him. "Don't I have any say in what I do anymore?" I asked in disbelief. "I screwed up one time and now I don't get to make my own decisions? Is that it Ian?"

"No Adam, that's not it. You've had a traumatic day, and I just want you here with us tonight, so I know you're OK." His voice sounded sad and resigned.

I stared at him, wanting to say that he'd made the day way more traumatic than it had to be by punishing me, but I didn't.

"Please sit down, Adam. I really would like to talk about things."

Exhausted, I complied. Wincing a little, I sat beside him and he rubbed my back. It was a soothing after-spanking ritual that we'd done since I was little, and after a little while I began to relax and accept the fact that he still cared about me.

We talked then, about ways I could keep tabs on the things I needed to remember. We planned on going to the office supply store the next morning, and get color coded notebooks for different things. It was just one small part of the plans we made, but it seemed like a good idea to me.

"But you have to use the notebooks," Ian said as he tousled my hair. "You have to admit that you need tools to help you out."

He smiled and gently squeezed the back of my neck. "And the first thing you're going to write down in your new notebook?" he questioned with a soft smile.

"Not to run away when things go wrong, and to admit that I can't always remember stuff," I replied.

"You got it pal!"

"I think I'll remember that anyway, Dad," I said with some lingering resentment over the earlier spanking.

His smile was replaced by a serious look. "I know you're angry that I spanked you, and I knew at the time I decided, that you might not like me much afterwards." He nodded slowly, and then looked away. "It wasn't an easy choice to make, and if I was just trying to win a popularity contest with you, I wouldn't have made the decision to do it." He pressed his lips together and I could tell he was fighting back emotion. "But I believed it was the right thing to do, for your sake, and so I couldn't take the easy way out. Not on something this important, because you are too important to me for that."

"You're important to me too," I told him, remembering how he'd been there night and day at the hospital when I'd been injured. What if he had bailed out on me at that time? What if he'd panicked when I'd needed him there? I swore to myself that I'd never run away from things again.

"What are you writing?" My dad asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

I read out what I'd written.

He waited until we were stopped at a red light, before turning toward me and lightly cuffing my head.

"Hey!" I burst out with a laugh. "What was that for?"

"What was the very first thing you were supposed to write down, Adam?"

I thought about it, but I couldn't remember.

"I forgot," I admitted.

"Not to run away from things, and?" he questioned patiently.

"And to write everything down so I don't forget?" At that moment Scotty let out a bark, and I laughed.

"OK, OK," I said as I scribbled down what I was supposed to. "You don't both have to gang up on me!"

Copyright © 2004 Tris