Seeing this video awoke a memory in me.

My father practiced corporal punishment. Never took it further than an open-handed swat on the butt, which was tame compared to what his own dad did to him, but even as a kid, it felt humiliating and violating to me in a way that other punishments didn’t.

One day, when I was… 12, I think? I was just entering puberty, and my dad’s age was catching up to him. He went in to swat me on the butt as usual, and I just… didn’t let him. As soon as he grabbed my wrist to pull me into position, I twisted away from him and pulled free. He tried again, but I dodged his hand, then took several steps back. I didn’t raise my hands or anything, didn’t do anything threatening, but made it clear that he’d have to chase me down and wrestle me to the ground if he wanted to spank me.

He looked really pissed for a moment, but then just… stopped. Told me to do the thing that my failure to do had prompted the spanking attempt (I don’t remember what it was), and I did. Never spoke of it. Never tried to spank me again. There was just this unspoken recognition between us that the status quo had forever changed.