Why Does Punishment Work?
Short stories from my childhood that tell you why punishment works — based on a true story
The following piece is from the Stories for Self-Improvement series where I develop short stories to inspire you. This particular piece focuses on accountability and the role punishment takes in it.
“Why was it when I had atoned for my sins that I felt better? And freer? As if the weight of the world had lifted off my shoulders?”
Punishment is funny and tricky, but oftentimes people are opposed to using it as a form of treatment, even if it brings order to the chaos. Since change is constant, the same should apply to modern punishment and laws. But for it to work properly, the rules we apply should be fair for all. Humans are pretty reasonable animals, even other animals such as capuchin apes understand fairness — as seen in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=meiU6TxysCg. The right amount of punishment bring fairness into our world and it’s very important during this time of injustice by the police or the rich.
I was 7 years old when I first stepped into a Petland Discounts. It was my first time in a pet store and it was eye opening. There was lots to do and such little time, but I only had 20 mins to experience it all. I wasn’t familiar with this type of pressure — the thoughts running in my mind felt wrong, but I needed to capture this moment in a bottle. At this point, I had a vague idea of punishment but needed a reminder every now and then and today was no exception. As I was browsing around the store, my eyes narrowed in on a rubber ball — bright neon green with a smooth exterior and plastic finish, the bird pattern on the outside called out to me. I had 10 mins left and in a panic, I shoved the bouncy ball into my pocket.
Those last 10 mins flew by very quick and before I knew it, I was home…with my new toy. I rushed into my room to play and didn’t even bother to reflect on my crime — I knew it was wrong but in order to browse the store a bit more, this was the most optimal solution I came up with. The high of stealing didn’t even last long, I was onto the next toy within another 10 mins but my Mom noticed the ball and asked me about it.
“What’s this? Where did you get this?”
“Um Ma…I found it”
“Where did you find it? This looks like the one at the store, did you get it there?”
“MAAA…nooo, my friend gave it to me”
“Now your friend gave it to you huh? I thought you found it? I saw this same one at the store, did I raise you to steal?”
I broke down, her interrogation was quick and brutal and it left me speechless. I didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, it was one small ball out of a million little balls — why was she making this such a big deal? The ball was only like 50 cents, not even that expensive. I pleaded with the above points, but she was adamant. I had to return the ball and we walked 20 mins back to the store to do it. Not only to return the ball, but to apologize. This was the hardest part, owning up to my mistake and taking accountability. I just wanted it to stop. I cried and cried and it got me nowhere. My Mom stood her ground and made me apologize. I love her for that. I learned a valuable lesson that day and it was taught at home. What happens when these lessons aren’t taught at home? When the family isn’t lower middle class but from the upper middle? What would happen if my Mom purchased the ball instead of forcing me to return it? Would I learn the same lesson then?
Fast forward 7 more years and I sat, terrified, in my junior high school, as the new kid on the block. I was an angst teenager with no friends, in a strange environment. I didn’t like it, I had to start all over and that felt depressing. As the year when on, I was bullied, made fake friends and got into many fights and at a certain point, decided to start cutting school. It wasn’t worth it, all the chaos I had to deal with and by myself no less. I knew it was wrong, but I needed to be reminded again and this time it would be from school.
My routine was simple: get ready for school, go to school, turn back around and go back home. I did this for an entire month, no one at home knew. I loved binge watching TV — watching all my favorites in order until I needed to dress up and pretend I just came back from school. One day I was lounging on the couch when I heard a knock on the door. I froze up, who could it be? It wasn’t the mailman as we have mailboxes downstairs in our apartment complex. Then another knock.
“Hello? Mrs.Key? Is anyone home? This is Margaret from your son’s school and I’m very concerned about him.”
I sat there in complete silence and in shock. I didn’t plan this part, the part where I would get caught, where there would be consequences to my actions. My heart started racing as she continued.
“Hmm, I guess no one is home.” she mumbled to herself and slipped a letter underneath the door and went on her way.
I let out a big sigh. Now relieved, I jumped towards the letter and ripped it open. I couldn’t believe what I was reading, it said that it would be left back a grade if I continued to skip school. My shoulders tightened and a dark cloud loomed over me, what was I supposed to do now? I only did this because I felt unwelcome at school. It didn’t matter, rules were rules. They were put there to be followed and enforced. All of us are born into a society that follows certain rules that are agreed upon by everyone— but shouldn’t there be exceptions to these rules? For when the conditions don’t apply? What about little ol’ friendless me?
I felt terrified inside, not only did I have to go back to school but I had to tell my parents the truth. I wish I could avoid all of this, but my parents needed to sign off the letter and the school even scheduled a meeting with them. I tried to calm down to look at the silver lining, I had a second chance at this — maybe I could turn it around.
I planned the perfect strategy. My birthday was only a few days away and that’s when I would tell them. They wouldn’t be able to punish me, time was in my favor. It worked like a charm, I played it coy and I told them I didn’t understand why the school was saying all of these absurd things about me. My mom knew the very second I told her but pretended not to, to secure her power over me since today was a special day — scolding me would only ruin the day and you know I was ready with my crocodile tears.
She met with the principal the next day and when she came back, she was oddly very quiet.
“Ma…what did they say?”
“…”
“Ma please tell me I don’t want to be left back!”
“Did you skip school all those days?”
“Um…yeah I did but I promise I’ll go! Whatever it takes, please Ma! Tell me what they said!”
And this is when the school and my mom laid the hammer down on me. What proceeded next was me going to school every single day and begging teachers to pass me. It was bad, like literal begging and the teachers enjoyed every bit of it. They piled so much work on me, everything I missed in the last 3 months had to be completed within 2 weeks. There were no days off and no more playtime, if I wanted to survive — this had to be done and I did it.
This was a turning point in my life, first time I really understood the concept of punishment and why it was so useful. But the punishment had to be fair, what if I was never given a second chance? What if they lacked compassion and failed me, shaming and forcing me to swallow my pride in the same room with the same teachers from the prior year?
I had my parents to guide me. I had a school that showed me compassion. The rules worked in my favor, with a little discipline I learned the most invaluable lessons in life. What would happen if the time didn’t fit the crime? What if the rules were so unbearably unfair? What if there wasn’t a lesson to be taught but a punishment to be gained? I’ve always been an empathetic person because of these experiences in my life and I know firsthand when there’s a lack of fairness, it breeds contempt and disappointment. You feel like an outsider, not wanting to deal with society because it doesn’t care about you. The fact is the BLM movement is based on unfair treatment by the police and this affects all of us. Just ask yourself this, do you want to be treated unfairly and shown a lack of compassion? I know I don’t.
