Punishment.

I make lots of mistakes, all sorts of mistakes. I forget what to do and use the wrong fork or talk with my mouth full. Often I am told that I have too much food on my fork and I must cut it smaller. Sometimes I spill gravy on the tablecloth. At the table, Number 3 sees everything and there is always a punishment. The punishment is always the same. I am sent away from the table to the corner of the room where I have to face the wall whilst standing on one leg. This is hard to do because I am frightened and because I don’t know how long I have to stay like this. From time to time I wobble and Number 3 shouts at me to keep my leg off of the ground. I am crying and he shouts at me to be quiet. I can’t see him shouting as I’m not allowed to turn my head. I can feel my buttocks clenching through terror .I’m afraid he will beat me but he doesn’t, he just carries on eating but I know he’s watching because if I wobble or cry he shouts without warning. When Number 3 thinks I have had enough punishment I am ordered back to the table where I have to continue my meal as if nothing has happened. I am told to eat properly and sit up straight. I find it hard to swallow my food because it has gone cold and I’m so frightened.
Mother says nothing when I am being punished by Number 3 and when I am allowed to return to the table she remains silent towards me as she continues to enjoy herself by chatting and entertaining Number 3 as if nothing has happened.
As child I have no idea that years later, when I am an adult, people who meet me will assume that I come from a privileged background due to my manners.