My kid sister was generally subject to different rules than the boys, and that went to discipline situations as well. She was never spanked, until one time when it was assuredly going to happen. I no longer remember the transgression, as my parents saw it, that was going to lead to the spanking. I just remember my dad pulling off his belt and dragging my sister by her arm upstairs where the spankings were administered. I swear I use to see that belt coming out of the loops on his pants in slow motion when he would draw that thing.
I remember the terrified look on my sisters face. My brothers and I never had that look that I recall, we being resigned to the matter. I also remember her crying, no actually wailing in fear. Again we boys would not give him the satisfaction of crying before during or after. Stoicism was the rule. At any rate as he was dragging her to her fate my mother called out up the stairs after him to be careful not to hit her legs because she had to wear a dress to school the next day. That ##### was not concerned that her daughter was about to get belted until welts arose, but was only worried about appearances in the community should she go out with evidence of a spanking/whipping. I could not believe it. I saw red. I ran up the stairs and surprised my dad from behind and grabbed the belt and ran. There was really no where to go, but I ran until trapped. Of course to catch me he let my sister go. We had a tug of war over the belt. He won, I was 10 or 11. Well I got a whipping that night, buckle end. I remember saying during the whipping "#### You! I ####### hate you!" and "whip me all you want #######, you will never make me cry." He did, whip me that is, my profanity having enraged him. Profanity was not allowed in our house. I refused to cry out or to sniffle or simper, but I am certain my eyes teared. I remember afterwards tasting blood and my tongue bleeding, though I do not recall biting it.
In all the commotion my parents forgot to give my sister her spanking. I remember her coming into my room and thanking me in the middle of the night. I remember waking the next morning, the bed sheets stuck to my wounds. My mother angry the sheets were a mess, and angry that I could not walk well enough for me to go to school.