I was not raised in a house that used a time-out bench. In my youth parents still punished our misbehaving by sending us out to cut a switch or resort to the old stand by of the razor strap to wallop our behind.
By the time my child came along, schools were teaching their students to call family services if a parent resorted to that type of punishment so the time-out corner was born.
This bench was built by my brother-in-law and given as a gift to his brother, who lived with me and my first husband until he moved to a nursing home. The bench stayed with us. By then, my grandson had joined our household and he spent many a time-out on this bench. He is now fourteen and almost six feet tall and I recently passed this bench along to him. It will store his CD's until he has children in need of a time-out.
This bench sits in the atrium of the Butterfly House in St. Louis.
The above two shots are the halves of a bench that sits in the waiting area of a Mexican Restaurant in Omaha we like to visit when we go to see my sister.
This bench is located in a small park of a busy tourist area of Eureka Springs, Arkansas. It provided a welcome rest for our weary feet during our last visit there.
From time-outs to weary feet, how, would we survive without a Bench.