Paddled By Another Student


by Jerrycross

I went to a rural high school. Very small budget and very tight, even though it was a relatively new building (only 4 years old). There was no budget for "after school detentions" or even "in school detentions". Money was so tight that all study halls were in the cafeteria to minimize the number of teachers needed to tend to the study halls. They even used senior class members as monitors. For this reason, the paddle was the foremost method of discipline. The closest thing to a detention was spending the rest of the period in the Principal's office if you got kicked out of class.

There were two kinds of punishment in school. The first was the "Official" which resulted in a "white slip" being added to your student file. It explained the infraction and the resolution. A yellow "paddle slip" would be stapled to it if that had been the end result – you were given the yellow slip to take to the Principal's office after a paddling, or to get a paddling. The second punishment was the "unofficial", which was something you worked out privately with the teacher or coach and there was no white slip. If you were sent to the principal or assistant principal it was automatically an "official punishment". If it was between you and the teacher, it was "unofficial" unless he or she reported it to the office. "Official punishments" were always reported to the parents (after the punishment).

There were three courses of study you could choose your freshman year; Academic, Vocational, or Vocational Agriculture. Once you chose you were pretty much locked in. I took Academic and that I meant I had to take a foreign language which I had absolutely no ability for. We had only two to choose from, Spanish or French. I took Spanish. I squeaked through the first year with a "B", so I decided to take Spanish II my sophomore year instead of first year French. It was harder than I imagined and I let it slide to keep my grades up in my other classes. I got a "B" on the first mid-term, but a "D" on the second. Figuring in homework and quiz grades, I would have to get a "B" on an optional 20 point "extra credit report" to get a "C" on my report card for the term. A "C" was the lowest grade I could get and not get my butt warmed at home on grade card day.

I fluffed together an extra credit report on the Mexican economy and it's impact on the average family and handed it in. When the Spanish teacher handed it back it had a big, red "F" on it. I was stunned. He had Library Duty the next period after class and I had study hall, so I got a Library Pass to go talk to him about it. When I went in, he was sitting and talking quietly to his senior (class) assistant. The senior's name was Dave and he was a good friend and a great guy. He was the backup quarterback on the football team, played varsity basketball, and had a 3.89 grade average. I explained the problem and Mr. Sanchez said that it was the most "vacuous" paper he had ever read. That it had plenty of facts, but no real understanding of the material, and that he wasted his time reading it. I said I could do another, but he said that I didn't have time to do it right, he didn't have time to grade it, and it was a one shot deal anyway. He said my second mid-term looked as though I hadn't studied and I told him the truth, I hadn't. I had written down the wrong day for the test, Thursday instead of Tuesday, and that I had taken it cold.

He thought for a few moments, looked at Dave and said, "Perhaps we can come to an unofficial arrangement." He thought a bit longer and said, "This is the deal. For each swat you take, I'll raise the grade 1 point. 1 swat, D-; 2 swats, D; 3 swats, D+. If you take all 12, you'll get an A+. And, if you take all 12, you can take 6 more and I'll let you take the mid-term again tomorrow with the other class. It's the same material but a different test." I asked when he wanted to do it and he said, "Right now, but I can't leave the Library, so Dave can do it if you and he agree." I looked at Dave and he shrugged and said, "OK with me." I said, "OK with me, too." Mr. Sanchez reached for his jacket, took out his room keys, and told us to go to his homeroom and take care of it. As we started out of the Library, he called Dave back and spoke to him for a minute while I waited in the hall. Dave came out and we started on that long trek to the other end of the building to Mr. Sanchez's homeroom. That end of the building was empty during that part of the day, so there would be no accidental "audience". While we were walking I thought in the back of my mind that this wouldn't be so bad. He's a friend, he'll go easier on me. Of course I had forgotten that, a) Dave might think he had to live up to the responsibility, b) that he had been the sergeant-at-arms of the Key Club for 3 years and therefore might have gotten very good at paddling since he did it about once a week during the school year, and c) as senior assistant, he might think I deserved it. When we got to the room, Dave unlocked the door, we went in, Dave locked the door from the inside, and then he explained what he had been told. Mr. Sanchez told him that he was to discuss this with no one, we had to report back to him within 20 minutes (or ten minutes before class change), and if it looked as though he had gone easy on me, he would get double what I got from him, and he definitely would not go easy on him. GULP!

Dave opened the closet and brought out one of the "standard" paddles. There were actually two standard paddles. The first was made from the oak slats from the skids that the books were shipped on at the beginning of the school year. The industrial arts class made them into paddles for the school year. They were 20" by 3" by a little less than 3 4" thick. The second paddle was made from very solid, dense mahogany which were from the slats on the skids on which the supplies arrived. These paddles, also made in shop class, were 24" by 4" by a little wider than 3 8" thick. Dave chose the mahogany one. I assume he chose a standard so he couldn't be accused of trying to go easy on me.

He looked at me and became very matter of fact. "Empty your back pockets, pull your shirts out of your waistband and raise them up over your shoulders, step up to the end of the desk, spread your feet a shoulder width apart, bend over the desk and get a firm grasp on the sides of the desk." I did as I was told. "You can stop any time you want just by saying, "Please stop, sir" and that will end it. Otherwise we continue for the full 12. You can then decide if you want the additional 6, but we have only 15 minutes to complete this and report to Mr. Sanchez. Do you understand?" I managed to answer "Yes, sir." (I thought the "sir" might help at this point.) Dave said, "OK. Let's get started."

The first swat came almost immediately. It landed with that sharp "CRACK!" that signifies a perfectly landed, stinging swat. He had placed it squarely across the part of my butt that contacts a chair; you know, the "sit spot". It stung like all hell and my head snapped up. Just as the sting started to spread into general pain, the second swat landed right across the crown of my butt. YEOUCH! I think I said that in my head, but it might have been out loud . . .

The third swat landed midway between the first two and it stung more than the previous two. The tears welled up in my eyes and I was choking them back. The fourth swat landed square across the crown of my butt again, and the fifth and sixth squarely across the lower half of my butt. My whole rump was on fire and by now the tears were flowing. These six swats took about 20 to 30 seconds. Dave stepped back and said, "All right, from this point forward when you're ready for the next swat, say `NEXT' and I'll give it to you. But remember, we have only 15 minutes, and the longer you wait the more each swat will hurt. Understand?" I mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Yes, sir", stared at the wall in front of me and sheepishly said, "next". CRACK! . . . . . "next". CRACK! . . . . . . . . "next". CRACK! It took almost 2 minutes for the final six and I was really hurting and crying.

Dave let me regain some composure than asked, "Do you want the additional 6?" I really had to think it over, even tough I really needed to retake the mid-term. It was obvious he was going to do his duty and I was going to hurt a lot when this was over, but I answered "Yes, sir." He walked over to the closet and took out the OTHER paddle, and said, "OK. For this set, lie down on the desk top, feet flat on the floor and spread, reach up the sides as far as you can and grab hold tight. If you get out of position the swat doesn't count, I'll say `Another' and add that to the six. So stay in position. Understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand . . . ." THWACK! No warning, no asking, just WHAM! My butt was just one complete lump of pain. It took less than 10 seconds for the final set of six. I was crying out loud by then. I raised up, held my butt and stared at the wall.

As soon as I was calm again, Dave said "Tuck in your shirt, you don't want to get busted on the way back to the Library!" No kidding, I couldn't have taken another swat at that point. We stopped at the men's room on the way back to the Library so I could wash my face and look at my backside in the mirror. It was cherry red. Dave said it looked like glowing embers. I said, "Hit the lights, let's see if you're right."

We laughed and I took that opportunity to shake his hand and thank him.

P. S. I got an "A-" on the mid-term and a "B" for the term. And I never forgot this unofficial lesson. Dave and I remained friends the rest of the year and no one ever found out about the paddling he gave me.


More stories by Jerrycross