When the door opened - I had thought it was going to take forever and was standing on the front step trembling - there was Rick, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and gazing blearily out into the night. Only when his eyes happened upon the two police officers that stood on either side of me did his face suddenly sharpen into alertness.
"Officers. . .?" he began. "What can I do for you?"
I swallowed.
"Is this your son, Mr. Nevard?"
"My adoptive son, yes. Curtis. Is there a problem?"
"Well-" the younger officer cleared his throat, looking down at me. "I'm sorry to have to wake you, Mr. Nevard. But two hours ago, your son was caught outside the high school with two other boys. . . it seems that they were defacing school property."
"Graffiti?" Rick asked quietly.
"Yes, sir. All of the boys had spray cans. The other two ran when we pulled into the parking lot. But your son was taken into custody. We brought him into the station - it's just procedure - and we were told we could release him into your custody pending a juvenile court appearance. . . with your permission."
I stood there silently, feeling my face pale, watching Rick's jaw tighten. Oh, man, was I in for it this time. I'd already been paddled last week for skipping school, half an hour over Rick's knee with his hairbrush, and had I thought that had been bad? Police. Court. I knew Rick, and I knew he wouldn't abide any of that _s_h_i_t_.
"Is there anything else I should know?" Rick said, moving to put one of his hands on my shoulder.
"No, sir," the other officer said politely. "As Curtis is only fifteen, the charges aren't likely to be that serious. But I would expect restitution and probably several weeks of community service."
Rick nodded, glancing and smiling at both officers before moving to pull me inside the house. "Thank you very much, officers. I can assure you that this behavior will not be repeated."
Cold shock in my stomach.
After the door had closed and I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, feeling vulnerable and frightened and ashamed, I turned to find Rick watching me, arms folded.
"Rick. . ." I began. "Listen. . . "
"To what?" he returned angrily. "More excuses? First you decide that you're going to set your own schedule of when you do and don't go to school, then you get *suspended*, and now - to top it all off - the police bring you home at one o'clock in the morning! The police! What did you think you were doing?"
I mumbled something under my breath.
"What was that, Curtis?"
"I wasn't thinking," I admitted in a sulking tone.
"_d_a_m_n_ right you weren't thinking. But you will." Rick sighed, looking at me. "I'm not going to punish you tonight. You're going to have the rest of the evening to think about how irresponsible you've been acting."
"Rick. . . "
"Don't "Rick" me!" He shouted. "You not only broke my rules, you broke the law! You're to go upstairs and get yourself into bed right this minute, and we'll discuss this in the morning. I don't want any more argument from you tonight! I'm tired as hell, but one more word out of you and I'm going to get the hairbrush. And I promise you it'll be nothing like last time. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir." I hung my head, feeling my stomach crawl and the now-familiar cringe of anticipation in my butt. Did I think I was going to escape a whipping?
"Then get upstairs."
I turned away and began to slink upstairs toward the bedroom, my face red. Halfway up I paused and said, "Rick?"
"What, Curtis?"
"I'm sorry."
He nodded. "Maybe you are. But you still have a hard lesson to learn, and I don't want to talk about it tonight. You'll be sorry tomorrow."
End of discussion. I took the hint, climbing to the bedroom and slipping out of my jeans and under the covers as quietly as I could. As tired as I was, sleep was a long time coming - my mind kept returning to the punishment Rick had promised me. Why did I have to go along with those guys, anyway? Why did it have to be me that got caught? I lay there brooding over the injustice of it. Now I was going to get spanked - and hard - for something that hadn't even been my idea. They should all be getting it too, I thought, fuming. I turned these things over and over in my mind, and before I knew it I'd drifted off to sleep.
"Curtis."
"Mmm." I rolled over, burying myself deeper under the covers. I had a vague stirring in my stomach, a feeling that there was something I was forgetting, but I was tired and the bed was inviting.
"Curtis, get up. You have some things to do today."
Rick! My eyes shot open and I sat up in bed like a shot, rubbing my eyes. Rick was sitting at the end of my bed, fully dressed and shaved, a large paper bag near his feet.
"What time is it?" I grumbled, tugging at my tousled hair and looking over at him.
"Nine o'clock." Rick stood up and walked to the head of the bed, crouching down so as to be at eye level with me. "And you're going to get up now. You have some things to take care of this morning."
"Rick, please!" I begged, hoping to at least stall him long enough to explain my side of the story. "Don't punish me first thing in the morning, please! Look, it wasn't even my idea. Joey thought it would be macho to go and spray-paint the gym walls, and I was the youngest one, so. . ."
"Enough, Curtis." He shook his head. "I don't want to hear it. How old are you?"
"Rick. . ."
"How old."
"Fifteen," I answered finally, feeling tears start in my eyes.
"Old enough to make your own decisions?"
"Yes. . . yes, sir. I guess."
"No, you don't guess. You know. You had every opportunity to say no to those boys, Curtis, and you *chose* to go ahead and join in. You know you could have called me for a ride home if you didn't like what they were up to, and you know that being "macho" or "cool" is absolutely no excuse for breaking the law. Not in this house. Do you understand?"
He had me. "Yes, sir."
"You need to learn how to take responsibility for your own actions, not excuse them away or blame them on someone else. No one is in control of Curtis but Curtis. And because you were the one who broke the rules, you are going to be punished. I think that maybe I'm not getting through to you."
"You are, you are!" I cried, suddenly scared. "Rick, I'm sorry, I promise, it'll never happen again, I won't even hang around with those boys anymore!"
"You're right," Rick said calmly, "You won't. But you're still going to be whipped. I'm going to make sure you remember how serious this is." He reached into the brown paper bag and brought out several items, which he laid on the bed. Sandpaper. . . varnish. . . a carving knife. . . and a chunk of wood that looked suspiciously like. . .
"Since you seem to be so artistic and good with your hands, Curtis," he began, "I'm going to give you a project." He hefted the piece of wood - about 12" long with a clearly defined handle - in one hand. "You're going to finish this paddle for me. I mean sanded, polished, and varnished. I'm giving you an hour and fifteen minutes to work on it, and then I'm coming back upstairs to check your progress."
"Rick. . . that's. . . I mean. . ." I couldn't believe it.
"No arguments, son." He looked me in the eye. "For the next hour and a quarter, you're going to be thinking of nothing else except this paddle. How it looks, how it feels, and particularly, what it's going to be used for. While you're working on it, I want you to be looking back on your behavior, and the consequences it gets you."
He stood up. "If you're goofing off when I come back up, Curtis, you're going to get the hairbrush *and* the strap, and then I'll give you twenty with the paddle, finished or not. is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and one more thing." Rick paused on his way to the stairs. "You're not to put your jeans on until I say you can. I want you to stay in your underwear so that you remember why you're doing this, and what you've got coming. Understood?"
"Yes, Dad." I couldn't believe it! My face was burning. Rick was right - for the next hour I wouldn't be able to think about anything else except my impending thrashing. The paddle in my hands would make sure of that. And I couldn't afford to fool around - the paddle would be bad, but a trip over Rick's knee while he spanked me with the hairbrush, and *then* a session bent over the bed for the strap, were too much to bear.
Rick went downstairs, and I set to work. It wasn't hard, sanding the edges of the paddle, and while I worked my mind was racing. I hadn't really wanted to go on a graffiti run with my friends - I'd actually thought it was a stupid idea - but they'd harassed me and called me chicken until I gave in. And where had it gotten me? In trouble with Rick, that was for sure, and in trouble with the cops - and maybe a permanent record! I was embarrassed and guilty, and I even felt tears starting to form behind my eyes. How dumb! And everyone at school would know I'd gotten busted.
I sanded and sanded, shaving off big chunks with the knife, acutely aware with every action just what the implement in my hands was going to be doing in less than an hour. With every passing minute my stomach clenched tighter, and my butt throbbed in anticipation. I had a fleeting thought of trying to pad my underwear, and then dismissed it. What good would it do? Rick would see it for sure, and then I'd get it worse. . . I resigned myself to what I had coming.
I had just finished applying the quick-dry coat of varnish to the paddle - sleek-looking now, with holes Rick had already drilled - and was looking at the dark cherry finish, when I heard Rick's footsteps coming up the stairs.
"Time's up, Curtis." He came over to my side of the bed. "Let's see the handiwork."
I held up the paddle for his examination, swallowing. He took it, turning it over in his hands, and after a few moments he nodded with a small smile.
"Not bad, son," he said, not unkindly. "You do actually have real talent with your hands." Picking up the paddle and stepping back, he looked me up and down. "Did you think about your behavior?"
I nodded.
"And?"
"I-" I paused, flushing, feeling oddly exposed in my t-shirt and briefs. "I screwed up, Rick. It was my fault. I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry."
"Sorry you got caught?"
"No!" I looked up quickly. "I mean, I was at first. But I really messed up. I wasn't thinking, and I could have screwed things up big-time. I. . . I deserve to be punished."
"Why?"
My throat was dry. "I-I broke your rules. I broke the law. I disobeyed you."
Rick nodded. "All right, Curtis. Let's go downstairs. Get yourself into the den."
I scurried downstairs in my underwear, feeling all of ten years old, and went into the small space that served Rick as a den and office. His desk was in there, as were several soft wheeled chairs that could swivel between the desk and the bookcase. Rick followed me, closing the door behind us.
"You know the routine, Curtis," he said gently. "Bend over the chair."
Gingerly I lay down across the seat of the desk chair. Unlike other chairs we had in our house, this one had a high, wide seat with a swiveling base, and if I lay down on it with my stomach on the seat, my butt was up and exposed over the edge, my arms dangling down to grip the wheeled legs. If I was in serious trouble, I always had to lay across the chair rather than bending over it, because the angle made it impossible for me to clench my butt against a whipping.
After a few moments, I felt Rick's hands at the waistband of my briefs, and he pulled them down to my knees, leaving my ass bare. I couldn't see him from where I lay, but I grabbed the chair legs and gritted my teeth.
WHACK! The first stroke of the paddle cracked across my butt, and I cried out in spite of myself. Rick was swinging it hard.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
By now I was already crying, my knuckles white on the chair legs, squirming to try to avoid the force of the blows. But they kept landing hard across both cheeks, burning and stinging worse than Rick's hairbrush ever did.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! "Please Rick!" WHACK! "No more!" WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
"Please stop!"
WHACK! WHACK!
"Please!"
WHACK! The paddle came down again and again across my bare butt, seemingly harder each time. When I bucked up off the seat of the chair, Rick simply put one hand on my back and continued paddling me.
WHACK! WHACK! I was sobbing now.
WHACK! WHACK! "Rick. . . _s_h_i_t_. . . that HURTS!"
I was instantly mortified. "No. . . I didn't mean. . . it just slipped out. . ."
"You know-" WHACK! -"how I feel about profanity-" WHACK! - "Curtis. You've just earned three extra strokes. . ."
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "That takes care of the S. . ."
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "H. . ."
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "I. . ."
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! "T. . . "
I was sobbing and begging Rick to stop, to please not spank me anymore, that I'd obey and be good and never break the rules again. I thought he'd stop, that he had to stop, but the paddle kept on landing across my ass.
WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK!
"Are you going to break the law again, Curtis?"
"No!" WHACK! "No, I swear!" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
"Are you going to disobey me?" WHACK!
"NO SIR!!" I howled, tears streaming down my cheeks. Both my hands were gripping the chair legs so tightly I thought they'd crack.
WHACK! WHACK! "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Finally, the blows stopped landing and I lay there, crying, only aware of the burning in my butt.
"Stand up, son."
I did, my eyes red and swollen, and looked at him.
"Have you learned your lesson, Curtis?"
"Y-yes s-sir," I sniffled. "I'm sorry."
He nodded. "Accepted. Now. You may pull up your underwear, but you're not to get dressed at least until this evening. I want you to have some time to think about the consequences of your behavior."
I nodded silently.
"I hate to do this to you, son, but there comes a time when you have to learn to take responsibility for your own actions. You're a good kid, Curtis, and I don't want to see you ruin your life because you don't think before you act." He smiled. "You can go upstairs, but no TV, no video games and no phone calls until this evening. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
As I made my way out of the den, Rick hugged me.
I couldn't sit down for a week after that paddling, and Rick was right - I never repeated that particular behavior! When the guys jeered me in the shower the next day about the welts on my butt, I just ignored them and got the hell out of there. The court went easy on me - being as how I was a first-time offender - and I wound up with six months' probation and, of course, had to clean the graffiti off the high school walls. But in spite of all the trouble I had gotten into - and continued to get into - that was my last ever brush with the law.