Chad and I were the best of friends all the way through elementary school, through junior high school, and now in high school. The schoolhouse in rural 1960s South Carolina believed in discipline, and that discipline was usually spelled with a paddle - even in high school. However, the paddle was not a problem for either Chad or myself. We never got into trouble. In fact, we had never gone to the "office" through ten years of schooling. That was something to brag about, or so we thought. Our classmates had different ideas.
When it came time to nominate senior superlatives at the end of the junior year for the yearbook next year, our classmates created a new category. There was the usual "best Dressed," "Most Intelligent," "Most Athletic," and all those usual number one titles bestowed upon the elect senior group. But in this particular year, a new category was created and awarded to Chad and me. This new title was to appear in the yearbook with our pictures. Forever we would be known as "Most Pussiest." Our classmates decided we needed that superlative title because we were the only boys in the entire class who had never been paddled at school. Needless to say, neither Chad or myself wanted that title and we certainly didn't want it in the yearbook for all posterity to laugh at.
As we drove to school one morning, Chad said that he had an idea that would solve our "pussy problem." Even though I was not totally charmed by the idea, I agreed for lack of a better idea. During one of the class exchanges Chad and I would stage a fake fight between ourselves. The school never tolerated fighting. Fighters were automatically disciplined with the paddle. No questions asked.
As best I recall, the bell rang to dismiss second period and go to third period class. Chad came toward my locker, and whispered in my ear, "Let's do it." He leveled the first punch, and I followed with one. Before we knew it, we were on the floor with a crowd of onlookers egging us on. If I say so myself, our fight would put present-day wrestling to shame. It was very real looking. In fact, we learned weeks later that everyone thought we really were fighting. They had no clue the whole thing was staged to avoid that God-awful title.
As planned, one of the teachers serving as hall monitor stepped in, yakned us by the arms, and led us to "the office." I couldn't believe I was sitting in the office, knowing what was about happen. But what Chad said next surprised me even more. In a rather matter-of-fact voice, Chad said, "After today I will never be called pussy again." I had no idea what he meant, but I was soon to discover, much to by disbelief.
After we sat for the usual "cooling off" period following a fight, the principal called us into his chambers. I felt like I was going to a judge's execution of sorts. The principal gave the usual talk about the better ways of solving personal problems and then proceeded to open his desk drawer, pulling out a paddle. I knew the time had come.
"Who's first?" asked the pricipal. Chad just stood up like so kind of superman, looked over at me and winked, and walked straight to the desk to assume the position. We had enough friends to get paddled that we knew how to assume the position. I didn't understand why Chad winked at me, but at that moment everything was kinda' crazy in my mind. I soon learned why he winked.
Mr. Carlton, the principal, administered the first lick. The noise rattled the windows. Then came the second lick. Chad stood there motionless without saying a word or giving a moan. The licks didn't seem too bad, even though I knew they hurt. Chad took the next three licks as he had the first two. After the fifth lick, Mr. Carlton turned Chad around and said, "Have you learned your lesson?" What happened next took me by surprise. Chad began laughing right in the principal's face. I thought Chad had lost his marbles. The principal became infuriated, ordering Chad to assume the position for five more licks. Those five came hard and fast. I knew Chad was about to die, but he just turned around and said, "I ain't felt nothing yet. I thought you had a swing." I almost fainted. As you can imagine, Mr. Carlton at that point was at the point of volcanic eruption. "Let's see what you think about these five, Mr. Smart Mouth!" bellowed the angry school head. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Oh, my God, I thought, Chad will be in the hospital and Mr. Carlton will be in prison. Chad turned around after the last whack, winked at Mr. Carlton, and said, "Thank you."
And now to me. I just took my five and got the hell out of there. When we got into the hallway, I turned to Chad and said, "What in the hell are you thinking about?" His reply was classic: "You just tell everybody what happened in there and we'll never have to worry about 'Most Pussiest' ever again!"
Guess what? We were chosen "Most Likely to Succeed." We sure succeed in that stupid plan. To this day, everyone thinks that Chad really thought the paddling was funny. By the way, Chad soaked his ass for days.