My Father did not approve of spanking as he was abused by a tyrant of a father and swore not to allow the experience to be repeated. My mother was submissive and thought the practice barbaric. The school I attended was dominated by coaches who practiced Male Dominance in every aspect. I was an intellegent kid who would be known, today, as a nerd. I was a threat to the coaches that often taught science classes as I often knew the answers to questions that they tried to dodge.
One day, a "meat-head" (as my father called coaches) started playing a game in class in which you had to say, "May I" before answering a question. His "goodold-boy" students that played his sports would intentionally "forget" to ask and be told to stay for a required spanking after school. The "punishment" was just another "Good-old-boy" game in which they would receive three light pats on the butt while both smiled knowing that he had shown dominance and they had shown "bravery" at their ability to take it.
When I finally made the fatal mistake of answering without the required "may i", the look of tryumph on his face told me of my doom. Unlike the "in crowd" I was held across a desk an beaten into hysterics. I ran from the room and straight to the house where my mother almost went into shock at the sight of my backside. She called my father at his office and told him what had happened. After he found out I was not seriously injured, he went to the school to confront the meat-head.
My father was a good actor and made him think he was there to join in the "male bonding" associated with the spanking ritual. He asked to see the paddle he had used and the stupid coach produced it and handed it to dad my dad. Upon getting his hand on the handle, my father said, "I don't think you used it properly for someone his size. Let me show you" and he turned it sideways. Next, he looked at the ceiling and pointed to an imaginary spot above the coaches head. When he looked up, my father hit him with the edge of the paddle across the throat. The coach looked shocked in disbelief while grabbing his chokeing throat as his eyes bulged. In one smooth action, my father came back across the side of his head knocking him to his knees. While in that position, my dad kicked him where men do not like to be kicked and dropped the meat-head to the floor. While down, he broke his collar bones dooming him to have someone else wipe his butt for the next six weeks. While still barely there, my father got in his face and said, "that was a warning... hit him again and you will spend the rest of your life in a wheel chair with a nurse pouring soup down a pink, plastic tube where your throat used to be. Do you understand?" The coach passed out.
Next, my father displayed the intellegence that caused him to be a successful attorney - he hit himself across the cheek with the edge of the paddle opening a cut that required three stitches. After letting it bleed a bit, he went to the principals office and called the police and charged the coach with assault and told the officer that he had acted in self defense. The officer commented, "you certainly did ... and did it well..."
My father came home that night and said that he had had a "minor confrontation and understanding with the coach." He said that the meat-head had admitted that he was wrong and it wouldn't happen again. We were told that the coach was on a trip but no one told us why. I did not learn the truth until years later but I mostly remember that when the coach returned, his attitude was vastly changed and he treated me with almost un-natural respect. The damage had been done to me and I got little benefit from any class he taught but, at least, they were pleasant.