Things were truly working out better than I could have hoped. When the church had asked me to consider spearheading their attempt to organize a school I had been ready to take up the challenge. Several years teaching at a larger school in a bigger town had prepared me. I was full of ideas for the new institution, and soon we had an organizing committee together and weekly meetings were underway.
When the committee concluded that I would be an ideal headmaster, I was delighted. The further we had gone with our planning, the more I wanted to apply our ideas day to day and to make them work. I loved my current job, but didn't want to turn down the chance to advance my career. I gladly accepted, and as the spring wore on, we purchased supplies, oversaw the remodeling and expansion of the education wing, drew up policies, and enrolled the children of the church for the following school year.
Of course there was another reason for my excitement, as well as for my quick acceptance of the job. The committee had approved a statement early on that we would employ corporal punishment as a means of discipline, and I was looking forward to administering my own version of old fashion punishments. As a teacher I had witnessed a few paddlings, but only twice had I had the opportunity to wield the paddle. Spanking was both infrequent and rather restrained in the school, and my experiences were more frustrating than anything.
When the time came to discuss discipline more fully, I listened to the opinions of the committee, as had been my habit, before voicing my own. I said nothing with which the others disagreed, but perhaps I clarified some things in ways they would not have. I insisted that it is a mistake to say that paddling should be the last response; rather it is the right response to certain behaviors and a wrong response to others. I urged the committee to adopt a statement in favor of paddling as the primary response to all willful disobedience, whether by infraction of the rules or by refusal to submit to a teacher. I knew schools and kids well enough to realize how frequent this would be. We had planned for our school to run kindergarten through eighth, and no one in the church had a problem with paddling as the main form of discipline for children of those ages. Most parents probably whacked their kids more often and harder than I was planning.
One idea of mine was shot down. I had suggested that for protection of our faculty we should require all paddlings to be carried out by a teacher of the same gender. I actually thought it would be better to have it done by the teacher on the spot, but I reasoned (not aloud) that I would likely be the only male teacher, and thus I would perform the lion's share of the paddlings. The committee disagreed, but in a surprisingly agreeable way. Several members thought that paddlings should always be carried out by the headmaster, and I allowed myself to be convinced. After all, we would be hiring some teachers we didn't really know, but no one could possibly have a problem with my disciplining their children.
Within the comfortable confines of our church family, we decided that the whole matter of witnesses was unnecessary and quite likely detrimental. I was to be permitted to have a witness whenever I felt it was necessary, as I undoubtedly would with certain less committed families. Otherwise, all paddlings were to take place privately in the office. I was not even to be required to make any effort at advance contact with the parents. It was in this sense that things were working out better than I could have hoped. I would get to paddle the kids as I saw fit, virtually without any accountability, and the policies which were to be approved by the committee and signed by each parent were all the protection I could ever need. I even got to spank girls, and without loosing out on spanking the boys. The latter was my true passion, but I was sure I would find the former amusing, also.
With about a month to go until our opening, I paid a visit to a man in the church who had been asked to make paddles for us. I had very definite ideas about paddles, and they had to be made to specifications if I was to spank the way I wanted to. I believe a paddle should be light enough to be used forcefully. I don't want to have to worry about injuring someone; holding back in the middle of a swat is no fun at all. My desire was to have a paddle with which I could really haul off and whack a kid as hard as I want. This meant we needed more than one paddle.
I directed Ken to make one paddle about eighteen inches long and four inches across. It was to be three eighths of an inch thick and made of light pine. This was roughly the size of the paddles in my old school. I also asked for a larger paddle, twenty four inches in length. The other dimensions would be the same, but this paddle would be of a slightly heavier wood. I planned to use the bigger paddle on boys from sixth to eighth grade. The smaller one would do for the girls all the way up. However, I felt that it might be too big on the smallest kids. Sometimes they are the cutest, and you really want to spank them hard. I had suggested to the committee a small paddle for children under eight, and they had agreed. This paddle was to be only a foot in length and three inches across. It would be a quarter inch thick. Of course, such a small paddle can only really be used effectively with the child over the lap, but then, I had thought of that, too. I could always present it in terms of tender treatment and not wanting to injure them. No one would complain.
School opened with an assembly. Of course I knew all the kids from church, but I was seeing them in a new light. I barely paid attention to my own words as I addressed them. I was scanning all those cute faces wondering which ones would appear teary-eyed outside my office first. When I dismissed them I stood at the front for a moment, cautiously checking out the khaki clad bottoms. I had argued vociferously for a ban on blue jeans. I love the way a boy's butt looks in nice jeans, but these days they are too baggy. If fashions change, I'll consider relaxing that rule.
I then headed to my classroom. My schedule would usually be free first period, but I would spend second through fourth period with the seventh and eighth graders (together for my classes). Lunch followed, then periods five, six and seven with the fifth and sixth graders (my favorites). The final period, like the first, was mine for administrative tasks. I was available during breaks to administer paddlings to kids in other classes, as well as during lunch and my two administrative periods. In extreme cases I might be gotten out of class.
I opened the class with a serious discussion of my expectations, and I ran though the rules for the room. I also reminded the class of our strict discipline policy. Some teachers extend a period of grace at the start of the year, but I have always been convinced that a tough start leads to a good year. The kids were fairly sober while I went through the litany. Things began to loosen up when I started introducing the Bible book we would be using.
After a few moments I heard whispering and turned my head a bit. "John, Luke, stand up." Both seventh graders stood nervously. I pointed to a section on the side of the board and directed them to write their names down. When they had sat down again, I told them they had their warning for the day. For each future violation they would be required to add a slash mark by their name. At lunch each student with marks would come to my office and receive a swat for each mark.
By the end of the period another boy and two girls had joined the miscreants on the board. As the bell rang, Mrs. Thompson stepped into my room. She was very sorry to disturb me, but she already had one kindergarten student who was acting up. He had refused to stay in his seat, and he would not stop talking. She had warned him repeatedly, but without effect. I passed quickly through the kids in the hallway, waiting for the drinking fountain, and entered the kindergarten room.
The first grade teacher, who had been watching in Mrs. Thompson's absence, stepped quickly out. Ben was climbing on the teacher's desk, and with a quick nod his teacher confirmed that he was, in fact, the student in question. I called to him in my voice of steady authority, something every teacher must develop. He looked at me in surprise, and a hush fell over the room. I beckoned to him, and, when he slowly walked over, I took him by the hand and led him to my office.
In just a moment I talked about all the things he had done wrong that morning. He confirmed that Mrs. Thompson had indeed warned him that he might be smacked, but that didn't seem to bother him too much. Obviously his parents weren't doing it right at home. I retrieved the little paddle and sat in a strait backed chair in front of my desk. Ben didn't react as I lifted him and lay him across my lap. I was displeased with the straightness of his body, so I shifted my right leg away and bent him over my left knee. Now his cute bottom was nicely defined. I took the paddle and laid it on his bottom, then without warning I started spanking him.
I raised the paddle well above my head and brought it down forcefully. It had been made to sting without doing harm, so I could spank as hard as I wanted. Ben was quickly screaming and squirming on my lap, and I had to hold him firmly with my left hand. I gave him six hard, fast swats. He was sobbing pitifully when I stood him back on his feet, and he instinctively reached out to me. I put the paddle on the desk and lifted him into my arms. After a minute I began to tenderly caress his bottom. There was something you couldn't do with a witness!
After leading Ben back to his room I went to my own. Several boys were still loitering about the room, and they all joined the growing list on the board. I explained that I would frequently be late after break because of disciplinary situations, and that they were expected to sit quietly and prepare for class. There were no slash marks yet.
During the next break I went to my office to retrieve a book. When I returned, I stood outside the room and overheard a conversation among the boys. They were daring one another to go ahead and get a slash mark. They thought it would be no big deal to get a swat. I would have to disabuse them of that idea. Sure enough, whispering started up as soon as I started teaching. By the end of the period five boys had earned swats. One _c_o_c_k_y eighth grader had earned two. I instructed the group to follow me and I went wordlessly to my office.
I lined them up in the hallway, the fellow with two going last, and took one into the room. It was to be a quick episode, so I told each as he entered that he already knew why he was there. I grabbed the biggest paddle and directed the first seventh grader to bend across my desk. I lined up carefully behind him and tapped the paddle against his butt. Then I drew back and cracked him. It wasn't quite the hardest I could swat, but it was no joke either, and he had to stifle a gasp of surprised pain.
The next three boys came in their turns looking a but less smug. Each received a similar swat and headed down to the cafeteria. The last boy, however, entered with a little smile on his face. He was clearly ready to be a leader in wrong doing. I decided it was important to send him to the cafeteria in a very different mood. After he had leaned across my desk, I began to rub the paddle on his butt and asked if he had thought this would be a funny experience. I made him answer, and after the predictable "I don't know" I cracked him as hard as I could. He barely managed to bite back a squeal, and I resumed rubbing and tapping his butt with the paddle. "Well," I said, "I'll admit, now that I see you here, it is kind of funny." With that I whacked him hard again. This time he cried out, and a few tears began to flow.
I didn't let him get his composure, but walked with him to the cafeteria. He wiped his eyes once or twice, but he had no chance to cover up the fact that he had been crying. I deposited him at his table and went to the teacher table, fairly certain that his standing as leader of the opposition had been considerably reduced.
By afternoon, word had spread, and my fifth and sixth graders were extremely well behaved. There were a few names written on the board, but no slash marks. I was a bit disappointed; there were a few I had thought might be likely to repeat the stunt from the morning, but I knew I would get my chance. In fact, I was interrupted almost as soon as I had sat at my desk during eighth period. Nathan, perhaps the cutest boy in the fifth grade, knocked on my door and mournfully handed me a note from his teacher.
Apparently he had shoved another student to the floor going back into the room after the break. He attempted to justify himself, so I just let him talk. When he was done, I spoke in calm, measured terms. He knew the rules, and he knew that what he had done was wrong, so he might as well stop prolonging the inevitable. He was too small to bend over the desk, so I had him bend low over the chair, supported by his hands on the rungs at each side. He was crying softly as he assumed this position.
His knees were bent and he was still in no position to receive swats, so I laid the paddle on the desk. I grabbed his hips and pulled him up, directing him to straiten his legs. I told him to push his bottom up to make a good target, and to keep it that way until I was finished. I slapped his bottom lightly as I finished these instructions. Then I took up the paddle again and got in position. I had to wait for my hand to stop trembling. I had already done some paddling that day, but this was what I had really longed for. A cute little ten year old was trembling over a chair in my study, and I was about to swat him as hard as I pleased. No one would step in to stop me. It was too wonderful for words.
I forced my hand to be still, then laid the paddle against the upturned bottom, tracing a small circle around the center of the pretty, curved buttocks. I tapped him twice, then shuffled my feet, getting comfortable. I could hear him weeping softy. I rubbed a bit more, tapped once, then, when he wasn't sure what to expect, I swatted him with all my might. The paddle reported like a pistol, and Nathan howled in response. I waited just a moment, then I smacked him hard again. The swats were angling up a bit at the end, and I was almost lifting him off the ground with each swat. After three he began to rise, and I barked a command at him. He protested that he thought he was finished, but I told him I would tell him when that came. After another hard swat, he managed to remain in position. I told him that I had been planning four, but that I would now add two for his impetuosity in standing early. He begged mercy, but I laid on the remaining swats as hard as any others.
Afterward, he was a complete mess. I let him cry a moment, then squeezed his shoulder. He turned to me and leaned on my chest, so I began to hug him to me, whispering comforting words and rubbing his back. I figured he was a little old for me to fondle his bottom without his noticing. After a minute, I sent him to the boys' room to wash his face before going to class.
I hadn't really been certain whether I would get to paddle anyone on the first day, and seven boys was beyond my wildest dreams, even though several were for only one swat. It was enough to make my head spin. Seven boys on day one! Things were certain to pick up in a week, and the holiday seasons promised to be incredible. I began calculating in my head. It wouldn't be unreasonable to count on three or four real paddlings a day, plus a few individual swats. We had one hundred eighty five days in the year, so...