After having been spanked unexpectedly in trigonometry class, in the spring of my junior year of high school – and then twice by my Dad at home – I straightened up my behavior scrupulously, in order to avoid ever being in that situation again. All summer long, after school let out, and then in the entire fall semester of my senior year, I was a model of compliant, pleasing behavior.
In early January, as the spring (and final) semester of high school began, one Monday morning I headed over to the pool, about 9:30, to work as a student assistant for my coaches with swimming classes. As I was stripping out of my khakis and polo shirts, and pulling on my swim suit, my swim coach, Coach Benson came over to me. "Never mind putting that on, Nathan. Get over to the gym and help Tommy Lee. Coach Jackson and a couple of the other student assistants are out today, and you can be a big help to Tommy."
"Okay, Coach, if youre sure," I said.
"Absolutely, Nathan. Nobody else here knows basketball and has played it like you. So, get going – PRONTO!" Thwaump! He swatted my small, flat, hard butt crammed into my swim suit, and I jumped forward at the impact.
"Aaaaah! Okay! Ah, Ill, ah, just pull on a pair of basketball shorts and t-shirt that I have in my bag and head over, Coach," I stammered, doing just that as I spoke. Then, I slipped on a pair of cross-trainers and grabbed up my bag as I headed out of the pool area, down the walkway to the gym.
When I walked into the gym, the class of freshmen boys was running laps around the basketball court. "Hi, Tommy," I called out as I walked up to him. "Coach Benson sent me over to help out today, since Coach Jackson and your other assistants are out. What dya want me to do?" I asked.
"We were going to have a scrimmage game," Tommy explained. "You be a player coach for one of the teams. Ill ref," he added.
"But, Tommy, dont you need another ref?" I asked. "Ive got a whistle here in my bag. And besides, I can help keep order with these rowdy guys."
"Noooo, Nathan. Dont worry about that. Ive got Coach Jacksons enforcer right here," and he picked up the big wooden paddle that was notorious around the school for Coach Jackson using whenever somebody got out of line. "I think this will keep order real good, Nathan. And I can handle the refing. These guys would get a lot out of playing with and for you, and learning some things from you in the process."
I shrugged my shoulders in surprise, but acceded to his directions. "Okay, Tommy, whatever you say. But Im prepared to help ref if you change your mind." Then I walked over to a group of guys, announced myself as their player coach, and we got ready for the game.
An hour later, the gym class was over, and I was drenched in sweat as Id played (and coached) vigorously with half this freshman boys gym class. The next hour would be sophomore boys, and they began filing in shortly before 11. Wiping my face and neck with a towel, I approached Tommy again about helping him ref and run the gym class. His answer was exactly the same. Only this time, he explained that in the sophomore gym class was a huge, but slim, guy, from the Ukraine, Petr Derenko, at 6'10", and 230 lbs. "Hes so dominant, Nathan, that the other team will need your talents and experience to try to balance against him."
I joined the team opposing Petr, and picked a 6'3" center, a power forward, a small forward, myself as shooting guard, and a skinny, fast, little ball-handler for point guard. The game began with Petr obviously taking the tipoff, and passing down for a fast 2 points. We in-bounded, dribbled, and passed, only to have the pass picked off by Petr, who then spun around and dished it off to his power forward for another easy basket.
Our team looked demoralized already. I called a time out, and called out a strong pep talk about our need to play good defense, and let big, skinny Petr feel our physical presence out there. Then, be patient with the ball, and work and work and work for good, quality shots. When we came back in, I took the lead in defending against Petr. Even though I was 6', I felt like a child next to him. He and I had one thing in common, we were both way-too-skinny for our sizes. But I was probably in the better and stronger condition, from so much swimming, working out, and playing basketball as well. Petr was obviously used to having his way all over the court, so I began furiously defending against him, and especially boxing him out on rebounds.
The game stayed surprisingly close, and I made a number of good, outside shots. Our team got fired up over the tightly competitive game against Petr and his team. Our point guard was a dynamo of ball handling, and our center and I put a lot of body muscle into rebounding, so the other team had a real fight on their hands to try to get the ball once it went up, if it didnt go in.
Near the end of the game, with the score 43 to 42 in our favor, a ball bounced off the rim and up. I leaped up and my hands grabbed the ball. Instantly, I was excited to have hauled in another one, when I felt myself hanging off the ground as I gripped the ball. Looking up, I saw Petr too had grabbed the ball, and he was holding it – and me –- up off the ground. I was determined not to let go, as I dangled about a foot-and-a-half above the floor. Then, I felt the ball shaking back and forth: Petr swung it back and forth, trying to shake me loose and get the ball to himself. It worked, and – THUNK!! –- I fell, landing on my butt against the wood floor, just as the whistle sounded.
It was called a jump ball, and the possession arrow favored us. I pulled myself sorely up from the floor, as we were all excited to have the ball back. There was 1:47 left in the game. I called a time out, and we planned a play that would eat up the clock, take the ball down, and work it around to give us another opportunity to score. If it worked, that would be the game.
With the ball in-bounded, our small forward and I accompanied our point guard down the court, to make sure we did not get trapped or lose possession. Our center stopped just above half-court, in the event we needed to get the ball over half-court in time. Our power forward was at the left block back the basket. It worked as we brought the ball down, and then set up to run an offense. I set a pick, cut across the key for a pass, and tossed up the ball. It swirled in, and then out, but I raced back into the basket, following my shot. I grabbed the rebound only to feel Petr at my right back.
Propelling myself up, I pushed the ball up against the backboard, while at the same time forcing my butt out to the right and backwards, boxing out Petr. The ball trickled in from a simple lay up, while coming back down I doubled over pushing my butt back harder again into Petr. I fell to the floor on my left side, only to look up and see Petr lying face down on the paint under the basket. A whistle sounded, and everyone stepped back. Tommy Lee had called an over-the-back foul on Petr, and I was going to the line for a free throw. But we had to halt while Petr lay sprawled out under the basket.
It took a couple of minutes. Tommy Lee came over to check on Petr. He had the wind knocked out of him from my double-box out, and hit his forehead as he fell. It took some of his teammates to scrape him up, and he went off to the bench with Tommy for the remaining seconds of the game. I made my free throw and the score was 46-42. The rest was hard, solid defense, and we won! In the meanwhile, Tommy was talking with Petr, who was shaking off his dizziness.
After the game ended, the rest of the guys headed into the locker room to shower and change for lunch and the rest of the day of classes. Petr sat talking with Tommy Lee. I headed over to them, also to pick up a towel, and dry some of the sweat off my face and out of my eyes. As I walked up to them, they both stood up. "Sorry about the fall," I offered. "It was an accident." I stuck out my hand to shake Petrs hand. At that moment, he stepped forward, leaned into me, and circled his arms around my waist. Then leaning backwards, he hauled me up off my feet (again!) to lay on his chest as he leaned backwards.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
With my butt sticking out while I lay stretched out on Petrs chest, I felt a fast series of swats to the seat of my shorts. Turning my head to the left, I saw Tommy Lee with Coach Jacksons paddle, swinging and connecting with it over and over on my butt. My legs were twitching and kicking slightly, as he delivered the blows from the paddle to my rearend.
WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!
With more than 40 fast swats warming up my butt, I called out, "Hey, Tommy! Whatre you doin? Stop it! Stop, man! Stop! Wait! Staaaahp! Waaaait! Oooo-ah-ow! Staaaaahpit! Tommy! Why? Ooooaaa-why-uh-ow?! Stopit! Stopit, pleeeez!"
Petr let me down, and I dropped to my feet, spinning around and doubling over as my hands clutched my battered, burning behind. "Hey, man," I shouted up to him. "I told you I was sorry. I didnt mean it! It was an accident!"
Suddenly, I felt Petr standing behind me while I was still doubled over rubbing my burning butt. He reached down and over my back, and around, under my legs, and picked me up. Pulling my head and back into his chest, he lifted my legs and butt up, aimed for Tommy.
"I dont think hes learning to say truthful yet, Coach Tommy," Petr announced.
"You got that right, Petr," Tommy replied. "But weve got something here that ought to help that out. Right, Nathan?!"
My arms were hanging on either side of Petrs arms, as he held me up poised for Tommy, who walked up, grabbed the back of my shorts waistband, and yanked my shorts up off my butt. Then, with only my brief bathing suit on, he did the same thing to it. Now my bottom was bare. While I was held up in position by giant Petr, Tommy resumed the swats with the paddle.
SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK!
Over and over, rhythmically, Tommy cracked that hard, wooden paddle against my bare backside, being held high and ready by Petr. After another 20 or so, my feet were flying up off the floor, curling up in response to the swats peppering my behind. I began pleading. "Im sorry, man, uh, I mean, uh-guys-uh-uh! Im sorry! Stopit! Pleeeez! Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop! Oooo-uh-ow! Ow! Pleeeez! Stop! Stop! I was wrong! Stop! Pleeeeez!"
My confession and pleas brought no response or relief.
SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK!
Tommy bounced the paddle off, and all over, my reddened, radiating buttocks and thighs. He peppered my bare, now-blazing bottom, and after another 50 or more, I couldnt help it. I screamed and wailed, trying furiously to twist away and loose from Petrs grip. When it didnt work, despite my fighting to hold it back, I broke and began bawling and crying uncontrollably." While I had been furious and embarrassed to have this happening to me, now I could only shriek and sob under the assault against my behind.
"Aaaa-uh-waaaaa-uh! Uh! Im-uh-sorrreeeee-uh! Oooo-uh-aaaw-uh-waaaaa! Nnnnnng-ghuh-uh-waaaaaa! Pleeeeez-uh-aw-uh-waaaaa! Uhm-uh-ahm-uh-sorreeee! Oooo-uh-aaaah-aw-uh-uh-waaaaaa! Waaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaaa! Oooo-uh-uh-waaaaaa!"
Petr finally let me down. I couldnt talk. I jumped around with my shorts and swim suit at my ankles, rubbing my fiery red butt, trying to douse the inferno Coach Jacksons paddle had built up on it.
"Ok, Petr. Hit the showers," Tommy instructed him, then, he grabbed me around the shoulders and said, "Look, man, we didnt mean to break you up like this! Really." He reached down behind me and pulled up my swim suit, and I jumped forward as it scraped my blistered bottom. Then, he pulled up my basketball shorts. Returning an arm around my shoulder, he began guiding me out of the gym towards the coaches quarters and said, "Come on, Nathan. You can use the coaches showers to clean up."
Once in there, although I was still heaving and shaking with lessening sobs, I pulled off my clothes and headed into the shower. The warm water cascading down on my head and face, hid my continued sobbing until I finally got it back under control. Then, I soaped myself clean, gingerly touching my battered backside. As I turned the water off and began walking out of the shower, Tommy handed me a clean towel. I dried off, put on some deodorant, pulled on my boxers and khaki shorts, pulled another clean t-shirt over my head, and combed my hair. After pulling on a clean, dry pair of socks, and my cross-trainers again – all the while still standing –, I started to leave the gym complex.
"Hey, Nathan. Dont leave," Tommy spoke. "We get lunch in the coaches cafeteria. Come on." He grabbed my left arm and began gently tugging me in the direction of the coaches cafeteria.
I didnt feel like spending any more time with Tommy Lee, after the way he had belittled and humiliated me in front of Petr, and scorched by behind. But he was obviously trying to make amends, so I let myself be pulled into the cafeteria. We went through the line, took hearty portions and several glasses of milk each, and then headed to a table. I sat gingerly and uneasily on the chair, as my butt ached and throbbed. We talked about this last semester of high school, and where each of us hoped to be accepted for college. Then, it was time to conclude and get on to classes. Tommy took my tray to bus, and said thanks for coming over and helping out today. I replied he was welcome, even while agonizingly getting up and walking stiffly out.
On the way to precalc-algebra, I saw huge Petr again, coming my way as I walked down a corridor. I tried to avoid his eyes, but he stopped and spoke to me. "We have truce, you and me. You beat me in game, I beat your bottom. We are even. No hard feelings. You sit easy tomorrow."
"Right, okay," I responded, and then continued walking on to class. Slowly, I eased my butt down into the seat, and the next hour was one of squirming and shifting, to try to lessen the discomfort against my bottom. No one seemed to know what had happened to me at the gym that morning, and so the rest of the afternoon was my own uncomfortable secret.
Not so when I went to the pool for swim practice after school. Once again, as I pulled off my boxers and on my swim suit, my purplish-red, raw butt attracted attention and remarks.
"You get into trouble with Old Man Greene again, Nathan?" Alex asked.
Now what do I say? "Ah, no, . . . ah, actually, some guys did this to me in a misunderstanding we had. It was no fun, believe me but at least it wasnt as bad as Mr. Greenes" –- and my Dads follow-ups, I thought, but kept, to myself. Once more, the pool water was both refreshing and soothing, and more than 2 hours later, I felt some of the fatigue and stiffness gone, even as I was physically exhausted from the strenuous practice. I just pulled on another pair of basketball shorts over my boxers, and a t-shirt, and headed out to my car to drive home.
When I drove into the driveway at home, it was not yet 6 p. m., and my Dad was home. Mom called out to me as I entered the house, and I walked into the kitchen to greet her. "Nathan, you look like youve been through the ringer! Maybe youre working too hard at swimming and school."
"Naaaa, Mom. Im just kinda extra tired today – thats all. Im going to go upstairs and take a quick nap til supper, okay?"
"Okay, Nathan. Well wake you when its suppertime."
"Thanks, Mom," I responded.
Stretched out on my stomach, I fell immediately to sleep. I did not hear the phone, or my Dad coming up the stairs. I was summoned back up into consciousness by my Dad pulling me up by my arms. Sleepily, I opened turned my head, opening my eyes, and muttered, "Oh, hi, Dad." His grip was firm and continued.
"Nathan, what did you do to a boy named Petr Derenko today?!" Dad demanded.
"Wh-what?" I stammered.
"You heard me. His exchange father just called and said that he came home feeling sick, and they took him to a doctor who says he has a concussion. The exchange dad, Mr. West, says you knocked him to the ground in the gym, and he struck his head on the floor. Is that true?"
"Oh, Dad, let me tell you what happened."
"Alright, Nathan, but first answer my question. Did you knock Petr Derenko to the ground in the gym?"
"Yes, Dad, but . . ."
And Mr. West says it was so bad that one of the coaches spanked you after gym class because of it. Is that right too?"
"Noooo! This is a lot of baloney, Dad."
"Let me see your bottom, Nathan. Drop your pants real quick, and that will settle this part soon enough."
What?! I was terrified, shocked, and humiliated to have my father order me to do this. "Aw, Dad," I began.
"Do I have to takem off you, young man?" Dads tone was stern and icy.
"N-nooo, Dad, but . . ."
"Get to it, then, youngster, unless you want me to do it while youre over my knees."
"N-no, Dad. But Dad, . . . "
That was the last straw. Dad lost patience and sat down on the side of the bed, dragging me over his knees. I couldnt believe in less than 3 minutes I had been dragged out of sleep and my bed, and hauled to hang over my fathers lap. Instantly, he grabbed the waistband of my shorts and yanked them down over my buttocks, past my knees to my stocking feet. Then, the boxers followed suit, and the cool air on my still-heated bottom reminded me that he could tell at once that Id been paddled today.
"A lot of baloney, huh?" Dad exclaimed with irate disgust as he viewed my still-reddened, bluish-purple behind. "Well, it hasnt been that long that you cant recall what happens when you get in trouble at school, young man."
Oh, nooooo!. Not again. And this time I really hadnt got in any trouble at school –- except with Petr and Tommy Lee! – and that didnt really . . .
SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK!
In an instant, my thoughts were interrupted as Dad began raining down strong, hard spanks against my bare, already bruised bottom. It hurt at once, and I started squirming and yelping with the heat and pain to my rearend. "Owch! Ooooo-uh-huh-humphuh! Ow! Ow! Uh! Uh! Ow! Ow! Oooo-uh-huh-ummmph-uh-ow! Ow! Unnggguhhh! Ow! Ow-ow-ow! Ooo-uh-humph-uh! Ow!"
Dads rock-hard hand was pummeling my already severely punished backside. I started crying right away.
"Dont, Dad. Please! I can explain! Ooo-uh-ow! Ow! Please, Dad! Uh-ow! Unnh! Awww-uh-uh! Its not what you think! Uh-uh-oooo-ow! Ow-ow-ow-ow! Stopit, pleeeeez, Dad! Pleeez! Aw-uh-uh-waaa-uh! I c-can-uh-uh-uh-explaaaain. Uh! Uh! Uh!"
"Just like last time, Nathan, once again your lying has earned you a second session tomorrow night.
"Nooooooooo, Dad! Ow! Pleeeez! Oooo-uh-ow! Ow! Ow-ow-ow! Its not-uh-fair! Ooo-ow! Uh-uh-ow! Daaaad-uh! Stopit! Please! You-uh-d-dont-uh-uh-know . . . Uh! OW! OW! Ooooo-aw-huh-uh-OW! OW! Ooo-aw-waaa-uh! Owowowowww! Uh-uh-ow! Aaaaughuh-uh! Oooo-uh-uh-waaa-uh-huagh-uh-waaaa-nnnghuh-uh!"
He had picked up the same old, birch hairbrush, and replaced its licks against my aching behind. I was screaming immediately, as the brush bounced and danced all over my buttocks and upper thighs. I was in excruciating agony! Dad paid no heed, and just kept firing away on the inferno on my bottom.
"Aw-uh-aughuh-waaaaa! Uh! Uh-uh-huh-waaa-uh! Nnnnghuh-aw-uh! Waaaaaa!" In just minutes I had surrendered any effort to refrain from bawling and wailing, and I sobbed, gasped, heaved, choked, and gagged as Dad peppered my already inflamed bottom with the hairbrush. I lost all sense of what was happening, as I kicked and thrashed around in his lap. My shorts and boxers flew off my feet. My face was face draining tears and snot on the floor right before it. My arm was twisted up behind my back, leveraging me in place across Dad's knees.
I lost all sense of awareness of what exactly was happening to me, as I yielded to the barrage of punishment Dad was administering to my bare, beaten butt. At some point, I realized that he had stopped and it was over, and I was draped dangling across his lap with a sizzled rearend that was throbbing. I shook and heaved with racking sobs.
Finally, my crying began to subside and Dad pulled me up off his lap to stand at his right in front of him. I was bouncing up and down, still weeping more quietly, both hand plastered against my scorched butt. I jumped up and down, wailed and cried out, "It-uh-w-wasnt Coach Jackson, Dad. Uh-uh-uh-haughuh! It was Tommy Lee-uh-a kid my age! Uh! Ooo-uh-uh! Hes-uh-a-student assistant for Coach Jackson-uh! Like I am for Coach Benson. It was Tommy Lee – and big Petr! They did it! Theyre the ones who paddled me, Dad! Haughuh-uh-uh-auuh! Petr held me and-uh-uh! Tommy-uh-uh! paddled me! Uh-uh-huh-honest-uh! Dad." I sobbed out my explanation between my shaking and tears.
Dad pulled my t-shirt up over my head, raising my arms from down behind my blistered bottom, so I was now naked except for my small socks. "Well, if thats so," Dad finally spoke, while grasping my arm and leading me over to the dresser, "then Ill find out about what was going on. In the meanwhile, youre still in bed for the night, now, young man!" He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of pajamas for me to put on. I did as he directed. Then, I bent over, stiffly and painfully, and pulled off my socks. Dad walked me back to my bedside, pulled down the spread and sheet, and beckoned me to get in. Still sputtering with gasping and crying, I crawled in on my face and stomach, and Dad pulled the sheet and blanket up over me.
"You stay put for the night, if you know what's good for you, Nathan, or we'll have a doubleheader tonight. Understand?"
"Uh-uh-y-yes-uh-sir-uh-Dad, uh-uh!" I choked my reply. He closed the blinds on my window, turned out the light, and then walked out, closing the door behind him. In a matter of minutes, I had once more been soundly spanked and put to bed for the night. In a matter of only a few minutes more, I had cried myself to sleep.
In the morning, I was up and showered early, returned to my room and dressed for the day at school. Mom was in the kitchen when I came downstairs and insisted that I eat a hearty breakfast she had prepared for me. "You had no supper last night, Nathan, and a boy can't run as hard as you do without any fuel in him."
So, I tenderly lowered my bottom onto the kitchen chair and, shifting from one point to another, ate the huge breakfast she put before me. After that, I was up and kissed her goodbye. After that, I rushed painfully out of the house, sat tentatively down in my car, and then drove to school. I worked as a student assistant in swimming classes from 10 to noon, and headed to my own swim practice after 3:30 p. m.
My obviously battered behind was the object of more questions and comments as I changed into my swim suit. "We heard it was Coach Jackson, Nathan. How come you got paddled by him?" Alex asked.
"Coach Jackson isnt even there yesterday! I told you it wasnt a teacher or coach," I repeated.
"Your Dad, then?" they questioned. But I just kept the same response, "I dont want to talk about it." Eventually, they quit, although Cameron Walker came up as I was climbing out of the pool from practicing the dolphin stroke, and swatted my wet butt twice. I couldnt help yelping, and glaring and shouting, "Cut it out, Cameron!" He only laughed and headed back to the end of the pool.
After practice, I was exhausted. After showering, I dressed quickly in khaki pants and a polo shirt, with deck shoes and socks, and headed out with my bag to the car. This time, as I drove down the drive to the house, I noticed that my Dads car was already there. Oh-oh! Whats he after me about now?! I thought as I got out and walked into the house.
"Nathan, wait for me up in your room." Dads order greeted me as I entered the door.
Thats it. Hes gonna give me the second one now. I bit my lip and trudged upstairs silently. Walking into my room, I threw my book bag angrily onto the floor near the desk, and sat down on the bed to wait for my painful doom.
About 10 minutes later, Dad entered my bedroom, walked over and pulled out my straight-back, armless desk chair, and sat down in front of me. I looked up into his face, and my eyes instinctively started filling with tears. I knew that with as sore as my behind was from yesterday, I would be bawling quickly tonight, and I hated myself for caving in so easily.
"I called Coach Jackson at your school today, Nathan."
Oh, noooooo, I thought to myself. Now what more trouble am I in?!
"He talked with me, and then called me back this afternoon with the details. He pretty much confirmed what you told me, Nathan. He was out yesterday, as were all the other student assistants except Tommy Lee. Coach Benson did send you down to the gym, from the pool, to help Tommy Lee. Apparently, Tommy Lee took charge and a great deal of liberty, and had you playing with the freshmen and sophomore gym classes."
"Right, Dad," I responded.
"Then, in playing against the team with Petr Derenko on it, in the sophomore class, you revved up your team and your play, and led your team to an upset of Petr and his team. In doing that, you were pretty rough in your rebounding and boxing out, and knocked Petr off his feet, and he struck his head on the floor when he fell, and got a concussion. Afterwards, he and Tommy Lee felt you were intentionally and unjustifiable rough, and acted totally callous and unconcerned about it. So, they took it on themselves to discipline you, and paddled you with Coach Jacksons paddle."
"Its true, Dad." I said.
"Well, Coach Jackson is upset with Tommy Lee, and my give him a taste of what he gave you –- at least thats what he said. . . ."
"Wow! Really?!" my shock was undisguised.
"But, he also told me that you the information he gathered pointed to you as being intentionally rough and violent with Petr Derenko."
"Oh, Dad, thats not true. Its ridiculous. Have you seen the size of Petr? Its never any match against him without trying to step up the physical play. Thats all I did. It wasnt anything too rough, or too bad. And, besides, look at him next to me. He towers over me, and everybody else."
"Well, to be honest, Nathan, I tend to agree with you. Who else in the whole high school is 6'10'? Actually, Im kind of proud of the way you led the other kids, and played yourself, against such odds as he represents, Nathan. But Coach Jackson did say that he would have done the same thing – or more – as Tommy Lee and Petr did. So, I cant really argue with him – and that means that what you got last night was in line with what you know: get in trouble at school, youre in worse trouble at home."
"But, Dad, does it always have to be that way? Even when you know their wrong?"
"Yes, it does, Nathan, cause I wont have you going around thinking you can second guess and go behind the authority of your teachers and coaches. Understand?"
"Well, yes, Dad, but . . ."
"No buts, but your butt, buddy, if you get in trouble. Thats the rule."
"Awww, Dad, um, I mean, Okay, Dad."
"Anyway, Nathan, you dont get a second one tonight, though, because you did tell the truth. You didnt lie." With that he leaned forward and tousled my hair, as I exhaled a deep sigh of relief.
"Thanks, Dad," I exclaimed and leaned forward towards him and hugged him. He hugged me back, and then said, "Alright, tough guy, lets not keep Mom waiting any longer. Lets go downstairs and eat."
"Right," I joined in and followed him out of my room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Mom looked at me, smiling, and I knew she was glad that there was no encore tonight.
By the next day, Wednesday afternoon, the story of what Tommy Lee and Petr Derenko had done to me had spread around school, and so I encountered new questions and comments from my swim teammates. "Whyd you let them do that to you, Nathan? Why didnt you tell onem for doing that?"
I was finally forced to address the situation with my teammates. "I couldnt stopem. You know how big Petr is, and he had my in a hold off the ground. I didnt want to say anything, because . . . its embarrassing, and . . . I was afraid . . . uh, that my Dad would find out and, uh, . . . misunderstand."
"Whadya mean misunderstand, Nathan. How could anybody misunderstand something like that, man?"
"Leave him alone, guys. His Dads just like mine. If they think you got in any trouble at school, youre in worse trouble at home." Greg stepped up and interrupted. "I understand why he was worried. I would be too."
Good ole Greg. He was a real friend. To step in and help me, relieving the tension and deflecting some of the embarrassment from me to himself. The conversation sputtered out, and we headed to the pool for another grueling practice.
The next afternoon, as I came into the locker room to change into my swim suit, Coach Benson called out, "Nathan, youre wanted by Coach Jackson at the gym. Head on over there, and join us back here when youre finished."
"Oh, oh, Nathan, going to get it again from Coach Jackson?" Alex teased me. I just turned as glared at him, then headed back out towards the gym. The door to Coach Jacksons office was closed as I entered the gym complex and walked toward the offices end of the building. I knocked on the door, and big Coach Jackson opened it.
"Come in, Nathan," he directed me, opening the door widely and stepping aside so I could walk past him. There, sitting on two chairs with obviously very unhappy faces were Tommy Lee and Petr Derenko. Both of them had reddened eyes and red around the noses and eyes of their faces.
"Stand up, boys," Coach Jackson barked at them, and the almost leaped to their feet.
"Nathan, Tommy and Petr have something to say to you." Immediately, he turned and focused his grilling gaze on them.
"Ughah," Tommy Lee spoke first, but his voice choked. "Nathan, Im sorry about paddling you Monday, when Coach Jackson wasnt here."
"I am, too, Nathan," Petr immediately chimed in.
"What else, boys?!" Coach Jackson barked his prompt to them.
"Uh, I know we were wrong to do that, and I ask you to accept my apology, Nathan, please." Tommy almost sounded like he was pleading.
"I do, too," Petr joined in.
"And how do you boys know you were wrong? And what will happen to you if Nathan doesnt accept your apology?" Coach Jackson was unrelenting in keeping after Tommy and Petr.
"Uh, ah, Coach Jackson just paddled Petr and me, Nathan, uh-uh-huh!" His voice caught with obviously recently suppressed sobs. "And hes going to do it, uh! again-uh! tomorrow – unless, uh! you accept our apology."
Petr was shaking his head in agreement, and his eyes were filled with tears at the either the memory of the thought, or both.
So, I was really in the drivers seat here. I could tell these guys to pound sand and their rearends would get pounded again tomorrow. I paused for a couple of seconds. "I know you guys didnt know how much trouble you were causing for me –- and now for yourselves. So, I accept your apologies," I responded, looking at each one.
Shewwwww! They both sighed their relief audibly.
"That was the right thing for you to do, too, Nathan," Coach Jackson advised me. "As I told your father, your behavior was way out-of-line and way-too-rough, and if Id been there, youd have gotten worse from me, believe me, young man. But now, these two upstarts have gotten a dose of their own medicine, so its good that you forgive them."
"Now, I want you all to shake hands, and you can head back to swim practice, Nathan." We all readily shook pumped handshakes, and I excused myself from Coach Jacksons office and headed back to the pool building.
After that experience, for the next 5 months I was on scrupulous, constant vigilance to behave and do what I was asked, told, or knew was expected.
In early June, during the last week of school, some of my classmates and teammates told me on Monday that Tuesday was going to be "Senior Skip Day." We were supposed to come to school, and go to home room at 8 a. m. Then after home room, we would all meet out behind the gym, get cars, and head out to a lake for a day of fun and play.
Tuesday morning, I arrived with my bookbag, stuffed not with books, but with a towel, shorts, swimming shorts, t-shirt, flip-flops, and sunblock. (I had hid my books under my bed so my parents wouldnt get any suspicion about what I was doing.) It was going to be a fun day of privileged senior-skipping. It was hard to keep quiet and under control in home room, but after it was over, we all rushed out and down the corridor towards the gym complex. With all the excitement, its a wonder we didnt attract more attention as we gathered and then disbursed to cars, heading out to Silver Lake.
The rest of the day was a blast! Sun, sand, swimming in the cool lake waves, music, food – beer! – and almost the entire senior class having fun. Around 5 p. m., most of us began packing up to leave and head home, to avoid any suspicions that we had not been at school all day. I changed back into the clothes I wore to school, stuffed my beach gear into my bookbag, and drove away. When I arrived home, my father was not there yet. I greeted my mother and hurried upstairs to hide any giveaway evidence, and replace my books in my bag. After freshening up a bit in the bathroom, I walked downstairs to the kitchen for supper.
My father and mother were both there by now, and they both exclaimed, "Nathan, how did you get so sunburned? Youre red as a lobster!"
"Ah, we were outside a lot today, ah, practicing for graduation. I guess I didnt notice." I lied, knowing that my skipping school – even with the whole senior class for Skip Day – would never sit well with my parents. I guess they believed me, because the only other comment was that I needed to take sun screen with me so I can avoid sunburn if something like that takes place. I agreed readily, and let the subject pass by.
The next morning – Wednesday morning – at school, however, was something else. In home room, an announcement was made, naming off a long list of senior guys who were directed to report to the principals office right away. As I got up and left the home room, I was joined by many classmates, including my buddy, Greg, from the swim team. I could tell he was nervous.
At the school office, the principal, Mr. Edwards, waited until about 60 of us guys had gathered there. Then he announced, "Follow me to the gym, gentlemen." We began the long, dreadful trek behind him to the gym. When we got there, he told us all to sit down on the gym floor, along the wall. Then, in groups of three, he summoned us by names to go back to the coaches offices. There, Mr. Edwards was joined by Coach Jackson, and Harold Greene (my old trig teacher!) all of whom had large, wooden paddles ready to wield. We did not see any of the guys come out, as each exited out the back of the gym. Later, I would learn that we were all sent back to our respective classes.
Gregs name was called, along with a couple of other guys, before me, and when he got up I could see he already had tears in his eyes. A while later, my name was amongst those called, and I got up and walked slowly back to the coaches area. As my luck would turn out, I was funneled off to Mr. Greene. "Mr. Ford, I shouldnt be surprised to see you still disobeying rules. Well, the same behavior yields the same results, young man."
Mr. Greene grabbed my arm and firmly led me into the office he was using. He was carrying a large, oak paddle permeated with drilled holes. My eyes couldnt stop staring at that thing, thinking about the pain it could inflict.
He escorted me into the office and over to the desk. "Undo your belt, drop your jeans, and bend over the desk." I had no choice, I knew. Reluctantly complied, catching side glances of the dreaded paddle in his hand. My shirt pulled up on my bare back, as I bent over, and the cool air against my bare legs and upper back made me shiver. I started to shake.
CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!
Without even a word of warning, Mr. Greene fired a machine gun of fiery swats against the stretched, upturned seat of my boxers, that caught me by surprise. I gasped with shock and pain radiating to my brain, and instinctively stood up.
"Oh, no, you dont Mr. Ford. That was a big mistake, mister. Youve just earned yourself 20 extra!"
"Oh, uh, nooooo, uh, Mr. Greeeen!" I whined. He walked up, and pushed me back down over the desk by the back of my neck..
CRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACK!
I was sputtering as I gasped and stomped my feet up and down. I jumped back and stood up again, both hands clasping my aching butt through the thin seat of my boxers.
"Thats it, Mr. Ford," Mr. Greene shouted. Then, he grasped the back of my neck and turned around to follow him as he walked over to an old, armless wooden chair, and sat down. Then, he yanked me across his lap. I couldnt believe it. Here I was, after another year, about to be paddled back over Mr. Greenes knees again! Only this time he had me angled backwards as my legs were split over either side of his right leg.
CRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!
The force of this rapid-fire attack on my thinly clad bottom was more than I could withstand. I reacted by screaming through tears that burst forth into yowling sobs and bawling. My legs were trying to kick as much as they could, with my right leg trapped between both of his legs, and my tangled jeans holding my feet together at my ankles. I was writhing, twisting, squirming, rocking, trying desperately to get off Mr. Greenes lap and get away. My head was bobbing up and down, and I bounced and thrust my right hand back to protect my blazing behind.
Mr. Green easily grabbed my arm, twisted it upward, and held me positioned tightly in place by it. Then, pausing the swats briefly, he jerked my boxers down over my butt and thighs, to my knees. Aaaaaaa-nooooooooooooo-awaaaay! I shrieked my protest, but I was hooked over his right leg, snagged by my own boxers and jeans.
THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK! THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK! THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK! THWACKTHWACKTHWACKTHWACK!
He set to really blistering my bottom with speed and intensity. I screamed and wailed, pleaded and apologized, begged and confessed, promising never, ever to do anything like that again. I writhed, squirmed, bounced, and pushed against his right leg on which I was caught. He must have really been angry with me. He paid no heed, and spanked on until I surrendered all my resistance, and sobbed, choking and gagging, like a small boy.
"Augh-uh-uh! Ah-uh-ll-uh! beee-uh-uh! Ooooo-uh-aw-uh! Waaaaa! Gooood! Uh! Puh-pleeeez! Uh-uh-haughuh! Noooo-uh-pleeez! Uh! Mr. Greeeeeen! Uh! Im-uh! Sorrreeeeee! Ooooo-uh-uh-n-nnnooooo! Uh! Illbegood! Oooo-uh-waaaa! Stopit! Uh! Uh! Stopit! Ooo-uh-waaaaaa! No-no-no-no-uh! Mooooor! Yaughow-uh! Waaaaaaa!"
How long I hung over Mr. Greenes lap, snared over his right knee while he singed my bare rearend with that paddle I dont know. When finally I realized he had stopped, I was still weeping, shaking, and choking so bad I couldnt speak. He just continued to hold me in place as I dangled, still trapped over his right leg, sobbing my sorrow and pride away.
"All right now. That was probably long overdue, young man." He reached down and under my right arm, pulling me up to sit with my throbbing bottom on his leg that I was still straddling. His left leg was over my right knee, still holding me firmly as I sat uncomfortably on his right thigh and knee. He then scolded me severely. I sat there shaking and trembling, shocked, humiliated, and weeping; but my embarrassment was far eclipsed by the pain to my wounded behind.
"Now, you stand up, and pull up your shorts and jeans, and get yourself to class right away, Mr. Ford," he ordered when he had finished lecturing me. "And I better not hear of any more trouble from you, or youll end your last week of high school with a morning and afternoon paddling every day. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Ford?!"
"Nnnnnghaaa-yessss, uh, sir uh," I choked through my heaving sobs." Slowly, I stood up and stiffly bent over to pull up my boxers, and them my jeans, over my stinging rearend. I tucked in my shirt, fastened my belt, and kept shuddering and heaving as I tried to reign in my weeping and regain composure. Even then, Mr. Greene did not let me just go. He stood up, took my left arm in his stony grip, and walked me out of the office to the exit door.
"You better behave yourself, now, Nathan Ford – unless you want more, and worse!"
"Uh, n-noooo, sir, uh, Mr. Greene," I replied. As he opened the door, I quickly exited, heading back to the pool center. I stopped in the boys restroom to wash my face and comb my hair. To my surprise, my buddy and swim teammate, Greg, was in there. He was really broken up, still weeping almost uncontrollably. When I saw how he was sobbing, I broke down and started crying again too. We both just stood there, bawling and quivering. Finally, we both sort of cried ourselves out, all the while rubbing our agonizing bottoms.
"I cant believe this has happened. Ive always been so careful to keep out of trouble. I never thought it would happen to me," he said.
"Uh, I know what you mean, man." Last year from Mr. Greene, and now, again."
Then, Greg attempted a joke. "Well, Nathan, I guess youve waited long enough for company, buddy. I finally joined you in getting in real bad trouble."
"Hey, man, I dont get in trouble very often," I retorted.
"But when you do, its big time," Greg replied. "And now Im in it with you."
Thanks for the company," I muttered back somewhat managing a smile. "But, come on, we better both get to the pool, and student assist the swim class, or well be getting in trouble again."
"Okay, Nathan. Lets go," Greg agreed.
Then, we both proceeded to the locker room ,and quickly pulled off our clothes and on our swim suits. The bruising on my butt cheeks and thighs was very noticeable beyond my brief swim suit, and immediately I was ashamed all over again. Now, how am I going to deal with this?! I thought to myself. But so was Gregs, and I was sure he was thinking the same thing. Anyway, we had to head out to the pool, to join Coach Benson and the other student assistants from my team.
When we walked out to the pool, it was clear that Greg and I were not the only senior, student assistants with paddle welts on our thighs and butts. Several others were in the same condition, and their eyes and faces evidenced the same residual redness of crying that we did. Coach Benson came over and asked, "Did anybody in the senior class have sense enough to stay put, and follow the rules?" I was mortified that he knew I was amongst those who did not.
The pool water, once again, was a relief to my battered butt, and I stayed in it much longer than usual as a student assistant. Afterwards, Greg and I headed to the cafeteria for lunch, but we took our trays outside where we could put the food on a picnic table and yet stay standing while we ate. I know it was obvious to everybody else what had only recently happened to us, and while we were standing, instead of sitting, at the table.
After lunch, Greg and I walked together to precalc-algebra class. I noticed that Greg had a darkened, worried look on his face. "Hey, Greg," I spoke up. "Come on, man. I know were gonna be hurtin, sitting through classes today. But this is the last week of high school. Well get through it, man! No matter what!"
"Yeah, youre right. But I almost made it all the way through high school, and Ive never been in trouble before – and now, this. My Dad is going to kill me. He will be so mad, and give it to me so bad, and so hard. I dont know when it will be over."
His words suddenly reminded me of the fate that awaited me too. I thought, this close to graduation, maybe we could avoid our fathers learning about it. Maybe, my Dad would let it slide. Not a chance! My only possible solution was to try to keep him from finding out!
"Greg, maybe we can keep it quiet. Just walk the tightrope from now to the end of the week. After all, graduation is Saturday night!"
"I wish you were right, Nathan. But I just know hes going to find out, and then what Coach Jackson did will be nothing compared to my Dad!"
It was obvious that he was really afraid. In reality, I was too; but for some crazy reason I still thought I might be able to hide it from my father. After all, Id be out of high school after Saturday, and then off to college in the fall.
Pre-calc was agony, trying to sit quietly, while constantly shifting and adjusting, trying to find a less painful way to sit. I noticed Greg shifting and squirming in his seat, but when I could catch his eye, it was filled with tears and he looked terrified. Finally, the last class of the day was over, and we both stiffly walked down to our lockers. There, taped on the door, were sealed envelopes with our names on them. We each took ours and opened them. Inside were notes to our parents, explaining what had happened, and then to be signed by them and returned by us.
I gulped, and pulled in a deep gasp of air. If my Dad saw this, Id be sitting on pillows for weeks, and probably grounded for the rest of the summer. I stuck mine in my English book, and headed out to my car. Greg was walking slower, behind me, shaking his head as he looked at the note. "Buck up, Greg," I called. "We can get through this and minimize the trouble, man!"
"Not a chance," I heard him say as I lowered myself slowly into my car and started the engine. Greg looked dreadful as he pulled away in his car. When I got home, Mom was there, and greeted me as enthusiastically as ever. I said I was going up to my room for awhile, until dinner. She encouraged me to take a nap, to freshen me up for supper. Upstairs, I lay face down on my stomach on my bed, and immediately dropped into a cavern of sleep.
I was awakened by Moms gentle touch, rubbing my neck and shoulders, and tousling my hair. "Nathan, suppers ready. Dads waiting for us. Come on and get up and join us."
Slowly I gathered my consciousness together and slid off the bed, to land woodenly on my feet. Then, I put my shoes back on and followed Mom down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dinner time was filled with talk about the end of high school, graduation, and looking forward to the future. Not once did my Dad let on, if he knew anything about what had happened yesterday and earlier today. The night was an easy one, as I had no homework. By 10:30, I was sleepy and excused myself to shuffle up the stairs to bed.
Thursday morning at school, there was a line of guys going into and coming out of the principals office. I met up with Greg at the lockers, and he looked very subdued and crestfallen. "Hey, man," I called out. He looked at me quickly with a pained expression, and then looked away. I knew immediately what had happened. Still I had to ask. "What happened, man?"
Gregs eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he looked down. "I got it bad – really bad – from my Dad – last night. And Im gonna get it again tonight – and tomorrow night too! I told you hed kill me. You cant image . . ."
"Oooh yes, I can," my reply interrupted him. "Remember Mr. Greenes class last year, and Coach Jacksons gym class in January? I couldnt sit down comfortably for over two weeks," I whispered the words to my friend, Greg.
"Well, today, tomorrow, and Saturday nights commencement are gonna be tough for me to sit through, buddy, believe me." I did, and winced thinking for a second about what could happen to me, too, if my father found out.
We headed to our home room for the opening of the days classes. After announcements from the office, I was handed a note by my home room teacher. It said: "Nathan Ford. Come to the office immediately!" I gulped in a deep breath of air, instantly worrying about what this might mean. Then, when the bell rang for us to proceed to our first full class of the day, I left hurriedly, to avoid Greg, and headed to the office.
When I walked into the office, Coach Jackson was sitting, waiting. And in his lap was the famous, wooden paddle! Oh, oh! What now?! Mr. Edwards emerged from his office, walked up to me and commanded, "Stand up, Nathan." I jumped to my feet. "Follow me, young man. Come on along, Coach," he called to Coach Jackson, who followed behind me to Mr. Edwards office. My heart was pounding, my mind racing, as I followed the principal into his office, with Coach Jackson following immediately behind me, and closing the door.
"Did you take the note home that was given to you yesterday, Nathan?" Mr. Edwards pointedly questioned.
"Ah, yes, sir. I did." Well, I did take it home, I just hadnt shown it to my parents.
"And did you bring it back, signed, this morning?"
"Ah, no, sir. I forgot it," I lied.
"Nathan, you are lying. And for that, and for disobeying – again – what you were told, you are going to be paddled today, and again tomorrow, by Coach Jackson." Mr. Edwards informed me. "You can drop your jeans now, and bend over my desk, for the first one now."
"But, Mr. Edwards, ah . . . I can explain," I started improvising.
"No, you cannot, Nathan. All you can do is more lying, and earn yourself even paddlings, while we withhold your graduation until all punishment has been administered. Do you hear me now, young man?!"
I gasped, but tried to stay cool and retain my composure. "But, Mr. Edwards, ah, sir, you dont understand. I just left the note at home . . ."
"Did your father or mother sign it, Nathan?" Mr. Edwards drove straight to the point.
"Ah, yes, sir. Yes, sir. They did." Now I was really lying, trying to buy a chance to go back home and forge their signatures.
"Thats IT! You can forget about even showing up at commencement Saturday night, because your diploma will not be there. Instead, you be here Saturday morning at 9, because Coach Jackson will have still another session to administer.
I was gulping in air, as I reeled from the realization of what a mess I had just created for myself.
"But, . . . but, Mr. Edwards, ah, . . ."
"Be quiet, Nathan. Lets get this one over – NOW! Your father will be here shortly."
My father?! Oh, nooooo. Now what? Had he called my Dad? My speeding thinking was abruptly interrupted by Coach Jackson taking hold of my left arm, turning me around to face him, and then rapidly unbuckling, unfastening, and unzipping my jeans. He tugged them down my legs, past my knees, to drop around my feet. Then, with the same tight grip on my arm, he turned me around to face Mr. Edwards desk, and pushed me down over it from my back. I fell across the desk, and scarcely had gained my balance sprawled across it, when
WHAAAACK! The first swat with that big, wooden paddle connected with the thinly clad seat of my boxers. I jumped and stood up on impact. He pushed me back down, and delivered another and another in rapid succession.
My butt was already so sore from yesterdays session, that after 15 or so, I was trying to push back up and pleading already. Coach Jackson lost all patience with me, yanked my boxers down over my hips to fall at my feet with my jeans. Then he reached around, grabbed my right arm and twisted it around up behind my back, doubling me over, and directed me before him over to a chair where he sat down. All the while, I was screaming and pleading for him not to do what I knew he was going to do.
He roughly pulled me across his knees, and resumed smacking my bare behind with a firm, fiery, rhythmic force. I kicked my legs, bound by my tangled jeans and boxers, and bounced up and down, scooted forward and backward and around, trying to evade the torching paddle. In only a few minutes, I was crying and choking hysterically, sobbing while he continued igniting my bottom. When Coach Jackson quit the rounds of swats to my rearend, I did not know as I lay hanging over his legs, wailing and gagging, tears and mucous falling from my eyes, nose, and mouth to the floor.
While I was still dangling over his lap, the door to Mr. Edwards office opened and in walked my father. Until he spoke, I unaware of his presence.
"Whats going on here?" his voice boomed through the room. I turned to the right, looked up, and saw him staring at me, reddened face full of tears, and bare reddened bottom upturned over Coach Jacksons knees. I wanted to die, I felt so horrible, so ashamed, so afraid. I couldnt even scramble off Coach Jacksons lap, though, because he still held me securely by my twisted right arm gripped in his left hand.
"Well, Mr. Ford, this is why I called you this morning and asked you to hurry right over. Weve been having some recurring problems with Nathan, and theyve led to this kind of discipline of him." Mr. Edwards spoke.
"What?!" my father demanded.
"Tuesday, Nathan, and most of the senior class – but not all – took it on themselves to skip school and go out to the lake for the day. Yesterday morning, all the boys who were such glad participants received discipline with the paddle from several of us. Then they were given notes to take home to their parents, to be signed, and returned this morning.
"Of all the boys involved, only Nathan did not bring his note in. When I questioned him about it, he lied and said he had forgotten it. Then when asked outright if he had gotten it signed by you or Mrs. Ford, he lied again, and said he had. Of course, when I called you a little while ago, and asked you if you had seen anything from me sent home Nathan yesterday, you proved his lie by telling me you had not.
"Because of the disobedience, and twice lies, Nathan is scheduled for the same treatment here tomorrow morning, and then also on Saturday morning at 9; and he will not be allowed to participate in commencement Saturday night."
The silence was terrifying. I dont know whether the temperature in the room instantly dropped or rose, with my Dads icy, austere stare at me, or his obviously seething anger. Just then, Coach Jackson released his grip on me, and lifted me up off his lap. Still weeping and shaking, painfully I bent over and pulled my boxers and jeans up over my battered buns. Humiliated, I looked up into my fathers face. He just stared silently back at me. I knew my doom was sealed.
Then, he spoke. "Give me your keys, Nathan," he ordered.
What?! Hes taking me car keys?! This really was rotten, but maybe I could endure being without the car for however long he kept it, instead of being spanked. I thought to myself as I pulled the keys from my jeans pocket, stuck out my hand, and give them over to my Dad.
"Ill be here at 3:30 to pick you up. Be here." Then, he turned and walked out. I couldnt believe it. No explosion, no lecture, no dressing down – nothing. But I knew that was not a good sign. My father must be infuriated with me. Aaaugh-ooooo!
When Coach Jackson and Mr. Edwards let me leave, I headed immediately to the boys room to wash my face, comb my hair, and try to regain some composure. After that, the day was long drudgery. I could hardly sit at all in any class, my bottom was so sore. Yet, I had to pay attention, and be quiet and respectful. Finally, at 3:30 the last bell rang, and I headed to the office, by way of my locker, leaving in the locker what I didnt need. I walked steadily down the corridor to the office. There was my father, standing outside Mr. Edwards office, waiting.
Knowing better than to speak, I simply opened the door and walked in. He stood up, grabbed hold of my arm, and turned me around to escort me out the door. Then, still holding my arm tightly, he marched me out of the school and towards his car.
"But, Dad, what about my car?" I made the mistake of asking.
"Dont worry about it, Nathan. Your mother and I will pick it up this evening. You wont be driving it for a while. The drive home was dreadful silence. When we had parked the car, he barked at me, "Nathan, up to your room and wait for me."
That night, my father torched my bare bottom with the old hair brush, and my screams and wailing soon collapsed into gasping, choking sobs. I was sent to bed, without dinner, and told I would be receiving another one Friday night, and Saturday night – when I should have been participating in graduation. Besides the agony of my flaming rearend, I sunk into depression at the prospect of missing my graduation, and receiving recurring spankings.
Friday morning, I had hardly entered my home room, before I was summoned to Coach Jacksons office. Oh, no, I thought. Now what?! In only minutes I found out, as my khaki shorts were peeled off me, and then my boxers, and Coach Jackson, pulled me across his legs -- once more splayed straddling over his right leg and knee -- to administer the scorching swats of his paddle. Afterwards, in sobbing tears, I was released and allowed to redress and to the boys restroom, where I heaved and sighed deeply trying to stop my crying and regain some composure. My last day of high school was another one of trying to sit in agonizing misery.
On Saturday morning, Dad drove me back to school, where Coach Jackson met us again. He took me back to the boys basketball locker room, and sitting down on a bench, hauled me across his lap and riding up on his right leg and knee, while he pulled down my basketball shorts and boxers, and administered another fiery session with his paddle. I kicked and screamed, but quickly dissolved into surrendered pleading and apologizing, through tears and weeping. Afterwards, he stood me up, and wincing pulled my boxers and shorts over my buttocks. Still shuddering and with tears streaming down my face, he walked me back to my Dad, who drove me back home in silence.
Dad also made good on his word, and I found myself draped, bare butt, over his knees each night, while he blistered me with that horrible hair brush. My high school diploma was sent to me, but I spent commencement night crying alone, lying on my stomach in bed, in my room, my behind throbbing and burning. On Sunday evening, my father announced my penalty.
"You skipped school, which you knew you were not free to do. Thats the first violation. Then you lied about it – the second. Next, you found that you were in trouble at school the next day, because of it – a third violation. You failed to bring home the note that you were given, and to tell us as you were told – fourth and fifth violations. Then you were back in trouble at school the next day, and the next, and the next -– sixth, seventh, and eighth violations. You lied to the school -- a ninth violation. Finally, you were denied the right to participate in graduation, as you should have – a tenth violation.
"Beginning the next Friday evening, for the next 10 weeks, you will be getting a long, solid spanking and then heading straight to bed. And, also, youre grounded and the car has been taken away for rest of the summer."
Ooooh, noooooo! How can I take this?! Im a high school grad, after all! Im gonna go to college in the fall! How can he do this to me?!
It was well past the middle of August when my Friday night spankings ceased. Even then, I still could not go out and did not have the car to drive. My father was resolute that my behavior would receive the punishment it had earned, and that I should learn the lesson of misbehaving.
Finally, after Labor Day, I was getting ready to pack up to go to college, which was about 10 hours away, across the northern state line. Dad informed me that he would be driving me there, helping me get settled, and then returning. I would not have my car. I couldnt believe it. How long is this going to go on?! I wondered to myself.
He was good for his word about that too. As I rode shotgun with him for the long journey, Dad affirmed that he was holding me to the same standard, with the same consequences, at college as he did when I was in high school.
"Enjoy yourself, study hard, work hard, stay out of trouble, and remember why youre there. But if you mess up, get in trouble, or do what you know you are not supposed to, you can count on having it followed up by me – either when you get home, or if I have to by driving up to school and dealing with it there. Your mother and I work too hard to pay for you to go to college to put up with any misbehavior, boy. Do you understand what Im saying, and what this means, Nathan?"
Of course I did, although I was really seething and smarting from my fathers continued domination and control of my life, now that I had graduated from high school and was a college student. Still, I knew what that ground rules were, and what to expect, even at college. I finally learned that I could count on my Dad always following up any discipline or trouble I got in with worse from him. And, if I messed up -- even at college --, my Dad would follow up with me at home -– or even at the college! -– himself. In fact, thats exactly what happened, several times, over the next four years. But thats another story.