In Trouble At School
Author : cpsurvey@hotmail.com
“Get off me!”
I shoved the kid backward. He started to fall, and turn to catch himself. The bleacher clipped the edge of his cheek. His head bounced to the side, and he curled up on the floor, clutching his head.
A firm hand gripped my right shoulder and spun me around. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing? Who started this?” demanded the coach.
“Nothin’” I snapped back. ”I was just trying to get him out of my face,” I stammered, realizing that it was the coach with whom I was talking. “I didn’t mean to trip him.”
“Alright, bright boy! Then you get to do nothin’ in my office for a while. Do you understand?” he added with a sergeant’s authority.
“Yes sir” I mumbled, glancing to the floor.
“Jimmy, see to it that he gets there” the coach ordered.
“Coach, Jason started it” someone called out.
“I don’t care. You all know the rules: No fighting.” He knelt to check on Jason. The rest of the class had crowded around. Jimmy grabbed my arm and started to drag me from the area.
“Come on.”
I went along, quietly. The reality of what awaited was becoming clear.
Jimmy tried to cheer me up. “Hey, I was there. I’ll tell the coach that you were only defending yourself and that Jason deserved what he got. He was the one that started it. Besides, he’s been pushing you around all semester.”
“Thanks” I mumbled.
I knew that it wouldn’t work. Coach Grierson had made it clear from the beginning that fighting was not allowed, and that anyone caught fighting would regret it. And he had already made good on that promise. Rich Johnson and Al Ryles had gotten into an all-out fist fight in the weight room last semester. The coach sent them to the office and ordered us to the showers. He wailed on them for the rest of the period. I could still hear their ululations echoing in my mind.
Jim opened the office door, and I stepped in. Coach Miller looked up.
“Coach Grierson said Mike should wait for him here’ reported Jimmy.
Coach Miller waved me to a chair. Jimmy closed the door and was gone.
“What happened?” asked Mr. Miller.
“Jason started in on me again. I shoved him, and he tripped. He hit his head on the bleachers.
Some time slipped by. “You know the rules: No fighting.”
“Yes, sir.”
My eyes had begun to scan about the room. The walls were filled with pictures and medals. The football teams were there, the basketball teams, a few pics of promising wrestlers, track and field. But what made my stomach tighten was a long, fine-grain wood paddle that hung prominently on the wall behind their desks.
My father’s voice echoed in my mind: In trouble at school, in trouble at home. It had been a long time since I was in trouble, and I hoped that my dad would never find out. The last time I was paddled at home was in the seventh grade, and I had promised myself to never let it happen again.
I heard the class charge into the locker-room. Coach Grierson didn’t appear. Passing time came and ended, leaving the locker-room quiet as a tomb. I began to worry about where the coach was and what was happening. I tried to occupy time by reading a magazine. The next passing time came and ended.
It was a relief to hear the office door open. I turned, only to have my heart sink into my stomach. In filed Coach Grierson, Principal Hayworth, my father, Jason’s dad, and Jason. A whole lot had happened while I was innocently waiting. Coach Grierson came around to his side of the desk.
“Mike, you can see that Jason has required stitches because of your handy work.”
“Yes sir” I mumbled.
“He has been suspended for the rest of the week for starting a fight. You are suspended for the same time, for the same reason. Am I right?” Coach Grierson glanced at the Principal.
“That’s right. We can not condone fighting in school.”
“So” continued the coach, “we called for both of your fathers to come and pick you up. But before sending you home, I need to finish a promise. Jason is going to have a black eye for several weeks. That must hurt. Right Jason?”
“Yes sir,” he mumbled.
I felt strangely a-kin to him, realizing that he was in just as much trouble as me.
“But where’s the pain in all this for you?” The coach was looking directly at me and paused for emphasis. “You realize that no one gets away with fighting in my classes, don’t you?”
“Yes sir.” I quietly answered.
“So I ask again: Where is the pain for you?”
I mustered my courage. “I haven’t yet experienced any physical pain for fighting, sir”
“What did Rich and Al get last semester for fighting?”
I nervously glanced at my father. His face was like granite. “They were paddled, sir.”
“Should you get the same treatment?”
“Sir, yes, sir” I said staring at the floor. I was astounded that I had agreed.
“The paddle is hanging on the wall. Bring it to me.”
I could barely move. My whole body felt like Jell-O. My mind raced at the realization that not only was I in trouble, but my dad was going to witness the punishment.
The paddle was lighter than it looked, but I knew from personal experience that a light paddle was just as potent as a heavy one. I handed it over to the coach who had come around the side of the desk, and rearranged the chairs.
The coach glanced at my dad who nodded.
“Mike, pull down your gym shorts.”
“Oh God,” I gasped, tugging on the bottom edge of my shorts. They collected around the white Adidas.
“Place your hands on the seat of the chair in front of you.”
I reached over the back of the chair. This forced me to bend over.
“You will hold that position or I will start all over again. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir”
I closed my eyes, embarrassed and intimidated. I was embarrassed because I was about to be spanked in front of witnesses. But it was doubly embarrassing to be spanked on my bare ass in from of them. My dad had spanked me several times in my jockstrap, but that was in private, in my bedroom. This was going to be at school, in front of Coach Miller, my dad, the principal, Jason’s dad (whom I didn’t even know), and Jason (this was going to get all over school). And I was intimidated because Rich and Al’s wails were echoing in my mind.
I felt the cool surface of the wood against my bottom. It disappeared, quickly followed by a swoosh. My mind raced with information of pain. I gasped.
-‘I can get through this,’ I encouraged myself.
The experience was repeated.
The pain was excrutiating.
I began breathing more quickly.
The experience was repeated a third time, and bit more quickly.
I clenched my teeth to avoid audibly crying.
The paddle fell a fourth time, and I quietly groaned.
Hope of survival was evaporating.
The paddle fell a fifth time, and more intense. I cried out.
The paddle fell a sixth time.
The strokes were coming more quickly now, and the pain was exploding in my mind.
I was audibly crying out in pain. Tears welled in my eyes. I was desperately trying not to bawl.
The paddle fell a seventh time.
I knew then that I wasn’t going to make it. My knees were about to buckle
The paddle fell an eighth time. I began to cry freely from the pain, tears falling from my eyes. I was ashamed. I laid my head on one of my arms and cussed audibly.
“Ouch! Shit!”
The paddle fell a ninth time, and then a tenth time. My wails echoed counterpoint to the resounding swats.
The coach paused: “Son, how old are you?”
“Sir, sixteen, sir” I gasped out between sobs.
“Sixteen swats will be a good number,” a voice volunteered.
I was astounded. My dad spoke the sentence.
“Sixteen it will be then.”
The cool surface of the wood left my prickling bottom, and returned quickly.
My mind raced with pain management. My voice cried out.
The paddle fell rapidly: twelve, thirteen, and fourteen.
I was pushed forward with each swat.
I flexed my calf and leg muscles to counter the blows.
The pain was intense. I released the pain with loud gasps and shouts.
Tears streamed down my face.
The fifteenth and sixteenth blows were slow, heavy, and well placed.
I howled in pain.
The cool surface of the paddle returned to my southern exposure.
“Now, Mike, do you understand that fighting is unacceptable in my class?”
“Sir, yes, sir” I sobbed
“Do you understand that fighting is unacceptable anywhere in school?”
“Sir, yes, sir” I sobbed, wiping the tears from my eyes with my arm.
“Now, if you are found fighting again, what’s going to happen to you?”
“Sir, I will get the paddle, probably longer and harder than I’ve just gotten.”
“Please remember that. Pull up your shorts.”
I reached for my gym shorts, my bottom prickling at the touch of cloth.
“Put the paddle back on the wall where you found it.” He extended it toward me. I grasped the blade, looking at the floor.
I carried the paddle back to the wall, its smooth surface glinting from the light. My crotch tightened up. My subconscious stirred. I suppressed the thoughts immediately.
As I put the paddle back on the wall, I heard the principal say “Jason, you deserve the same paddling you have just witnessed. I have had as many complaints about you as I can stand. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir” he mumbled. He was still dressed in his gym clothes.
“Because you have suffered an eye injury, I’m going to fore-go the punishment. But if you are in a fight again, I’m not going to be lenient. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir” he mumbled, looking at the floor the whole time.
“He will be experiencing additional pain at home,” his father volunteered quietly. “We have a rule: In trouble at school, in trouble at home.”
“We have the same rule in our house,” volunteered my dad. All four of us exchanged glances.
“Well then,” declared the principal “I don’t want to see either of you in this school before next Monday.”
My dad grabbed my arm and said, “Lets go get your clothes.”
He marched me to my locker. I fumbled with the lock, happy about the prospect of getting out of my gym clothes. It opened.
“Don’t bother getting changed,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Jason was nearby; his dad was treating him the same. “Just because you didn’t get any at school, doesn’t mean you won’t get it the instant we get home.”
I stuffed my clothes into the duffel and closed the locker with a bang.
As I walked by Jason I couldn’t help jabbing: “See ya later, bottom boy.”
My dad grabbed me, spun me around, and pushed me backward, slamming me into the lockers. “What did you just say?” he demanded.
I hesitated, stunned by the force he showed. The prickling from my butt counseled wisdom. “I…I...”
“I don’t want to hear it” he declared. “The coach’s paddle is seconds from here. Should we begin right now?”
“Sir, no sir. Please, no, sir” I begged. I was beyond embarrassment. I was terrified at the prospect of getting spanked by my dad, in my jockstrap, at school. It would have been the ultimate in punishment.
“Then repeat to me what you just said.”
“I said: See you later, bottom boy.” My voice trailed off in decibels.
“Are you trying to pick a fight with him?”
“Sir, no sir.”
“Well, those are fighting words.”
I hung my head.
“Well, do you mean them or are you going to apologize for those words?”
I paused and swallowed hard.
I looked up, catching Jason’s eye. “Sorry. That was rude of me. I guess we’re both in trouble, and I just added to mine.”
“Yeah,” he answered quietly. He looked up. “The coach really wailed on you.”
“Yeah.” I wanted to say more, but I kept my mouth shut.
Silence filled through the locker room.
“All right. Let’s go,” declared my dad, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the door.
END OF PART 1