Jr. High Paddling, Part Two
Alright. . . . . . here's the second part of the saga that many of you have been waiting for.
My 8th grade year, I had an English teacher I did NOT like. She was bossy, loud, and exceptionally annoying. She seemed to think she was God's gift to mankind, and I swear to God, her only purpose in life was to make mine miserable. I LOATHED the air this woman breathed. . . . and she definitely seemed to return the favor. Now, I love words. . . . language. . . . artistic expression. . . . and I pride myself on my use of English grammar. I didn't often speak up in class. . . . I didn't want any more attention called to me than was necessary. I wanted to sit in the back of the class with my fantasy novel, and check out of class, while carefully keeping one ear attuned. It was a well-known fact that I was reading out-of-class materials, but the teachers learned, eventually, to leave me alone. They quickly discovered that I could read something else, and concurrently listen, and participate in class without missing a beat. Mrs. S refused to do so. The principal eventually told her to stop sending me to her for that reason. . . . . when I was reading, I was being quiet and not causing trouble.
Mrs. S would frequently goad me. . . . . challenge me. . . . . things like, "Oh, now don't you just think you're great? Queen of the world, huh? Your parents send you here so they don't have to deal with you. If you can't even pay attention to a simple English lecture, you'll never make it as an adult. Life is so much more complicated, then. You'll fail miserably. . . . . all you're good for is causing trouble." Meanwhile, I would ignore her. . . . . continue reading. . . . . and then she would ask, "Are you ignoring me?" "No, ma'am." "You sure? Cuz I could be talking to a brick wall right now." Yes, she very much was. I was disconnected to her, and the situation. She'd go back to the front, and start teaching again.
One day, I'd been reading Harry Potter (best books EVER!), and she called me. "What is a direct object? Quick!" Without faltering, and without stopping reading, I answered. "It receives the action of the verb." "WRONG!", she triumphantly called. I immediately flared up. I had NEVER gotten a question in her class wrong, and I wasn't going to start then. Without looking up, I said, "I am not wrong. Any person versed in English knows that." She asked, "Do you think I'm stupid?" Defiance flashed in my eyes as I looked up, met her eyes, and asked, "Do you really want me to answer that?!?!!?" She snarled, "Get out of my classroom." Calmly, I stood and asked, "Where would you like me to go?" "Anywhere." Now, there were 12 other students in this room. They were all cowed, heads down, scared to breathe. I calmly packed up and left. I walked down the hallway a bit, and sat down on the floor near the stairs, and kept reading. Shortly thereafter, the dean of men walked up to me. He crouched down to my level, and asked what I was doing. "Reading, sir." He said, "Mrs. S just called me. . . . . she said you called her stupid, and then stormed out of class." I, of course, immediately became violently angry. I did NO SUCH THING! Of course, the longer I sat there and argued with the Dean, the more impatient he got with me. "Enough. I'm tired of your excuses. Come with me." "Dean, there were 13 people in that room, and 12 of 'em would be GLAD to speak up for me. . . . . . Ask any of them!" "ENOUGH. I have no need to talk to your little friends. . . . . the word of my teachers, versus yours, is enough. You end up in the office 2 or 3 times a week. . . . . isn't that enough testament. Mrs. S doesn't have problems out of her other students." "Only because they're too scared to do or say anything!" At this, he seized my wrist, and pulled me into his office. When we reached his desk, he warned, "Stay right there." I was SEETHING. He called the principal, and quickly ran the situation down. I had openly insulted a teacher, and then walked out of her class. I then lied about it, and argued extensively with the Dean. How on EARTH did the officials always manage to make things sounds so bad? And the worst part was. . . . .none of this was true!
She arrived shortly thereafter, and announced that I was to be paddled. 6 swats for the insolence in class, and 6 for lying and arguing. Which, of course, only set me off more as I tried to defend myself. . . . and I ended up with an extra 3. "Don't say one more word, or I'll continue to add strokes." Mind-numblingly angry, I ceased talking. She handed the paddle across the desk to the Dean, who then walked around the desk. He moved the chairs in front of his desk to either side, and told me to talk a step back. "Bend over, and grab hold of your ankles. Don't let go." My answer to this was to very firmly place my hands on my knees. Just let them TRY to make me go any lower. Glowering, I glared at them both before I lowered my head to look at the ground between my feet. I gritted my teeth, and waited. CRACK I was so angry this only served to torque me off more. . . . and the next five came in quick succession. By the 6th, I was rocking forward onto my toes, and bouncing back down. . . . . but I was refusing to move, or make any noise. 7th. . . . . . I found a small piece of paper on the floor, and I started counting backwards from 100. 8th. . . . . I held my breath as the pain rocked my entire body. 9th. . . . . . I took a quick breath in, held it, and kept counting. . . . . the piece of paper, light pink in color, fuzzed in and out of focus. The 10th, 11th, and 12th came in quick succession, and it was at this point I chose to disconnect fully. The pain faded, and the world went a bit blurry. I heard my name repeatedly, and I checked back in. "Come over here, and bend over the desk. You've got three left." He reached out to guide me over to his desk, and I jerked away from him. I went over, and grabbed ahold of the far side of the desk. He said, "These are to show you that arguing is not acceptable. Do you understand me?" I snarled, "YES, SIR". I felt the hand on my back, then, I heard, rather than felt, the impact.. . . and a second later, the searing pain overtook my entire being. I closed my eyes, brought my attention to my breathing, and managed to stifle the yelp. I dug my fingers into the wood as tight as I could as the next two bone-jarring swats hit their mark. Finally, I heard the words, "Stand up, now." I pried my fingers off his desk, and spun away from him. I went and leaned against the wall, and shied away from him when he went to give me a hug. That was the MO in our small Christian school. . . . . never let someone go after punishment, discipline, or "biblical guidance" before letting them know they were fully forgiven. He said, "I'm sorry I had to do that. . . . . I hope the point was made." I snarled back, "I'm sorry, too. . . . may I go to biology, now?" He sighed, and nodded. I, of course, did not head straight down to the labs. . . . . I went to the bathroom. My backside was already turning interesting colors. . . . . . there were reds, blues, whites. . . .even a bit of green. It was extremely hot to the touch, and swollen. I shook my head, pulled my jeans back up, and vowed I would get Mrs. S back. . . . . .
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