What If I'd Been Paddled?

 

Last time, I wrote about a fellow student being paddled in front of our class. As a footnote to that post, I mentioned:

This was the only time I was ever threatened with a paddling at school. I didn’t start the fight—he hit me first, and my glasses cut me near my eye. I fought back. The headmaster told both of us that if we got into another fight, we’d each be paddled, regardless of who started it.

Looking back, part of me wonders what would have happened if I had gotten into another fight and actually received that paddling. I don’t think my dad would have punished me for being paddled over a fight I hadn’t started—but with him, you could never be sure. Even at that age, it might not have mattered. I still could have ended up getting the belt when I got home.

So, here’s a fictional "what if" scenario.

About a month after the headmaster warned us that another fight would earn us both a paddling, we got into another one. Looking back, I think it may have been engineered on purpose.

After the first fight, when we returned to class, one of the boys asked if we'd been paddled. We told him no, but explained that we'd been warned that if either of us got into another fight, we'd both be paddled.

The boy who had started the first fight laughed and said, "Hollis has never been paddled. I'd take a paddling just to see Hollis get one. He'd probably cry like a baby."

"I doubt that," I replied.

For a while, it became a running joke among the boys that they were going to make sure I got paddled. I never took them seriously, and eventually the teasing faded away—or so I thought.

About a month later, the same boy started in on me again, calling me a fag and hurling the usual insults. I answered with a remark that hit a nerve. He sucker-punched me in the stomach. I stood up and swung without thinking, catching him squarely on the jaw.

I hadn't realized how hard I'd hit him until he landed flat on his back.

At that exact moment, the headmaster appeared in the doorway.

"You two. My office."

I knew immediately what that meant.

This time, we were going to be paddled.

Normally, the headmaster only gave one hard swat. Instead, he looked at us and said, "Last time I let you boys off with a warning. Since you ignored it, you're each getting three swats today—one for the first fight and two for this one. Maybe you'll think twice before fighting again."

I was first.

He pointed to his desk.

"Bend over. Hands flat on the desk. Spread your feet and stick your backside out."

I did as I was told.

The first swat burned unlike anything I'd ever felt, but I stayed in position. I wasn't going to cry.

The second one nearly took my breath away.

By the third, I was fighting with everything I had to keep my composure, but I managed it.

When he told me to stand up and switch places, the other boy smirked at me while the headmaster wasn't looking.

During his paddling, he grunted after the first swat. It was obvious he wasn't handling it as well as I had. On the third, he let out a quiet whimper.

When he stood up, I noticed tears welling in his eyes.

Neither of us said a word while the headmaster wrote notes for our parents explaining what had happened. We were told the notes had to be signed and returned the next day.

As soon as we stepped into the hallway, I quietly ran a finger down the outside of my eye, mimicking a tear, and asked with a grin, "Who was it that said I'd be crying like a baby?"

His smile disappeared.

Mine did too once we walked back into class.

All I could think about was taking that note home.

I had every reason to worry.

When I handed it to my dad that evening, he read it without saying a word. Then he looked up.

"You know what I've always told you about getting in trouble at school."

"But it wasn't my fault," I protested. "I didn't start the fight."

"I don't care who started the damn fight," he said. "You're going to get it worse now."

He told me to bend over.

I heard him pull off his belt.

Then I heard the familiar sound of him folding it in half.

The first lick landed across a backside that was already sore from the paddling. The rest came one after another. I lost count.

This time, I couldn't hold back the tears.

When it was over, I was grounded for a month.

And in this imagined version of events, I never got into trouble at school again.