First taste of the paddle

Growing up in the 80s, I was no stranger to a trip over my mother’s knee. Acting up in our house meant feeling her hand or wooden spoon across my bare backside until it turned red, followed by time in the corner waiting to rub my sore bottom.

Despite my tendency to find myself in this position at home, however, I was usually well behaved at school and avoided feeling a school paddle until the fourth grade.

My teacher that year was Miss Wilson, an older woman with a high standard for behaviour in the classroom. She often walked up and down the rows of desks with her paddle in hand as a reminder to behave. Chatting, passing notes, a messy desk, or anything else below her standards usually resulted in one or more students taking a trip to the hall, followed by several pops of that paddle against their bottoms.

A few months into that year I’d exhausted my luck. I developed a crush for a girl in my class, Ashley, for whose attention I became desperate. We’d become social and that day I wrote a note which I tried to coyly pass to her.

Unfortunately, as I reached over to place the note on Ashley’s desk it fell to the floor and Miss Wilson’s gaze turned immediately to it. I’ll never forget the dread of looking up and seeing her pointing at me with that paddle. “Pick up that note and bring it to with you to the hallway,” she commanded.

Hands trembling, I picked the note up, placed it in my pocket and followed Miss Wilson out of the classroom door. Once in the hall, she wasted no time dishing out my punishment. Pointing again with the paddle, she ordered: “Both hands on the wall.” I obeyed. “Now, stick out your bottom.”

I froze in place – then I felt Miss Wilson grab the back of my pants by the belt loop. “I said, stick out your bottom!” Five quick swats followed. They were over as quickly as they started but my backside was burning and I cried as I reached back to comfort myself.

As I turned back around, Miss Wilson stooped to look me straight in the eyes. “Next time you fuss during a punishment, I’ll be sending you to Mr Ward for a proper licking!” Mr Ward was both the principal and PE instructor at our small school and had a terrifying reputation.

I gathered myself together as best I could then followed my teacher back into the classroom. I resumed my seat very gingerly, and I spent the rest of the afternoon with my hot, itching bottom squirming against the hard wooden chair.

The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough. I was eager to both get home and inspect the damage to be my bottom.

Unfortunately I never saw got to see what the paddling alone had done. Miss Wilson had phoned my mother during my bus ride home, and Mom was waiting for me with the wooden spoon as I walked through the door. Soon afterwards, now with an even sorer bottom, I was staring at the corner of my bedroom.

This was not my last encounter with a school paddle, but it will always be the most memorable!

Contributor: AJ