At ten years old, I was falsely accused by a teacher of leaving a jump rope on the play ground. She assigned me the outrageous punishment of writing 5000 sentences. I refused. She sent me to the principal’s office. He used a wooden paddle and beat my buttocks and back of legs 10 times. I’ll never forget the smile on his face as he told me to bend over. I’ll never forget the agony of not being able to sit down. I’ll never forget the look on my mom’s face when she saw my naked butt on the way to the shower; black and blue from the butt to the back of the knee. She left it to my dad to deal with who only stated that I needed to learn how to avoid trouble.
I went from a happy school boy to an absolute terror. I learned to evade teachers and anyone else in authority. I played pranks on teachers, sabotaged equipment, let the air out of teachers’ car tires, rotten onions in the piano, etc. On days when I knew I would be caught, or wanted to get caught, I wore two pairs of pants and as much underwear as possible. I would fake the cry when paddled then give my school mates a smirk as I came out of the office. After all, if I get punished for stuff I didn’t do, then by golly I’m going to do as much mischief as possible and at least earn it.
This was at a religious school. The paddling woke me to the fact that these religious authority figures were tyrants. I became an agnostic.
I didn’t learn to be care-free and happy again until I had children of my own. They taught me how to laugh again.
Note: As far as physical punishment in school goes, I had it easy compared to my friends at Christian Brothers (broken nose and front tooth) or the ironically named Sisters of Mercy (broken finger).