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But my second whack?

In other words, I was buck naked. Having manfully endured my swat because I barely felt it through my thick trousers, I sauntered back to my seat basking in a sort of celebrity status that had ly been unknown to me.

No death threats. I believe it did. Both my encounters with paddles, however, involved the old-fashioned, hand-propelled kind. Talking in class, probably.

Paddle stories

Nailed again. The thing was, in a panicky effort to divert unwelcome attention from myself and the unfortunate noise I had just made, I glanced next to me and spotted a mild-mannered kid with the unique last name of Bobo.

Not a bit. Photo by: story blocks. No throwing things.

A former longtime feature writer and columnist for The Star Press in Muncie, Indiana, John Carlson is a storyteller with an unflagging appreciation for the wonderful people of East Central Indiana and the tales of their lives, be they funny, poignant, inspirational or all three. And my Dad? After a long, pressure-filled day adjusting chemicals at General Motors, he would have laughed his head off, and possibly even whacked me himself, just to let off some steam.

Dang it, I thought. Except, of course, where you sit.

Did the threat of corporal punishment help keep us students in line? Those were, indeed, different days. Regrettably for me, four or five of my closest friends immediately pointed my direction, informing the hockey coach that poor Bobo was blameless, and in fact, the noise had actually emanated from Carlson. Anyway, back then boys often wore heavy corduroy pants to school.

The big drawer in the principals desk in elementary school

My swat, delivered by the coach like he was hammering a puck past a goalie in the Stanley Cup playoffs, landed just before I stepped into the showers. Mom would have just told me to wait until my father got home.

That one remains burned in my memory. Egg in your beer?!?!? That would be a lie, though. What happened was, right in the middle of a sit-up and with absolutely no warning, I made what you might call an unfortunate noise.

Embarrassing as it was, it could hardly be helped. I know this from personal experience, having been swatted a couple times during my own stellar public-school career. So, is paddling a practice whose time has come again? My first was in seventh- or eighth-grade history class.

No F-bombs.

Florida principal seen paddling 6-year-old girl is under investigation, school says

None of us knew how this machine worked, what it looked like, nor which ghoulish, maniacally-cackling school administrator operated it, but we believed beyond a doubt that it existed. Home Carlson A re-creation of the aftermath of my ninth-grade paddling.

So how upset were my parents at this abuse of poor little Johnny? There were probably thirty of us guys in there, and we were all lying on the floor doing exercises. And that was it.