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Dring my many years in the classroom, I got in trouble many times.
There were the early times, the post early times, the secondary times, the post-secondary times, and the teaching times. I missed more school than I attended before I was in third grade, so I had little opportunity to be in trouble. I remember one incident quite well. |
School had already started when I entered the second grade in 1943 at Moxie, WA. My migrant worker parents were picking end-of-the-season hops.
Two boys I didn’t know asked me to leave the school grounds with them during lunch recess so they could buy some candy. I didn’t have any money to spend but walked with them. The boys shared with me. We lost track of time, and the kids were in class when we returned. When the teacher asked, we didn’t lie about what we did.
He lined us up in front of the class and explained that he was going to give us a reminder. I wasn’t sure what to expect. We were told to take everything out of our back pockets. Many boys had red and white plaid hankies, and a few had wallets. I had nothing so that was easy for me; but I still didn’t know what to expect.
The teacher separated the first boy from us, so he was facing an open space between his desk and the students’ desks. When he took a long wooden paddle from his desk drawer and said, “Reach down and touch your toes,” I knew what was next.
The crack of the paddle on tightened denim was impressive as he hacked the first boy. “Did that hurt?” the teacher asked.
The boy said, “Yes sir,” and was sent to his desk.
It went the same for the second boy. He gave me my hack and asked the same question.
Being the new kid, being stubborn, and not wanting to appear weak.
I said, “No.”
The teacher hacked me several more times and after each swat he asked the same question. I gave the same answer. The pain increased with each hit, and I realized that if I wanted to sit without a constant reminder, I’d better say, “Yes.”
I did! He stopped! Lessons learned!
I don’t know where I was in school next, but I was in third grade for a while in Houston, TX.
I don’t think I was in real trouble there, but a story from that time and place is my next post.
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That time and place deserves a complete analysis. Any attempt to find a place in that timeframe is extremely difficult and requires a mature look back to get a sense of what a young boy could possibly feel when pulled through events with zero control. God bless, I hope you can do this.