7th Grade


by Southernpublicschoolguy

I feared junior high school. All summer before my seventh grade year, I worried. I worried about new kids I didn't know, as my junior high was fed by three different elementary schools. I worried about changing classes, as I had never done that before. I worried about forgetting my locker combination and I worried about finding all of my classrooms. Most of all, I worried about the teachers. We had all female teachers in elementary school. Junior high was a different story, as roughly half of the teachers there were men. Also, the principal and assistant principals were men. This probably wouldn't be a big deal today, but back in '82 it was a huge deal. The reason: paddles.

I had heard all of the stories from older kids and even some adult men who had gone to this same junior high. All the stories were the same, it seemed. Every guy told the same ones - watch out for Mr. Roberts, the assistant principal. He will burn your butt right off with his paddle.

Mr. Roberts was a big guy, probably 6'4" or 6'5", and solid muscle. He had a reputation in town as giving blistering paddlings to guys at his school, had been doing it for years. He was probably 45 years old, slightly graying hair, but few wrinkles. He kept in excellant shape, most said just to make sure his paddlings remained tough. And tough they were.

As I said, I worried about junior high. I had been paddled a couple times in school, but they had been by female teachers out in the hallway. I had never been sent to the office, I don't think anyone was in elementary school. Teachers took you out in the hall for three quick licks and it was over. It stung some, but not bad. The female teachers did it more for the embarassment factor than for inflicting any real pain. It was embarassing, but at least it didn't hurt much. That was all about to change.

My first paddling in junior high caught me totally by surprise. I was late for math class two times in the same week. Our teacher, a woman, had never said anything about tardiness or what she would do if you were late. Subject just never came up. I really forget now why I was late, but it just so happened I was late two times in the same week. Seems like a silly thing to get my butt roasted for, but that's exactly what happened. I was told to report to the office as soon as I walked into her classroom on a Thursday, about 45 seconds after the bell had rung. I couldn't believe it. I knew what the office held for me, and I wanted to run from the building rather than face Mr. Roberts.

As I walked down the hall to the assistant principals office, I got that sick feeling in my stomach, like cold pop bubbling up in my belly. I began to sweat and tremble. My hands were like ice and every muscle in my body was tensed. Mrs. Janes had already called the secretary on the intercom, so my arrival was expected. I sat outside Mr. Roberts door until it opened and he motioned me in. I nervously walked in and he closed the door behind me. I stood in front of his desk as he walked back around behind it and folded his huge arms on his barrell chest. He looked at me through his wire-rimmed glasses and calmly said that I needed to learn to be on time to math class from now on. I said "Yes sir" and he nodded approval. He then reached behind his filing cabinet and took out his legendary paddle. About 2 to 2 1 2 feet long, around 5 inches wide, 1 2 inch thick and drilled full of holes. Sweat began to pour off me and my hands were now shaking, as well as freezing. He rolled up the sleeves of his pinstripped dress shirt and walked around to me holding the paddle. He told me to empty my back pockets and to pull out my shirt tail. I complied silently. He then tapped the paddle on his desk to indicate where I should place my hands and told me to bend over. He tapped each of my knees with the paddle to get my feet wider apart and then lightly pulled up my jeans with my belt loop. I can honestly remember my butt tingling in anticipation. My head was hot and wet with sweat, while the rest of me was cold and shaking. I gripped the desk do hard my hands hurt afterwards. I just didn't want to scream or cry. All of the stories I had heard about a Mr. Roberts paddling flooded my head. If Mr. Roberts noticed any of this he kept quiet. The paddle rested lightly on my rear and then in an instant he swung and the wood crashed into my butt. The first instant I felt nothing but the pressure. Then the most intense stinging and burning sensation I've ever felt swept over my butt. It was unbelievable! ! Even my dad's belt felt nothing like this. I knew two more licks were coming and I didn't know if I could stand it! Mr. Roberts waited several seconds before delivering the second lick. The initial feeling this time was searing pain. It was at this point I grunted and raised my back up to meet his left arm still holding my belt loop. My back remained against his arm until the paddling was over. After several more seconds, the third lick came. This one I remember again as only pressure, as my butt was in sensation overload. The stinging had given way to the most intense burning sensation I'd ever felt - more than I thought possible. As soon as the third lick was landed, Mr. Roberts let go of my pants and I immediately stood up. I so wanted to rub my rear, but didn't dare. I waited to be told what to do next, and waited so long that Mr. Roberts had already walked back around his desk and put away the paddle before he realized I was still standing there, tears in my eyes. He chuckled and said in a quiet voice "Tuck your shirt in and return to class please. And let's make this the first and last paddling for you, ok?" Fine by me, I thought. I nodded, as I would have burst into tears if I spoke, and stuffed my shirt back into my pants. This afforded an opportunity to rub my flaming cheeks, and I felt considerable heat as I returned my shirt to it's former location. I walked stiffly back to class and can still remember the stares and snickers as I walked in. I can also remember the pain as I sat on the hard chair. It was a long afternoon.

That evening on the bus ride home I got to tell my friends all about the paddling. I was the first, but not to be the last, of our group to be busted by Mr. Roberts that year. I felt better after I had told my story and all my friends were awed by my experience. I thought about all of the other guy's butts that had been blistered by that same man and that same paddle. I felt a part of some great fraternity as I sat on the bus that day. After getting home, I surveyed the damage in my bedroom mirrow. A livid red streak was still evident right across the middle of each cheek and slight bruising was already starting. It didn't bruise as bad as I thought it would, but I was certainly sore and for the next several days sitting and walking reminded me of Mr. Roberts' power. I saw him in the hall the next day and he smiled but said nothing as we passed. It was then that I began to fear him more than anyone else on the planet, with his polite, quiet exterior hiding from view the real Mr. Roberts. Just about every guy in my hometown knew the real man he was. They knew the awful sting and burn of his paddle on their buns. I decided right then that I was through getting paddled by him. I had survived one and had my story to tell of it for the rest of my life. That was enough for me and I was glad it was over. Unfortunately, I was not finished with him, nor him with me.


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