Who Was Punished?

“There will be a staff meeting after school for all the new teachers.”

There were at least nine of us. I was a brand new teacher in a small town in Alberta. It was 1979. We arrived at the meeting wondering what it was all about. Maybe our principal was going to give us some encouragement to help us through our difficult first year.

The principal announced, “I have been looking at the records of teachers who have given the strap so far this year. None of you has given it. If I see that you haven’t given the strap by Christmas, you will be looking for a new job.”

I had never been given corporal punishment in my life – not at home and not at school. Sure, my brothers and I used to fight, but my mother or father never touched me. This concept of hitting somebody was quite foreign to me.

I had been told that in your first year you had to toe the line. Why? At the end of the year, the school board had to hire you permanently or let you go. If you were too much of a pain in the butt, your teaching career was in jeopardy.

Not having ever had the strap, though, I couldn’t mete out a punishment if I didn’t know what it was like. After the meeting, I marched into the principal’s office and told him this and requested that he give me the strap.

And he did. He was very meticulous in showing me how to give it. I felt like he was the executioner teaching me how to put somebody in the electric chair. It was important that I have a witness. I should wipe the hand clean in case there was a hair on it that would cut into the skin, and so on.

Then the time for my unjustified punishment came. Thwack. The leather hit my skin and stung. I instinctively pulled my hand back and shook it. I held out my other hand for more of the same. The result was the same.

It didn’t take long for a situation to arise that in the principle’s eyes merited the strap. The victim was Albert. Albert was no ordinary student. He was a huge native kid who was fifteen years old in grade 7. These were the days when students could fail and he had failed a few times. Albert was also about six feet tall and weighed about 180 pounds, I figure.

Albert was quite a character. He would often disappear for the rest of the day at noon. He had the principal and me convinced that he was dying of leukemia until the vice-principal checked out the story with his doctor.

I got the vice-principal to come into the principal’s office to witness my doing the deed. I was at the prime in my softball days. My arms were very strong and I had visions of swinging the instrument and seeing Albert’s arm lopped off.

I’m sure Albert wasn’t impressed with the neophyte who stood before him. In fact, Albert knew that by holding his hand high, the punishment would be lessened.

I wiped off his hand, following the standard procedure. I grabbed Albert’s wrist, raised my arm and swung down, firmly, but not with my full force, on the muscular mitt that was directly in front of me.

Thwack! The strap ticked the side of his hand and came down and hit me squarely on my testicles. My eyes exploded in pain and all I could think of was how future generations of Stevens might be affected.

I could feel Albert’s hand twitching in my free hand. It wasn’t in pain. He was trying to control his laughter. I told him I better not see even a smile on his face or he was in big trouble. Then in my most authoritative voice I told him to get out. I had to do it quickly. If I didn’t the vice-principal would have burst out laughing, spoiling the moment.

When Albert had left, he couldn’t contain himself. I was still incapable of laughing. I wasn’t looking forward to the next episode of corporal punishment.

More on this tomorrow.