Spank Bingo 12: Matt Tinsley

As we closed in on the last six weeks of the year, I started to look at my bingo card more regularly. I had twelve spots filled, which was more than two per six weeks. Traditionally, the last six weeks saw a slight upsurge in discipline problems, as kids grew tired of school and yearned for the summer. Also traditionally, I tried to be understanding about it, but that didn’t keep me from keeping swats on the table as an option.

The chart had two lines where I just needed one square to win and three that only needed two squares. I found myself starting to look around the class in the quiet times at the end of the period, when I let them start on their homework. I was wondering which of the boys would get in trouble in the next few weeks and how they were punished at home. Would any of them be able to fill my card?

I thought about boys like Garrett York, whom I’d paddled for Mrs. Rowe a couple of weeks before. Garrett was a cute boy who looked as if he had some oriental genes in his background. Because Mrs. Rowe was there, I’d never had a chance to talk to him.

I thought about boys like Joey Sandavol, an eighth grader who was on the cusp between cute and handsome. He was Latino, but not of Mexican descent. I think his parents had moved to the U.S. from Costa Rica. I’d caught him running in the halls before school. It was at least the third time I’d called him down for it, and he didn’t protest when I suggested swats. He wasn’t interested in having a note sent home, but also wasn’t interested in discussing his home discipline. He took the swats well and went on about his business.

I thought about boys like Joshua Fillmore, who was a seventh grade football player. I’d had him in one of my classes the year before and hadn’t liked him. He had a habit of picking on the kids in class who answered the questions and talked to me, like it wasn’t good enough for him not to catch on quickly, but he had to punish those who did. He’d never done anything in my class for which I could discipline him. That’s why, when I was doing lunchroom duty one day and saw him trip a sixth grader, I was happy to escort him to the office. Like most bullies when faced with trouble, he turned into a sniveling coward. At the time, I was just enjoying thoughts of what Mr. Bryan would do with him. Since Mr. Bryan was free at the time, I was invited to be witness. Mr. Bryan apparently had similar feelings for the boy because I’d swear I saw Joshua’s feet come off the ground when those swats landed. The best part was when Joshua stood, sniveling and snorting, tears were running down his face. Mr. Bryan announced that he’d be calling Joshua’s parents, and Joshua’s sniveling broke into real tears. Unfortunately, with the vice-principal standing right there, there wasn’t a good way to probe into what would probably happen at the Fillmore home that evening.

I was also thinking about boys like Dennis Suhadolc. Dennis was a good student and a nice kid, and I’d never paddled him. However, he also had a few nervous habits that were somewhat distracting, and spring fever wasn’t helping him settle down any. There was certainly no reason to discipline him, but maybe I could ask him to stay after class a few minutes and talk to him about settling down. Could I lead that into a discussion of his home discipline? Dennis was blond with green eyes and nice, regular features. He was a little chubby, but only a little. While his belly had a slight, outward curve, and it looked like he’d put a little weight on around his breasts (like a lot of boys do in early adolescence, when preparing for that first real growth spurt), his bottom was round and filled the back of his jeans nicely.

As a matter of fact, it was fourth period, right before lunch, while I was thinking of Dennis and wondering if a talk would do him any good, or would only be for my prurient interest, when I noticed Matt Tinsley. Matt was a very cute kid who sat quietly in the back of the class. He wasn’t a great student, but made solid B’s. When I could get him to talk, he was obviously intelligent. I think he could easily have been an ‘A’ Student, but he’d gotten the idea that math was hard and he didn’t like it, so he just didn’t devote himself to it more than necessary.

The first thing you noticed about Matt was his big, round, gold-framed glasses. The second thing was that he was rather dark, looking lightly tanned even in the middle of winter. Now that spring was here, he was quickly darkening. His hair was the dark brown, not quite black shade you’d expect from someone with that complexion. He wore it in nearly a bowl cut; bangs straight across his forehead, only deviating to expose his ears. His eyes were a deep, dark brown color, set just a bit wide, with a short, slightly pugged nose between them. His cheeks were full, almost chipmunk cheeks, that dimpled deeply when he smiled, which he seemed to do often (at least outside of class).

If Matt hadn’t been so cute, he would have been easy to ignore. As it was, I liked to take an occasional glance at him while lecturing, just as inspiration. This time, for some reason, the angle was just right. I was used to Matt being focused on his desk while I lectured, but this time I was able to clearly see where his focus rested. He was drawing. No problem with that, since he made decent grades. The problem was that he was drawing in his book.

I filed that little fact away and went on with the class. It was only when everyone was lining up to go to lunch that I called Matt over to me.

"Yes, sir?" he inquired after I’d called him aside.

"Let me see your book for a minute, Matt."

The boy suddenly looked very nervous.

"Which one?"

"Well, since this is math, I’d say I meant your math book, Matthew."

I was very matter of fact in my reply, but he still flinched a bit before digging into his backpack to hand it to me.

Sure enough, this wasn’t a case of an occasional doodle. Did you ever read Mad Magazine? Remember how Sergio Aragones would have all those drawings in the margins of most pages? Matt’s math book looked similar to that. I have to admit, they were very good drawings. It wasn’t the quality that really concerned me, though.

After flipping through the book, pausing only to comment to Matt that he was obviously talented and that I hoped he’d be taking an art class next year, I flipped to the front to make sure this was the same book I’d assigned him.

When the bell rang, I flipped the book closed and handed it to him.

"Books have to be in good condition when they’re turned in at the end of the year, Matt. You need to go through and erase all those drawings if you don’t want to be billed for it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," he nodded sadly; though whether that was because of all the work that would entail or just at the thought of losing his masterworks I couldn’t tell.



I have to admit that I thought about it long and hard before I took the next step. I feel like there are a lot of things that can be kept between a teacher and student and dealt with like that. There are things that transcend that, though. The simple fact of the matter was and is, textbooks are expensive. This wasn’t a case where the damage that had been done was irreparable. To be honest, I didn’t think they’d charge Matt for drawing in the book, even to the degree that he’d done. On the other hand, I didn’t think it was fair to surprise his parents if I was wrong.

I called his dad.

Mr. Tinsley and I actually had a nice, though not especially long, conversation. He was very polite about the matter, listened to my opinion, and assured me that everything would be handled. Of course, some of what he said interested me a great deal more than the rest.



The next morning, Matt came into my classroom before school started.

"Hey, Mr. Wells," he greeted me, not sounding at all upset by the fact that I’d gone behind his back.

"Good morning, Matt. Sorry about calling your dad, but I felt he needed to know so he could make sure you get that book all cleaned up…."

"And so he could make sure I didn’t draw in all the rest of them. I know. He told me. I gotta take all my books home this weekend so he can check ‘em. I guess it’s okay. I wish you hadn’t told him, but I guess you gotta take care of the school’s stuff." He paused and looked thoughtful for a minute, then cheered up. "Look what he got me last night!"

Matt dug into his backpack and pulled out a fairly thick, standard sized drawing pad, then a couple of gum erases, and an assortment of mechanical pencils in assorted widths.

"He said that you said I was a really good artist and that he should encourage me."

"Just as long as you don’t do it in your books anymore. Or on your desks."

Matt winced. "Yes, sir. He explained that last night."

"Yeah. He said he was going to have a talk with you about that. How’d he put it? His hand…." I let my voice trail off.

Matt suddenly blushed a deep red that showed even through his relatively dark complexion. "He told you that?" he asked incredulously. "Oh man!" He looked away and sighed, then looked back up at me. "I’ll bet he said ‘his bare hand was gonna have a talk with my bare rump’."

"Yeah, I think that’s exactly what he said. Did he make a good impression on you?"

Matt reached behind him and theatrically rubbed his rear. "Oh yeah. I had to sleep on my belly last night," he replied, but since he was smiling, I doubt it’d been that bad. Then he grew serious again.

"The worst part about it," he added, "is that my brothers can hear when I’m getting spanked. That’s so embarrassing."

"Worse than having to pull your clothes off for your dad?"

"I don’t gotta pull ‘em off. He just makes me shove ‘em down like to my knees. Anyway, Dad sees me naked all the time when we’re camping out or going swimming or stuff. Nah, my brothers hearing it’s a lot worse."

"Doesn’t that mean you can hear them get it, too?"

"Huh uh. They don’t get it anymore."

"So you’re the baby?"

"Yeah," he admitted, seeming ambivalent about the honor.

"How old are your brothers?"

"They’re both in high school: fifteen and seventeen."

"So didn’t you used to hear them get it?"

"Yeah, but they don’t get it anymore."

"Believe me, kiddo. It was worse for them to have their little brother hear them get it. It might be embarrassing for you now, but it could be worse."

"How’s that?" he asked, a bit confused.

"They could still be getting it. You might like that now, but that would mean you’d still be getting spankings when you’re seventeen, too. As it is, you know you only have a year or two left before Dad decides you’re too old to spank."

"Yeah!" he said, suddenly happy about the way the conversation was going. I almost hated to be a killjoy.

"Time for you to get on to class," I pointed out, since there was only a minute or two before the first bell rang. "But, Matt," I added, as he stuffed his art supplies back into his bag.

"Yes, sir?"

"If that book isn’t clear by the last day of school, I’ll see how my paddle compares with your dad’s hand. Got me?"

"I got you!" he assured me devoutly. "It won’t happen though."

"It won’t?"

"Nope. Dad’s checking them before the last day of school, and I’ll get another spanking if there’s any drawings left in any of my books."

"Well it sounds like you’re going to be properly motivated to take care of it. Now get out of here."

"See you later, Mr. Wells."



As soon as Mr. Tinsley had said he’d be spanking Matt, I’d looked at the bingo card, even though I knew that father/bare/hand was a winning square. Still, the game was to get the boys to tell me how they were spanked, which is why I’d asked Mr. Tinsley to have Matt stop by my room before class started. I’d been wondering if I’d be able to get him to fess up. So, half a year after I started, I won. Thanks Matt.

And by the way, there were plenty of places with eraser smears in Matt’s book when he turned it in, but I didn’t find one picture left.











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