Spank Bingo: Mike Lanier

In Bransom, as far back as my memory goes, report cards have always been sent out every six weeks. In the days when I taught, when desk-top computers were still a bit unusual, report cards went out the Thursday following the end of the six weeks, giving teachers time to do by hand what now takes two minutes (unless you need an upgrade to your system).

Besides report cards, the district also required us to send home progress reports. Where I taught, these were small paper forms, that had the child’s name, the class, his current grade point average for that class, a place for comments, and a place for a parent’s signature. Progress reports were also sent home every six weeks, but staggered to go halfway between report cards. The stated reason was so that the parents would know if their child was having troubles in a class. At Kearns, we were required to send a report home if a student was making less than a ‘B’ (below an 80).

Grade points weren’t the problem for me it was for a lot of teachers. When I’d opened Magicats, I’d bought a PC. While teaching myself to use it, I’d designed a grade book program. All I had to do was enter each student’s grade for each assignment, and the program gave me a running average that I could print off and take to school with me. Since I went straight from school to the store every afternoon, I almost always had a bit of time to do the entry.

Because of the regularity with which report cards and progress reports were given, I know that it was right after the last bell on Thursday, the ninth of November, when Mike Lanier hesitantly came into my classroom, looking like Oliver about to ask for seconds.

"Can I turn this in, Mr. Wells?"

I glanced up at the boy, thinking this was the worksheet he’d been supposed to turn in before the end of class today. Then I realized it was on notebook paper instead of a handout.

"What is this, Mike?"

"Ummm.…" I could tell I wouldn’t like the answer, just based on the look on his face. "It’s that homework that you said I needed to get turned in."

"The homework from about two weeks ago?"

He nodded.

"Okay, put it down there. I’ll get it graded when I get a chance."

I glanced at my watch and went back to the papers I’d been grading. Thursday was new comic day, but I made a point of not leaving school early, not wanting to take advantage (or get into trouble), but was hoping to have all my work finished before time to go.

After a few minutes, I felt something boring a hole into the top of my head and realized I’d not heard the door closing, so I looked up to find Mike still standing there.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Lanier?"

The boy winced, but shook his head, then explained. "I was hoping you could grade it now."

"There’s no reason to grade it now, Mike. You still have two weeks before report cards."

"But Mr. Wells," he fished into his pocket and came out with the progress report I’d given him. "This says I made a 79. If you grade that, couldn’t I get a B, so you wouldn’t have to send it home?"

"No, Mike. If you’d turned the homework in on time, or even when I reminded you a week ago, then you could have made a B. As it is, progress reports are already done for this six weeks, so that’ll go on the report card."

I was looking at him now, and the kid was obviously not happy with that answer.

"Grounding or spanking?"

The boy jumped at the question, shocked by my Sherlock Holmes impersonation.

"Huh?"

"Are you going to get grounded for taking home a C or spanked?"

He turned bright red, but answered, "Spanked."

"Is that why you’re trying to turn this in now?"

He nodded again, still blushing, and starting to squirm under my scrutiny (or maybe just because he was thinking of what was coming).

"Then I’d say you should have turned it in last week when I asked for it, or maybe even a couple of weeks ago, when it was actually due; don’t you think?"

"Yes, sir; but please, Mr. Wells. I’m really sorry."

"Didn’t I give you a progress report last six weeks too, Mike?"

He nodded miserably, looking at me like a kicked puppy. It was a look he did pretty well, considering his disadvantages. After all, Mike Lanier was a round- faced boy with blond hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t fat but seemed just a bit soft. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t really pull off the ‘poor, abused waif’ card with much authenticity. He wasn’t big enough to expect he was far into puberty, but his blond eyebrows hinted his pubes were going to be the same color. Combining that with a full, strong chin suggested he’d be a handsome man if he could avoid going to fat. However, a small, button nose gave him enough cuteness to be interesting now. It’s just he couldn’t pull off the pitiable looks he was trying for.

"Did you get spanked when you took it home?"

He nodded, blushing again (or maybe still), but seeming happy that I was finally getting the point.

"Then I’d say you should have known to get your homework in on time this six weeks, shouldn’t you?"

The boy looked like he was about to faint, going by the way his shoulders just collapsed. I suppose it could have been a really limp shrug, but I’m pretty sure he was just trying to work off some frustration with another stubborn adult who didn’t understand why I shouldn’t rearrange my schedule for his convenience.

I glanced down at my watch. It was only 3:25, and I had to stay at school until at least 3:45. I’d been hoping to finish this batch of papers, knowing that Thursdays at the store were always busy and not wanting to have to take grading home tonight. Still….

I looked up at Mike, balancing the idea of getting my work done (and having time for a pizza and to read the new comics that night) against the chance of a good spanking story.

"I’ll tell you what Mike; do you have to catch a bus or anything?"

"No, sir. I rode my bike."

"Have you got a few minutes to kill?"

He nodded.

"Why don’t you grab a chair, sit down, and take a stab at convincing me that I should go out of my way to save you a spanking."

He didn’t look very happy about it, since I should obviously have been happy for the chance to do just that, but at least I was going to give him a chance. He grabbed a chair and sat it by my desk, but then didn’t know what to say.

"So," I suggested, getting him aimed in the right direction, "you get spanked for bad grades?"

"Yes, sir," he admitted sheepishly, blushing again. Don’t you just love embarrassed blonds?

"Your dad?"

He nodded again.

"When did that start?"

Ah, now I’d given him a starting point and it wasn’t tonight, so he was able to jump into things.

"Fourth grade. You see, my dad says that when you’re a little kid, you’re mostly just learning how to go to school and learn stuff, so as long as we don’t get bad conduct marks, we’re okay. When we start…."

"Who’s we?"

"Me and my little brothers, Jason and Ryan."

I nodded, and he went on with the explanation.

"Anyway, when we start fourth grade, we have to keep a 3.5. What he does is…."

"A’s are worth four points, B’s worth three, C’s are two, and D’s are one, and F’s are zero."

"Yeah," he replied, looking surprised.

"That’s how they do college GPAs—Grade Point Averages," I added, when he looked confused.

"Oh. Yeah, anyway, we have to keep a three point five. ‘Cause I got eight classes right now, I have to have four A’s and four B’s or I get spanked."

"Is this the only progress report you received?"

"Yeah."

"Then why the worry. If you only got one C, he doesn’t know what your GPA is."

The boy went into turbo-blush.

"Well, besides having to keep a three point five, if we get less than a B, we get the belt."

Ouch. Now I did feel sorry for the boy. I was about to ask, but he didn’t make me wait.

"If I get a C, it’s one with the belt. D’s are three, and F’s are five."

"And you got one C, so you’re going to get one swat with the belt. Sorry, Mike, but that’s not reason enough…."

"NO!"

I’d looked down at the papers I was grading, but my head shot back up. By the look on his face, I think he’d surprised himself as well as me.

"No," he repeated in a quieter, less disrespectful tone, "he says I need to show that I’m going good enough, so if I get a progress report, I get spanked too."

"What’s he spank you with?" I asked sympathetically. That did sound a bit harsh.

"His hand, but…." Mike looked at me, blushed deeply, then looked around, as if expecting the school paper to have snuck a reporter into the room in the last few minutes, before he could continue. "Mr. Wells, I gotta take my clothes off when he spanks me."

I shrugged, trying to act blasé, and feeling a bit sad for the kid, but also starting to get a bit into the story.

"Sorry, Mike, but that’s how me and my brothers got it, and that’s how I spank my son."

His head sagged when I announced that, but he quickly looked back up at me. I really hadn’t made up my mind yet, but he seemed to think I had, and tears were sneaking into the corner of his eyes.

"The thing is, Ryan and Jason are in fourth and fifth grade now, Mr. Wells."

"So? They don’t get progress reports in elementary school, do they?"

"No, but…. See, when I was in fourth grade, Dad would come into my room after dinner, and we’d talk about my grades and stuff. When I started fifth grade, Jason was in fourth grade, so he started calling us into the family room. The thing is, that was the first time I didn’t have a three point five."

"I’d given Mom my report card when I got home, and I guess she’d given it to Dad when he got home. He didn’t say anything until dinner. Then, when we finished eating, he said, ‘I looked at you boys’ report cards. Mike and Jason, you need to go get your clothes off and meet me in the family room. Right now! Ryan, you help your mom clear the table."

"I hadn’t got spanked for grades when I was in fourth grade; but when Dad told me to take my clothes off, I knew I was gonna get it. Me and my brothers use the same bathroom so we see each other with no clothes on, but Dad almost always spanks us in our rooms and by ourselves, so it was really embarrassing to go in the family room like that. I didn’t have a C, but Jason did. Dad talked to us about how important grades were, then he spanked Jason, then I got it, before Jason got the belt."

The boy had been looking around while he talked, blushing, and never even glancing at me, but now he looked at me, and a couple of tears were sneaking down his cheeks.

"This year was even worse, Mr. Wells. Jason’s not very good at school, so he got more spankings than I did. Even when I wasn’t going to get it, I still watched him get it. Well, this year, Ryan’s in fourth grade, so he comes and watches, but he gets straight A’s. When report cards came out, me and Jason both got it, but Ryan just got to watch."

"Okay, Mike. I understand that, and I understand why it’d be embarrassing for your little brother to watch you get spanked, but this is about progress reports, not report cards."

The boy took a deep breath and dashed the back of his wrist across his face before going on.

"When you gave me that progress report last time, I didn’t think it’d count since it wasn’t a report card, or maybe I’d just get a swat with the belt. Dad didn’t say anything, and we had dinner. Then, when dinner was over, and I thought everything was okay, Dad said, ‘They gave out progress reports in middle school today, and Mike got one. I’d like you boys to go wait in the family room, while Mike gets his clothes off.’ I asked him not to spank me, but he just offered to help if I didn’t want to do it."

"It was really horrible, Mr. Wells. It’d be bad if I got it, but they got to stand there and watch. Dad lectured all of us about why we need to do good in school and do our homework and everything, but they didn’t even get progress reports, so there’s no way they’re gonna get spanked tonight. Just me."

He sighed and looked like a blimp losing it’s air. He’d obviously shot his wad and didn’t have anything else to say. He collapsed back in the chair, just. He’d obviously worked himself into a dread of what was going to happen when he got home and was too upset to be concerned about the tear trailing down his face.

I glanced at my watch, surprised to see it was already 3:40, nearly time for me to leave.

"I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Mike. I’m going to grade this, and if it brings you up to a B, I’ll void the progress report so you don’t have to get it signed. All right?"

He sat up straight in the chair, as happy as a mouse right after a cat walks by.

"But," I continued, dampening his enthusiastic thanks before it could get started, "I’m not going to do it again. If I tell you that you need to get make-up work turned in by a certain date, that means then and not later. For that matter, the next time you don’t turn in work on time, I’m liable to have you in after class and bend you over the desk to do a little paddling myself. Agreed?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, Mr. Wells. I’ll be real good about it. I promise."

There were only twenty problems on the homework and it took me longer to find the old key than to check it. When I glanced at the grade book, I realized I could have saved myself the problem. The boy had a 79.2 in the class. He only had to get three questions right out of the twenty to get the B he was craving. He didn’t appreciate the irony when I pointed that out. Once it was graded, I took the progress report and voided it, as I’d promised.

I did get a few more questions in while I graded, though.

"Yeah," Mike responded, blushing again (and making me think he should push for blushing to be an Olympic event), Dad always spanks our bare butts, but sometimes he just pulls our pants and jockeys down, instead of making us take all our clothes off."

"He doesn’t use the belt very often. The last time he used it was last spring." A small smile crept across his lips. "That was Jason, ‘cause he got caught smoking a cigarette. He got it in the family room too, with me and Ryan watching." The smile fled. "Then he asked me and Ryan if we ever smoked, and he said the next person he caught smoking wouldn’t sit for a week." I think that, if Mike ever had smoked, he’d quit at that point, since his eyes were wide and nervous just remembering it.

"No, that’s the only time he ever spanks anyone in the family room, except for report cards. Usually it’s in our rooms. The only other time I ever got it in front of someone is when me and Jason got it for fighting or that time he caught me picking on Ryan. Besides that, it’s private."

Mike had gotten into the conversation. Now that it wasn’t an immediate threat, he didn’t seem as embarrassed by it. And, of course, he certainly didn’t want to tick off the person who was keeping him from getting one tonight.



Mike did very well about keeping his homework turned in the rest of that six weeks, though I did end up paddling him before the semester was over.

It was the last day of November that I was really looking forward to.

I think Mike carried his lunch because he was never in as big a hurry as most of the students. I waited while most of them rushed out the door, then called to him as he was headed that way. He looked up, then walked over as I waved to him.

"Let’s see it."

"What?" he asked, a bit concerned, lest I think he’d been doing something wrong.

"What did they give out in homeroom today?"

"Oh," he replied, coloring, but dug into his backpack and handed it to me.

"No C’s, but I’m only counting three A’s, Mike."

His blush deeper, but he nodded.

"Was your last spanking for the last report card?"

"No, I got a couple since then."

"Do you have trouble with homework in all your classes, Mike?"

He shrugged, then nodded.

"I’m busy after school today, and tomorrow’s Friday, so why don’t you come in after school Monday, and I’ll set you up with something that might help you keep from getting spanked every six weeks. Okay?"

He was obviously curious but ready to eat, so just agreed. "Sure, that’d be great. Thanks, Mr. Wells."



Well, technically, that was Dad/Bare/Hand (or belt), but it was really a report card spanking before anything else. Too bad it didn't give me more than another two in the same row. Oh well, at least it keeps the game interesting!







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