A Christmas Surprise

‘Twas the last day of school before Christmas, and all through the office

Not a sound could be heard, except the crack of the paddle smacking down on my tush.

(Yeah, I know it doesn’t rhyme. Give me a break, I’m trying to tell a story.)



I was bent over the back of a little kid’s chair, holding onto its legs, which stretched my rear tight. I’ll bet the seat of my jeans looked like a drumhead. The paddle blasted down again, landing just below the first swat, but not so far below that it cleared it entirely. The pain wasn’t as bad as when Ralph spanked my bare rear with his belt, but it was still bad. Ralph’s belt was a sharp pain, this was more a dull, burning throb, yet the overlap made it much more painful.

I wasn’t going to cry, I assured myself. I was tough. I was brave. I was right. I couldn’t stop him from paddling me, but I was not going to cry. Anyway, even though the paddling really hurt, it was the thought of my friends, back in our classroom, having the Christmas party and getting punch and cake while I had to miss it all that hurt worse.

The paddle blasted down again. The third time it was focused on my left cheek down low, right where my bottom and leg met, and I thought he must have melted the leg band of my jockeys to the skin. The fourth pop was the same, but on the other leg.

As each swat landed, I gritted my jaw and held tightly to the chair. I’d been through worse, and I knew I could take this. I just wished it’d stop. I just wished he’d listen to me—that this wasn’t all so unfair.

The fifth swat landed and was the worst of all. It landed across both cheeks but was still on that same spot where I sat, and I knew even walking was going to be torture. The only good news was that Dad was picking us up after school, so I wouldn’t have to try to walk home or ride my bike. Not that the car ride was going to be much fun. Still, I hadn’t cried. I hadn’t even made any noise. Well, maybe a little yelp on that last swat; but I hadn’t cried. And if my eyes were a little runny… well, a guy can’t help that.

Slowly I stood upright. I’d been gripping the chair so hard it hurt when I worked my fingers loose. It would probably have helped a lot right here, if I could have managed a meek look and appeared apologetic, but I was too mad. I was right, I hadn’t done anything bad, and no one cared. No one wanted to know what had really happened. Instead, I stood there, trying to ignore the throbbing flame that had once been my bottom and now seemed like it was trying to burst my jeans (or burn through them). I ignored the lines of dampness I could feel slowly running down my face. I sniffed because I had to, but mostly I just glared at the principal.

"I want you to know how lucky you are," he told me, and sounded like he thought I really was. "That’s as much as the school district allows me to give, whether you deserve more or not." He paused, probably to give me a minute to appreciate how ‘lucky’ I was. Finally, after meeting my stare for a moment and realizing that I wasn’t going to get down on my knees in thanks, he went on. "Are you ready to apologize to…" he glanced down at a piece of paper, then back up, "Mark?"

I shook my head, not quite trusting my voice.

"Humph," he grunted, then sat down behind his desk. "I might not be able to give you more swats, but you apparently haven’t learned a lesson." Mr. Worley paused a moment, considering me, then went on. "Well, I have a good idea what to do then."

He opened a file that had been sitting on his desk, glanced at it, then picked up the phone and dialed. After a couple of minutes, he hung up, glanced back to the paper, and dialed again. After a moment, he said "Natalie Regal, please." A pause. "Oh, I see. Thank you."

As soon as he said my mom’s name, it became obvious that he was going to tell my parents. It wasn’t fair! They’d be all mad at me and it was only a few days until Christmas. He was trying to ruin my whole holiday. At least Ralph hadn’t been home and Mom must have been in surgery. If he decided to send a note home, I was going to throw the darned thing away. I wasn’t gonna let him win. But then, he picked up the phone and dialed a third time. Was he going to tell my grandparents? Who else’s number could he have in there? It didn’t take long to find out since the phone was answered quickly this time.

"Is this John Wells?"

What? I was John… he’d called my dad!?! That was so totally unfair. Dad was supposed to be taking Matt and me out to eat this evening and then to go see Santa Claus. He’d even said he might take us to see a movie. It hadn’t been long since I met my real father, and now this stupid principal was trying to ruin our first Christmas together.

I rarely got in trouble at school, but I’d had friends tell me how, when you got in trouble at school, your parents would spank you again when you got home. David, my best friend, said it was a lot worse because your butt was already tender from getting paddled so it made the spanking at home twice as bad.

I hadn’t cried during the paddling, but couldn’t keep tears from starting to roll down my face now. It was so unfair. I had to just stand there and listen while Mr. Worley told my dad those lies about what had happened. He said the teacher had seen the whole thing. She hadn’t, but no one cared that she was lying.

Finally, Mr. Worley put down the phone. Towards the end, I’d been able to hear Dad’s voice. I knew I was in big trouble. Dad had never had to spank me, but Matt said our dad spanked way harder than Papa Joe, Matt’s step-dad, and my stomach was getting all clenched up.

"Well," Mr. Worley informed me, a smug self-righteousness oozing from his voice, "I might not have been able to teach you a lesson, but it sounds like your father will take care of it when he gets you home."

He really looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "Now, why don’t you go back to your class? I’m sure Mrs. Underwood doesn’t want to have to wait for you when the bell rings."

Thinking thoughts that don’t bear repeating, I carefully walked out of the office and across to the open building where the older kids’ classes were. I stopped in the bathroom to take a whiz and give my rear a rub. I stepped into one of the stalls to do it and had to peel my shorts away from my bottom. For a minute, I was afraid they were going to take skin with them, like a band-aid left on too long. After a couple of minutes and feeling better from the rubbing, I washed my face and went back to get my stuff and wait for the bell. At least, with the party going on, I wouldn’t have to sit down.

As soon as I got back to the class, I was spotted. My best friends, David and Allen, came up to me, asking if I was okay. I’d seen how red my eyes were, so they must have known I wasn’t okay, but they had to ask, and I assured them I was, even though we all knew I was lying.

I told them what had happened, and they both winced and agreed with me that Mr. Worley’s parents had never been married. Both of them were furious when they heard he’d called my parents. Before I could finish telling them everything, Mrs. Underwood called me to her desk.

"I was hoping you’d get back in time, Jackie. I saved you some cake and punch," she said, as she handed them to me, which brought a smile to my face. Mrs. Underwood could be an old bat sometimes, but she was usually pretty nice. I wish she’d been on the playground that afternoon, instead of the other teacher. At least Mrs. Underhill knew me and would probably have listened when I tried to tell her what had happened.

My buddies were very supportive. David had been the one to talk to me about parents doubling up, so he knew what I was probably in for and bumped up against my shoulder as I told them about Mr. Worley calling my dad.

"Man, that’s totally unfair. Especially after he paddled you so hard."

"We told Mrs. Underwood what really happened, but she said she couldn’t do anything about it since she wasn’t playground monitor," Allen added.

I shrugged. Not that it wasn’t important, but there was nothing to be done now and at least they’d tried.

We started talking about what we wanted for Christmas, but that only started getting me down again. I figured Santa would know that I hadn’t really been naughty, but I had no idea what my mom would believe. I thought Grandma would believe me, but Mom was hard to predict sometimes.

Ron came over. They’d done a random gift exchange while I was getting swats (all the gifts piled on Mrs. Underwood’s desk, then she’d draw a name and you could come pick one), but Ron was holding something.

"Hey. Sorry you got in trouble," he said with the sympathy of a boy who’d been in the same spot himself a time or two. "Here," he added, holding out the paper sack to me, "I hope you like these."

I took the bag from him and unfolded it. Inside were a few comic books. I had a couple of them, but there were also a couple I didn’t, and those looked pretty good."

"Thanks," I said, a bit surprised. I liked Ron, but we weren’t really that close, so I wouldn’t have thought of getting a present from him.

"No problem. I got a ‘B’ in math on the last report card. That’s the best I ever done, so I owe you something for helping me all the time." He smiled up at me as he said that, and I couldn’t help but smile back. I did go over to my desk and get the little wrapped package that I’d planned on putting in the exchange.

"Merry Christmas, Ron." He smiled as I handed him the little gift and wished me the same, right as the bell rang. Mrs. U. wished us all a Merry Christmas, then dismissed us. I said good-bye to a few of the guys I knew I wouldn’t see until after the holidays, and planned to meet up with Allen and David to mess around some, then went out to meet Matt.



My little brother was awaiting me by the door closest to the first grade rooms and came running over when he saw me. We looked around for a bit until we saw Dad’s car pull up. Matt went running again, but I was nervous and a bit hesitant to rush to my doom.

I made Matt get in front with Dad. My stomach was flip-flopping again, and I was kind of wishing I hadn’t eaten any cake. My rear was still throbbing a bit and having to sit down didn’t help any, even if it hadn’t been clenching with fear. Matt jumped into the car, telling Dad about their party in his usual, mile-a-minute way. Dad said hello to Matt but was then silent. Matt picked up on the atmosphere and went quiet.

As soon as we pulled out of the pick up line, Dad started in on me. He didn’t cuss, and he didn’t yell, but he did tear me apart, and make it very clear how disappointed he was. I could feel tears start rolling down my face again. He hadn’t even asked me what had happened, and I was too upset to try to tell him. It just got worse as he went.

"I am NOT going to have you pulling that kind of stunt. When we get home, I’m going to wear your butt out. As soon as your mom gets home, I’ll drop you off with her. Anyone who’d pick on a smaller kid like that doesn’t deserve to go see Santa Claus."

A sob escaped me. I couldn’t help it. Everything bad I’d been picturing was coming true. I was trying hard not to cry, but I felt so alone.

"Why are you mad at Jackie, Dad?" Matt asked, innocently.

"Because Jackie hit a smaller boy on the playground today, son." Dad answered.

"I know. He was hitting me."

"Jackie was hitting you?" Dad pursued, his voice rising, as it hadn’t when he was chewing me out. Then he glanced over his shoulder at me, angrily, before looking back at the road.

"No, Daddy," Matt replied. "Jackie hit the boy who was hitting me. He told him to stop, but he wouldn’t."

Silence echoed through the car for a block, until Dad could pull into a parking lot. He put the car in park, then turned so he could see both of us.

"Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened, Matt."

Matt did, explaining how we’d been taking a special recess before the Christmas parties. Matt and a couple of his friends had been talking about going to see Santa and the new Disney movie and what they wanted for Christmas, when some third grade kid, Mark Enochs, came up and started hassling them. Mark was giving one of Matt’s friends an Indian Rope Burn and Matt tried to push the older boy away. That was enough to get Mark to switch his attention to Matt. My friend Allen saw what was going on, and recognizing my little brother, pointed it out to me. I told Mark to leave them alone, but he just flipped me off and called me a name, while giving Matt’s arm a twist, so I punched him in the arm hard enough to make him let Matt go, then in the gut, then tripped him. From the first punch I threw is what the playground monitor saw. That’s what she told the principal, and she didn’t want to admit that she’d been too busy talking to her friend to have seen anything else.

As soon as Dad had the entire story, the car was back on the road and we were headed back towards the school. Dad led Matt and me to the office (which turns out to have been in the same spot when Dad went there fifteen or twenty years before) and asked to see the principal.

Mr. Worley was already not on Dad’s good list, and he just continued to screw up by the numbers.

"Hello, Pat. What can I do for you?" he said, after Dad had introduced himself.

If Dad had looked upset before, he looked ready to kill now.

"My friends call me Patrick. You can call me Mr. Wells, while you explain why you paddled my son."

Mr. Worley started turning red but didn’t have much chance to get a word in edgewise. Dad started ripping a piece of hide off the principal, going down one side, then up the other. He only paused to have Matt and me go sit down. I didn’t get to hear most of it, but Mr. Worley obviously heard more than he wanted.

After about five minutes, Mr. Worley had someone fetch a teacher. I didn’t recognize her name but did recognize her as the playground monitor who’d turned me in and lied about what she’d seen (or what she’d not seen, I guess). She didn’t admit to anything at first, but when faced with Matt’s story, she admitted that it could have happened when she was checking on something else.

Mr. Worley did something that he was obviously unaccustomed to. He apologized to me, and made sure the playground monitor did as well. He also assured me that he would be calling Mark Enochs’ parents and letting them know what had happened. That didn’t do my butt a lot of good (nor my front side—I really wish he’d still been there, and Mr. Worley had let me watch him get paddled), but it did make me feel a little better.

On the way to his apartment, Dad informed Matt that we’d have to eat at McDonald’s some other time because he was going to let me pick dinner this time. Yea! That meant Pietro’s Pizza and Pasta.

When we got to Dad’s apartment, he peeled my jeans and briefs down and turned me around. It was a little embarrassing. Even though he was my dad, I’d only met him lately, and he’d never seen me naked before (except when I was a little baby, I guess). When he’d turned me around, he suddenly got really mad, and I got a little scared until I realized that he wasn’t mad at me again. He made me stand there while he went into the bathroom and got something, then he picked me up and laid me over his lap. Even knowing he knew I hadn’t done anything and that he wasn’t mad at me, I still got scared and tensed up. He just rubbed my back for a minute and told me it was okay. After I relaxed, he rubbed something on my rear. It was really cold but warmed up after a bit, and my bottom felt a lot better after that.

When we got to the pizza place, we ordered, then Dad gave me a dollar to take Matt next door to the used bookstore and get us some comics. When we got back, he asked us what we wanted for Christmas. Matt gave him a big list that had Dad smiling, then he turned to me. Surprisingly he knew enough to ask which (Dolls! They’re not dolls! What are they then? They’re action figures! Fine, which) action figures I wanted most.

We did see The Castaway Cowboy that night, after Dad patiently stood in line with us so we could see Santa and get our picture made with him (one of each of us for our moms, and one with both of us for Dad’s mom). Even after all the pizza we’d eaten, Dad still let us get popcorn, soda, and candy.

Dad’s apartment wasn’t very big, but he’d put a rubber mat down on the floor of his bedroom for us, and he was sleeping in the living room. Since we’d both inherited his bedwetting problem, it wasn’t a big deal for us to sleep together.

After the big night, Dad had to carry Matt from the car and could barely get him to wake up enough to sit up while Dad undressed him. I wasn’t quite that far asleep.

As Dad had tucked us in, he leaned over and quietly told me, "I want you to know I’m really sorry, Jackie. I was very upset at Mr. Worley for paddling you without finding out what was really going on, but I did the same thing. He just assumed you were lying because the teacher told him what she’d seen, but not that she hadn’t seen everything. Because he called me and told me that, I jumped all over you without even asking what happened. I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?"

I did forgive him, but I think he still felt guilty about it. Not only did I get the Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker figures I’d really wanted (and only later found out they were only available from Ward’s, so he must have driven in to Tyler or Dallas to get them), but he’d also got me two Planet of the Apes figures, Tarzan, and the Scarecrow (from The Wizard of Oz). (By themselves, that would have been a pretty wild collection, but you should have seen some of the games we came up with, adding them to my Star Trek and Super Hero figures).







Return to Story List

Return to Table of Contents