Lessons to be Learned
Laura Jacobsma

Today was an interesting day. I was hanging on the wall as I normally do, tantalizing the many kids who come to look. This woman came in to the room leading two girls and a boy. The woman grabbed a chair and began tracing a name with her fingers that had been etched into my outsides. Simultaneously, as I was watching the childrenís mouths move and form the name ëLauraí, I was transported back in time.

I only had one Laura that had been etched into my soft outsides. I was recalling the events of that fateful day 25 years ago when I was introduced to her backside. There were actually four 4^th graders that walked into the office that day. As always these students came in with looks of horror on their faces. They stood in a line against the wall waiting their turn. Each one was moving, trying to comfort each other and themselves. These kids were no different than the other kids I had been introduced to.

When this incident happened the children had only a few moments to think about what they had done to deserve this. The first child was asked to bend over and the teacher took me in his hands and swung with some zing. As I made contact with this childís bottom, I saw him leap into the air and collide with the office door. He had hit his head on the door from the force of my contact.

The other children stood there with their lips tightly pressed together, trying to stifle laughter. This seemed to annoy the teacher as he looked around wildly for the next three victims.

Laura was called forward and walked with fear in her eyes. Even though the event of her classmate was funny at that moment, it didnít take long for her to realize I would also meet her backside with a sting. She stepped forward with some hesitation, but obediently took the bent over stance. I was pulled back and swung with a mighty force. She accepted the sting with a muffled cry and a few tears. She left the office with her head hung, but I noticed a twinkle in her eye and a hidden smile. She would be okay.

I am pulled back to the present as I listen to the woman visitor talk to the children. Suddenly, I feel a sense of familiarity. She is telling them that I am no ordinary paddle. I hear her continue to speak about me with some passion saying, ìThis paddle seemed long enough to swat three children at once and wide enough to provide maximum coverage of each cheek. Do you see those holes? They continue to provide a memorable sting to my bottom today. Do you know what I learned that day? That cheating on a Bible test was not only seen by God, but also by others. My only reward for such punishment was the fact that my name was imprinted on the paddle and I can share this story with you today proving that I survived that paddle.î

I suddenly realize that the woman who is with these children is the ëLauraí now grown-up. It is worthy of note to me that I have made such an imprint. There were many different reasons why I was used to carry out corporal punishment, and in Lauraís case I was used because she cheated. In my opinion, I have just as much presence on the wall as I do in a teacherís hand. I even had a large impact on the teachers that had used me. Many times, the teachers would sit here and discuss how much they hated using me. They would avidly discuss consequences that could be carried out in a way that did not bring fear to the students and guilty feelings to the teacher, but still convey memorable lessons for a lifetime.

The day that I was retired to the wall I felt a sense of relief. Long gone were the days that I traumatized students, and oh how I welcomed a day such as this ñ A day where I could have the respect of a child that I met personally in less than desirable circumstances, but also the overwhelming desire to see that he or she was a true survivor of the days of corporal punishment.