Eight more swats were firmly delivered – the maximum a teacher was allowed to give. Eight more times that paddle exploded across my oh so tender and very bottom. Eight more times, I gritted my teeth and latched onto the desk for dear life. Eight more times I tried to fight back tears. Fortunately for me, I failed miserably. By the third swat, tears were streaming down my face and by the fifth, I was crying freely.
After the slippering was over, she gently lifted me from the desk. She held me in her arms while I cried out the pain and loss the last several months of my life had brought.