Thinking back to when I was caned,
I remember more about after the caning than before or during the punishment.
The first time I got a caning I came out of the headmaster’s study feeling elated.
I felt as though I had passed a test.
I had been initiated.
I had taken four strokes and had not yelled, stood up, nor had I cried. I had taken it like a man.
I was so proud of myself.
I grinned at the headmaster’s secretary as I passed her.
Her face remained stony and without expression. I was disappointed.
I wanted some sort of reaction from her, praise for my stoicism, or pity, compassion, anything, even if she had to say I hope it hurts because you deserved it.
But there was no reaction whatsoever.