HOT FOR TEACHER OR HOW I AVOIDED JUNIOR HIGH DETENTION…
There were too many “bad” kids at my junior high. I went to the “poor” one in my home town. The nicer one was on Phelan Blvd. Mine was on some creepy side street — the name of which I’ve long since forgotten. Anyway, during my 8th grade year the school faced the challenge of finding a way to fit all of us “bad” kids into detention. Sitting us on the floor wasn’t working. Most of us would nap. So, our lame principal came up with the ever-clever idea of post-modern behavior modification. In his eyes poetry was equal to punishment. So, lesser offenses would actually merit a choice for the offender: for girls, you could choose to memorize a poem or run 8 laps after school — for boys, you could choose between poetry memorization, 10 laps or 10 “licks” from Coach Mendozola. The guys lived in mortal fear of Coach Mendozola spankings or “licks” — Coach Mendozola was stocky but hot Latino guy who probably opted to become a teacher because he could get summers off. He was about 6 foot and 200 pounds of pure hairy muscle. And, he seemed to take a sick sort of pleasure in spanking the boys.
“Mr. Stanfield, we have advised you that smoking is not allowed on campus. Normally, you would be sent straight to detention but now you have to make a choice. What will it be?”
A 4 second pause…
“Um, well, er, I guess I’ll just take the licks.”
Gasps from my fellow students in the principal’s office waiting area.
Fast forward to 3:30pm. I am in Coach Mendozola’s little office located off the side of the stinky boys shower/dressing area. He always managed to leave his “Playboy” magazine sitting out on his desk to taunt the boys. I still don’t know how he avoided getting into trouble. But, this was 1982 and our Junior High Baseball team was always scoring touchdowns or some such. Anyway, it would usually play out like this…
“Stanfield. You again, eh? You better get it together, son or you’re headed for a heap of trouble.”
My every pore was beating with anticipation.
“Well, son. OK, let’s go.”
I would follow Coach M out into the boys’ dressing area. It smelled of sweat, bleach and that pseudo man-scent. There was the bench we sat on to put on or take off our shoes/socks. Coach M would motion to the bench, his paddle in hand.
“Get down and bend over the bench. You know this drill.”
I got down and layed myself over the bench —
Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham!
“Are you going to smoke anymore, Stanfield?”
…Smiling on the inside in more ways than one, “No, sir!”
Wham! Wham! Wham!
My butt was stinging but I was in love. I stood up.
“You know, Stanfield…” Coach M was cradling his warm paddle and looking at me with those intense brown eyes.
“…You really should just start dippin’ — you won’t get in trouble. I don’t blame you for taking the licks, tho. Who wants to memorize a fuckn’ poem, huh? Dumb shits. They are all pussies. I’d take a lickin’ any day over that crap.”
“Ok. Get out here. I got some readin’ to do.”
Not that I am into getting spanked or anything — but those were some hot times! Yes, sir!