The commission was to illustrate a pamphlet explaining to young people the debate on school corporal punishment, something which has once again entered the national consciousness here in the States and ever since a district in Missouri recently reintroduced the paddle after a 20-year gap.

Always highly controversial, the issue led to a fresh and polarized debate with hand-wringing horror on one side and a wave of support from the conservative traditionalists on the other. But this job opportunity also captured my interest and I sketched out a few ideas centered on a suite of emojis I developed when I was still at school myself, barely three years ago.

My name is Ellie Watson and, while I may not be a household name, my characters, which carry a fun cheekiness mirroring my own personality, became very popular on social media and helped me win a place at a prestigious art school in New York.

Publishing houses frequently come to us students, partly because they want fresh ideas from bright young designers in the Big Apple, but mostly because we’re cheap, willing to compromise on a paycheck for a chance to reach a wider audience and establish a business-like portfolio.

I based my story-board pitch on one of the sparky characters I created whilst still in high school and detailing what it would be like for an 18-year-old girl summoned to the principal’s office to get the paddle in one of the southern states. The writers loved my idea which personalized the narrative with lovable cartoon personalities and I won the contract. Although it wasn’t particularly lucrative, the deal meant I retained the copyright on my emojis and gave me great exposure which I could exploit in future interviews.

“Inspired work, Ellie,” said one of my close pals as a group of us sat drinking cocktails in a trendy East Village bar to celebrate my success. I knew Jo would have been feeling a mote of envy but she was a good, honest friend who was warm and generous with her praise. I liked her a lot.

“I love the way her eyes come out on stalks, shrieking ‘Eeek!’ as she gets her first sight of the paddle being taken out of the cupboard,” she said. “The kids will really connect with that.”

“I like the thought bubble with the gritted teeth,” said Matt with a snigger. ‘Gah, these swats are gonna suck’. That’s their slang and you’ve worked a marvel in conveying the anxiety in her features. But say, how come you know so much about it? You must have done a ton of research.”

“Aw c’mon y’all,” I replied, greatly exaggerating a southern drawl and slow delivery. “I was raised in small-town in the rural Bible belt. Thought y’all knew thaat.”

“Um, did they? Did you?” ventured Jo.

“Yup, sure did,” I said, cutting her off as I got up to make my way to the rest room. I hadn’t intended to end the discussion so abruptly but I really needed the facilities after sinking a few pina coladas. When I returned to the gathering I realised my friends’ liberal east coast sensitivities had been ruffled. They were awkwardly tense and I wondered what had been said while I was away, guessing that my implied intimate knowledge of the subject of corporal punishment might suggest a damaged soul. The topic suddenly became taboo.

Weeks later, Jo reached around me as I stood at the sink washing the dishes, embracing me, inhaling the perfume of my freshly-washed hair and squeezing me tightly from behind. We’d become more than just friends and I delighted in her cuddle. It’s none of your business, of course, but I’m one of the blissful undecided. I like both boys and girls.

“You never did tell me what happened to you. At school I mean,” she said. I knew she’d been itching to ask me.

“No, I didn’t, did I?” I didn’t elaborate, teasing her some more, and then breaking away to dry my hands.

She tried again. “It wasn’t until I read the commission spec that I even realised they still did that stuff,” ventured Jo. “In the 21st Century. In the United States of America. So I looked it up and learned that Texans and Georgians and Alabamans and others are still merrily beating their offspring. I was a bit shocked, Ellie. Just saying.”

I sighed. “Look, OK, I’ll tell you,” I began. “But firstly, it’s no big deal.”

Jo looked at me suspiciously.

“Really,” I said, making eye contact. “And secondly, you mustn’t judge where I come from. I love my people and I miss them more than anything. People from the South love and adore their kids as much as anywhere else. It’s just that in country communities, if you mess up, they warm your butt with a spanking. Shocking to some but not to us.”

“OK,” said Jo. “I agree to your terms. Now spill.”

“Not right now, hun,” I replied. “I’ve got college work to do and it’s a complex issue. I’m not very good at talking about my feelings either. I work in written words and my mind is best with pictures. I’ll illustrate an answer for you and, actually, it’ll help you learn about where I come from.”

I could tell she was disappointed by a further delay, but accepted my peck on her cheek as I left.

“Darlin’ Jo,” I began. “This here’s the story of how I got my butt whooped in 2021,” as if it was the introduction to a classic 1960s tale about critters in the woods.

“Contrary to what you might believe, it was a deeply cathartic experience. Besides which, I went to a wonderful school which made me who I am. It gifted me a brilliant education, nurtured my artistic flair, imbibed me with a moral compass, taught me about respect, and provided me with the ongoing love of my childhood companions, some of whom I’ve known since kindergarten.”

My opening was embellished with quick line drawings of a teenage me packing my school bag with colored pencils and sketch pad and getting on the big yellow bus to campus which was a few miles from where we lived on the outskirts of town.

“It was a very intense experience, Jo, and not that long ago, so I remember every last detail. One day I got completely engrossed in my drawing and forgot that the math class had started. You know how I become completely absorbed by a job when I’m inspired. I didn’t much like math anyhow so, er, I decided to skip the whole thing.

“I might have gotten away with it but the teacher saw me in the art room and politely inquired why I hadn’t been in her class. Instead of being contrite I talked back at her, annoyed at the intrusion and a break in my concentration. My brittle artistic temperament and smart mouth was already well developed by the time I was 18 and I was really quite nasty to the poor woman. She handed me a lunch time detention for the following day, which was actually very lenient. They had a zero tolerance of disrespect. I was brought up on ‘Yes Sir, Yes Ma’am’, and she could easily have sent me straight to the principal. I also loved to sketch my friends relaxing in the lunchtime dance classes as well, so, um, I didn’t go to the detention either.

“I was duly issued with the notorious, ubiquitous pink slip for a discipline violation, which despite my outburst still shocked me. I was generally a well-behaved kid, if a little cheeky and mischievous, and it was the first time I’d been written up and sent to the school office. I’m guessing you had something similar in Boston, right?

“By the time I was called into the principal, I was beginning to regret the error of my ways and could feel myself trembling and blushing as I sat opposite him to answer for my actions. He was a stern but fair man, calm with a natural air of authority. He gently explained the school’s duty of care and how he couldn’t fulfil the obligation if he didn’t know where I was. It all made perfect sense. He acknowledged that we all occasionally make hot-headed mistakes, but rudeness and ignoring what had, after all, been a lenient penalty was completely unacceptable behavior. The rap sheet was growing and I finally started to realize that I was in a whole heap of trouble, belatedly unleashing a string of sorries.”

I drew for Jo some more simple sketches of me waiting with my slip outside the office and then my ruddy-faced discomfort, squirming in my seat opposite the tall, middle-aged principal.

“He told me I would have to get a punishment. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was in denial and horror-struck by the word ‘punishment’. Me? Ellie Watson? The good kid? Punished?

“I’m sure you are familiar with the concept of the In-School Suspension even if you weren’t landed with one yourself (and I’m sure you weren’t, you little angel). You’ll also be aware that it absolutely sucks. They take your phone off you and everything. My reckoning, he said, would normally be two days of ISS or a spanking with the paddle; four of what we in the South call ‘swats’. I imagine the whole idea that they could do such a thing must be alien to you but I grew up in the environment where it was normal. Due to my previous good behavior, and possibly my wobbly chin, the principal said he would be lenient and reduce it to one and a half days or three with the paddle.

“I should probably explain that even in the rural South you can’t get paddled without some checks and balances. My parents are conservative Christians and they had signed the consent form which permitted the school to administer corporal punishment, likely assuming that it would never happen to their well-behaved daughter. In addition, kids who were naughty and facing an audience with the principal were always offered alternatives. They could only paddle you if you were on the parental consent list and you also agreed to be paddled instead of ISS.

“My head was swimming. ISS would be awful and I would also miss the sketching time which so consumed me. There would be the excruciating conversation with mom and dad where I would have to explain why I couldn’t use the school bus and that they’d have to take me to campus for two days running. I knew they’d be particularly upset about my rudeness.

“But the paddle, Jo? The thought terrified me. Even three whacks with it would be an ordeal. None of my close friends had ever got a school spanking but even the tough boys we quizzed said it, ‘burned like a bitch’.

“I was dimly aware of the principal speaking again. ‘What do you want to do, Ellie?’ he asked in a patient, measured voice.

“I sat there open-mouthed. ‘Do you want some time to think it over?’ He was a decent guy, Jo. I’d always liked and respected him. Then I suddenly heard myself say out loud, ‘paddle Sir’. I never dreamed I’d be in this position, and inwardly cursed my own rash petulance.

“He was going to do it straight away, to avoid the anxiety of a wait. I was sure my bottom lip was quivering and I wanted to plead for mercy, to be let off with a warning, but I knew there was no way out.

“I’m sure you are asking yourself who on earth would choose to get a paddling when there was a less painful alternative. But the truth is, most of us who were ‘consented in’ and nervously holding a pink slip in the school office, chose exactly that, mainly because it would at least be over in a minute or so instead of two days of mind-numbingly boring suspension and the added risk of zero grades which would not go down well with mom and dad. We could also hand our parents a fait accompli. ‘Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, I messed up today mom. Kinda got the paddle. It’s all done though and in the letter. Just gonna walk the dog OK?’

“The principal apologized for the absence of a senior female member of staff who would normally administer a paddling to the girls, and invited his PA into the room; a lovely lady called Mrs Jones, a surrogate mother to us all. She was to be the witness. He checked with me twice to see if I wanted to change my mind and, when I confirmed that I didn’t, Mrs Jones asked me to empty my back pockets of any paper, coins, keys or phone. She called me ‘sweetie’ too which gave me a token of comfort.

“Then he was unlocking the cupboard and reaching to the top shelf.

“There it was. The paddle!

“I’d never seen one before and my eyes did indeed pop out on stalks. My artistic observation was already well trained by then and I absorbed its dimensions in all its horrifying detail; the color, the grain of the wood, its matt appearance and smooth, worn hue, presumably from use. It was about 18 inches long and 3 inches wide with a handle wrapped in tape, for a better grip I assumed. It looked quite old. A veteran paddle.”

I once again sketched Jo the scene of me standing there between the two adults and fixated by the instrument of punishment in the principal’s hand.

“He explained the safest position for me; wide stance, elbows on the table, fingers interlocked to deter me from reaching behind. He told me to look at the clock on the wall which was slightly to my right so I didn’t anticipate the swing and sway out of the way which might cause him to catch my legs. (It was exactly 8.05 by the way). It was all very perfunctory and surreal and my heart was thumping in my chest. I was wearing jeans that had acres of white patterned stitches around the pockets and were popular at the time. I caught myself wondering if the extra cotton would afford me any kind of additional protection. I felt Mrs Jones gently adjust the positional attitude of my hips and then press on my lower back to arch my butt out before the paddle tapped my behind. Even that stung.

“Nothing prepares you for that first whack, Jo. It slammed into my butt with a loud splat. The impact took my breath away and only a squeak emerged ahead of a large gasp as the pain washed across the whole of my bottom.

“Before I could properly process it, another band of agony branded my backside. I howled and leaped up, frantically clutching my poor burning buttocks, and I’m sure my face painted a picture of agonized misery.”

I furnished Jo with three new sketches of the scene. One from behind as the paddle was presented to my butt, one from the front of me loudly hollerin’ ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ as mean Mr Paddle did its business on my bottom, and a third of me doing the spanking dance, hopping from foot to foot with my hands clamped to my rear.

“I made a pathetic face at the principal, my eyes beseeching him for clemency and which he probably witnessed every single time. He was terse in response as if he was properly cross with me, but without actually shouting.

“‘We’ve twice been lenient with you, Ellie. The quicker you comply, the quicker it’s over with. You’ve got one more.’

“I was slow to respond.

“‘Bend over. Elbows on the table. You were rude and defiant. You deserve a spanking. Come on, put your bottom out!’

“He gestured with the paddle and his strict commands brought a panicked and instance response. My tears spilled onto the desktop. The tone of his displeasure shocked me.

“The third swat swiped my backside. Ooooh God it hurt, it hurt! I again jumped to my feet, sobbing, and, I don’t mind telling you, there was an extended bout of urgent bottom rubbing. My ass was on fire!

“I was soon ushered into the principal’s meeting room, which was a cosy space with soft furnishings. Mrs Jones put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a fresh handkerchief which smelled of lavender and which I’ve still got. By the time I was cried out and more composed, maybe 10 minutes later, the principal re-emerged with the dreaded letter home which had to be signed and returned so the school could see the parents knew their kid had received a punishment. He was wonderfully soothing and uttered the words I was craving to hear; that I was ‘completely forgiven, the incident closed’ and that I was still a ‘much-loved member of the school community’.

“He also told me something that has stayed with me. He said he never required anyone to make an apology because it only has a worth if it comes from the inside and not the outside. He asked me to look into my own heart and consider whether I had the capacity to say sorry to the math teacher for the hurtful things I said. Jo, I couldn’t get to the teachers’ lounge fast enough. She was very sweet about it as I blurted out my apology and she instantly offered me the comfort of her enveloping arms where I had another relieving sob on her shoulder. ‘I didn’t mean it Ma’am, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ I gargled through my blubbing. I guess most professionals would be aghast at the inappropriate contact but it was natural to me and I felt loved by the staff.

“She got me designing visualizers for data presentations which re-engaged me with the math class and which I absolutely loved. If I’d attended her detention she would have introduced me to this new skill a bit earlier, which taught me another lesson in humility. If someone is offering you a way out, an edifying and compassionate one, then don’t throw it back in their face.

“The worst bit of the whole drama was going back to class. Even though I’d cleaned myself up in the rest room, they all knew I’d got the paddle and I had to endure the smirks and sniggers, mostly from the boys, and the questions and comments. ‘How many d’ya get?’ ‘Did he do it hard?’ ‘Bet your ass is bright red right now’ etc.

“‘Yeah and I’d bet you’d like to see it Jimmy Mullion, you creepy perv.’ I gave as good as I got.

“So that’s it, Jo. I’m not an advocate of corporal punishment for all the reasons in circulation. There’s a danger of excess, of abuse and a risk that it messes with some kids’ heads, and sends out all the wrong signals. But I hate the way it’s often described as a ‘beating’, somehow conveying the image that it’s a sadistic medieval assault with a club or unregulated out-of-control barbarity. It wasn’t a beating, it was a smacked bottom (albeit a thorough, proper one). As paddlings go, I don’t think it was a bad one but I was scared, a spanking virgin, and I made a big fuss about it. The principal was careful, both with the paddle and the way he spoke to me. I still had a pink butt when I got home with some very light bruising on my right cheek, together with a light shaming, but that’s all.

“But more than the physical, it dealt with something deeper. I felt really bad about the way I treated my teacher. It preyed on my conscience and I really did feel a need to be punished for it. In our childish minds we had this ridiculous notion that ISS was just spiteful revenge, that taking our phones was a breach of our human rights, and, paradoxically, not a proper punishment. The paddle was punishment. It was painful and visceral and immediate. The spanking led me to a place of tears and the openness to make a heartfelt apology. I’m not at all sure that stewing in ISS and getting angry and bitter about it would have had the same outcome.

“The whole escapade was dealt with swiftly. My behavior was unacceptable and there was a consequence, but I was forgiven equally swiftly. My parents were pretty good about it too. They gave me a hug and were philosophical. ‘Learned the lesson huh?’

“My curiosity feeds my art, Jo. I didn’t deliberately seek a paddling but I’m sorta glad it happened. I got to experience what it’s like to be naughty at school and get a spanking. I could have spent the rest of my life wondering what that was like, and it ended up landing me a commission.”

I signed off with one of my female emoji characters rubbing a red butt decorated with glowing stars while giving Jo a kiss.

“Wow,” said Jo when she’d finished reading. “Powerful stuff, and I love your drawings. Sensitive and yet dramatic. There’s so much to unpack and I‘d never thought about any of it before. The issues are so nuanced and more complex than I thought.”

Later that evening when we were enjoying a kiss and a cuddle on the sofa she slid down and lay over my lap, looking back over her shoulder with doe eyes as she popped the top button on her jeans and proffered her butt. “I also want to know what it’s like,” she said.

The End

© Davis Marks 2025