When I was in the fifth grade, I suffered the greatest injustice of my entire young life. In our elementary school, there were two fifth-grade classes. One was taught by Mrs. Watson, and the other, was taught by Mrs. Love. Lucky for me, I was placed in Mrs. Watson’s class, because Mrs. Love was not the epitome of her name. She was old, and harsh, and mean. Anytime she was around, I ran in the other direction because I was terrified of her, and her scary reputation.
Being placed in the other class with Mrs. Watson made it so much easier to avoid the old crotchety Mrs. Love. Luckily, I made it through most of the school year, rarely ever seeing her. Until the dreadful day arrived when our beloved Mrs. Watson was out sick. The school tried without success to wrangle up a substitute teacher for our class and when one was not found, the principal decided to combine the two fifth-grade classes. He sent all the students of Mrs. Watson’s class into Mrs. Love’s classroom. That included my terrified self.
With trembling knees, I entered Mrs. Love’s classroom, now filled with twenty-five extra desks. It was so crowded, there was barely room to walk. I made my way in and scanned the space looking for a seat in the back, far, far, away from Mrs. Love’s desk in the front of the classroom. Just before I was about to rush and grab one of the few leftover rear seats, I saw him.
Scott Wilmoth was sitting in the front row, right in front of Mrs. Love’s large teacher’s desk. He was her regular student and the biggest love of my life. Light brown hair, sea-green eyes, and a smile that made my heart beat so fast, I could barely breathe. The trouble was that Scott Wilmoth did not feel the same way about me. Yet still, I found myself floating on spindly ten-year-old legs, and taking a seat up front, right next to Scott.
Scott’s father and my father were really good friends. They rode horses together most weekends and loved to hang out just to chat. Often, I would ride along in the truck with my father, to see Mr. Wilmoth. My motivation, obviously, was to see Scott. The thing was, Scott was mean as a snake. He ran from me. He tortured me. He absolutely hated me. And he showed it. But that didn’t deter my star-stuck heart. I was in love, and no one could convince me that hateful boy was anything other than perfect. So, when the desk next to him was wide open, I faced my fear of Mrs. Love and glided into it. Scott’s facial expression soured as soon as he saw me, but I was smiling ear to ear. I was as close to him as I had ever been before, and to me, and that was a win.
Both classrooms followed the same learning schedule and on Wednesdays, we studied history. That particular day was our big chapter test. I was an all-A student and history was my favorite subject, so when Mrs. Love put the test papers on our desk, I wasn’t concerned at all. The answers came easily, and I finished the test quickly.
Scott was also smart and finished his almost as quickly as I did. No one was allowed to move until after everyone in the whole classroom completed their tests, so once we finished answering the questions. there was nothing to do. So, I decided to do what I always loved to do, and that was staring at Scott. My body was practically levitating with joy, as I gazed at his face. Several minutes passed and then I watched as Scott raised his hand. Mrs. Love had been focused on something at her desk but looked up as soon as Scott’s hand lifted.
“Yes, Scott?” Mrs. Love said, as her voice crackled through the entire room.
Scott turned and looked at me, a smile snaking across his face, and for just a moment, my little heart soared.
He smiled at me!
Scott turned back to Mrs. Love, and with complete conviction in his voice said,
“She cheated off my paper.”
And he was pointing straight at me.
The smile had been one of malice, not mutual love.
In horror, I shook my head. No, no! It wasn’t true! I had answered every question on my own. But Mrs. Love believed her own student. Not the stranger student from Mrs. Watson’s class. My body shook, as she stood from her desk, the metal chair scraping across the floor with a shriek. The entire classroom pulsed with anticipation, as she walked over to the wall and removed The Punisher.
The Punisher was an extra-large spanking paddle, a relic of the old days when Mrs. Love was a younger version of herself. It was worn and cracked with age, a lifeform in and of itself. Everyone in our school knew about Mrs. Love and her infamous paddle and no one, I mean no one, wanted to be on the receiving end of one of Mrs. Love’s paddlings. I had never been paddled by any teacher, for any reason, in all my years at school, so the absolute terror of Mrs. Love headed in my direction was straight from the page of a nightmare.
She lifted me from my desk, fingernails digging into my soft skin, as I looked back at Scott. He was smiling. Smiling at my fate and his win. And for me, I was heartbroken. He had not only lied about me cheating, but he had betrayed my love.
I protested and defended my honor, but Mrs. Love wouldn’t hear a word of it. She dragged me out into the hallway, closing the classroom door with a thud. Her wrinkled face was uglier than usual, as she lifted the paddle to swing. I tried to run but didn’t make it far. She was pretty agile for an old lady. She paddled me, long and hard. Fifteen swipes to be exact. I screamed and I cried for my justice, as the swipes glanced my behind, bruising me, over and over. After the paddling was finished, I told her, barely able to breathe from my sobs, that I didn’t cheat off his paper. I told her to ask Mrs. Watson about my grades. I didn’t need Scott Wilmoth’s answers. She didn’t listen and she didn’t care.
I followed her back into the classroom and slid into my seat, as she hung the Punisher back on the wall. I looked over at Scott, my body still heaving with tears, and my bottom bruised. He wouldn’t look in my direction. I tried to tell myself that he felt guilty, but deep down inside, I knew he didn’t.
I never received vindication for my injustice. I told my parents. I even told my teacher, Mrs. Watson. As far as I could see, nothing had ever been done. I never received an apology for the wrong that had been done against me. And as for my love for Scott Wilmoth, who died that day in the hallway, as the Punisher made contact with my behind. I never looked in his direction ever again. And every other boy, from that day forward, had to earn my endearing gazes and undying love. So, you could say, that Scott Wilmoth and Mrs. Love, in the end, both gave me a gift. The gift of The Punisher helped me see what was really there, rather than what I wanted things to be.
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