1956

[strictgrampa]

Do you believe in magic? Perhaps you didn't, but today you do. You went 
to sleep last night a 22-year-old New York girl, in the year 2014. You 
woke up, not in your bed, but walking down the hallway of a high school 
in the small town of Hondo, Texas, in the year 1956. While you still 
retain knowledge of your New York self, this seems a small part of your 
mind. You know the people and the culture around you. You know the life 
you lead, and have led since your birth in 1940. Life is very different 
in this new situation.
        The rules are different. You are doing something that you never did in 
your New York high school. You are walking down the hallway from your 
history classroom to the principal's office, with a note from your 
history teacher to the principal in your hand. You walk into the 
administration office, and hand the secretary the note. She tells you 
to sit on the couch and wait, then walks into the principal's office 
with the note. In a moment she comes out without the note, and tells 
you the principal will be with you in a few minutes.
        You have that special sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You 
know the rules. Schools have to have rules. Parents would never put up 
with one student getting thrashed for 15 minutes, while another got two 
swats of the paddle for the same offense. So for minor offenses, such 
as talking in class, failing to turn in homework for the third time or 
third time tardy, it was 4 swats. For more serious infractions, such as 
public displays of affection with your boyfriend, talking back to the 
teacher, smoking or cutting class, it was 8 swats. For the most serious 
offenses, like cheating on a test or going to a school function on the 
school bus, meeting up with some boys and failing to return to the bus 
for the ride back to the school, you earned 12 swats. You looked down 
at the clothes you are wearing, so different from the clothes you wore 
to school at age 16 in your other life. On your first visit to the 
principal's office, you got the paddle over your dress. On the second 
visit, it was over your slip. On the third visit it was over your 
panties. If this was your fourth time in the principal's office, the 
panties would come down and the swats would be on your bare bottom. You 
know what you did, and you know how many times you have been to the 
principal's office, so you know exactly what it's going to happen... 

        It's been difficult sitting on the hard wooden chairs in the rest of 
your classes, but that's nothing compared to the bus trip home. Why is 
it that in the Texas heat, the school buses, with their hard,  black 
vinyl seats, are parked in the sunshine so that they can absorb enough 
heat to cook dinner for the whole school? If you were riding a city bus in 
San Antonio, you'd be standing up holding onto one of the poles. But 
this is a school bus filled with your friends, and you have to hold it 
together. So you sit there with the fire on your butt barbecuing on the 
fire on the seat. It's a 20 minute ride to your house, and you can make 
it that long. You act as normal as you can. Of course, your friends, 
and probably everyone in the school knows you got the paddle today, but 
you can't let them know it is bothering you. So you keep it together.
        You keep it together, that is, until the bus lets you off at the 
beginning of your long driveway. Then the tears start to flow down your 
face. You don't sob, but you know your problems are not over. Folded up 
inside your English book is the form from the principal, telling your 
mother what you got punished for, and what the punishment was. This 
form has to be signed by her, and returned to the principal's office 
the next day. Like everyone you know, if you got spanked at school, you 
get it again at home. The spanking at home is always worse, partly 
because it starts on an already sore bottom, but also because you are 
being spanked both for your transgression, and for your parent's 
embarrassment over what you did at school. As you walk up the driveway, 
you briefly hope that your mother will take care of the home spanking, 
but know that's unrealistic. She will call your uncle (your father was 
killed in the war). He owns a small ranch a couple of miles down the 
road, and is usually available for serious punishments. You know you 
and your uncle will soon be meeting in your bedroom...

[amyNeedsStrictD]

What a lovely story. Yes, it's so different than the world I grew up in. But I can well imagine from reading what it would feel like. Terrifying, but at the same time "if only" and "i wish".