A kid named Dennis got spanked in the hallway once

As I stood in our kitchen yesterday evening, assembling awesome sack lunches for my lucky offspring, my nine-year-old daughter burst through the front door, my wife in tow.

"Dad, guess what?" Too urgent, I supposed, for a standard greeting.
"What?"
"I cried at school today."
"Really? Why?"
"My substitute teacher yelled at me. She said I gave her a 'middle school eye roll'. It was really embarrassing, because it was in front of the whole class. Then, later on, she told our class she was tired of our bullshit."
"She said that?"
"Yep," replied Lauryn, with an air of righteous indignation.
"Did you cry right there in the classroom?"
"Nope. I stuck my head in my locker later on and got teary in there."
"Wow, Laur," I exclaimed. "It really sounds like your sub handled things poorly."
"Dad, come on. Just say it—she sucks in the classroom management department," Lauryn clarified.

Sadly, it appears that, even now, a few teachers continue to employ verbal berating as a primary tool of control. Fortunately, physical intimidation is no longer tolerated as it was back in the 60s and 70s, when I was a young lad in need of a little discipline. Back then, verbal assaults merely served as the side salad to the hot dish that was academic corporal punishment.

My initial encounter with "the rod" occurred during that first year of school—kindergarten, 1968. Remember how teachers would pin notes to your shirt for your parents to remove, much like carrier pigeons were utilized during World War I? My friends and I decided it would be a great idea to remove the pins and run around trying to stick each other with them. This spontaneous act resulted in a swift banishment to the principal, Mr. Terrell. We walked slowly to his office, as if we had just finished our last meal, and it was now time to meet the business end of the dangling noose.

He lectured us sternly, informing us of the risks and dangers of pin warfare, especially to the eyes. Mr. Terrell then arose from behind his desk, walked to his closet and slowly removed it—the instrument of unbridled sadism—the paddle. It was riddled with orderly columns of holes, much like a large cribbage board attached to a handle. I could have sworn it bore some kind of logo, like Black and Decker Whoop-Ass 3000, but I wasn't certain. He informed us that the next time he saw any of us in his office, he'd use it on us, with pleasure.

After this episode of Scared Straight: The Kindergarten Edition, I never gazed upon the inside of Mr. Terrell's office again. I still experienced more minor punishments meted out by my teachers, like neck squeezes or ear lobe gouges, but the Swiss cheese paddle didn't get the opportunity to introduce itself to my pre-teen bottom.

From a teacher's point of view, I can completely understand the frustration in dealing with an unruly class, day in and day out. And back in those days, I'm sure that, after administering a good throttling to a deserving student, it was nice to retreat to the teachers' lounge for a satisfying, non-filtered Camel.