Drowning Naked in Paradise & Other Essays. David Bakish
peaked roofs, or intricately fold a sheet of paper to make a “cootie” catcher that could nip the hair of the student in front of me, hopefully without the no-nonsense, humorless teacher seeing what I was doing.
For those curious, I never got paddled in grade school—just punished in many other ways, like being denied recess when the others got to go out and play. In junior high school, an industrial arts teacher, an emaciated but sinewy fundamentalist Christian, wacked me with both his own woodworked paddle and a breadboard I was supposed to finish to take home to my mother. Spring baseball fever had me simulating a home run swing with a defective metal file. Its wood handle remained in my hand like the knob of a broken bat while the file flew through the air to hit another student on the back of his head. Thankfully, he was not hurt. I didn’t mind too much being punished, though I felt the instructor should have kept his equipment in better, safe, condition.
Two wooden candlestick holders sitting on a shelf bring back many memories.
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