The Coach, The Paddle And My Scrambled Eggs

"Dear God, please don't let me vomit on Coach Terry's socks again like I did yesterday. I don't want another paddling now. Thanks."-Me, 1965, praying shortly before 3rd period p.e. class in eighth grade.

I never received another paddling that year! It's not that I didn't puke. I developed some hurling skills and thus could wait until I got into the locker room. See, in the eight grade my physical education (gym) class was early in the morning. That way I could puke my scrambled eggs I had just eaten for breakfast.

Also, during the hot months of the school year, i.e. all of them, I would sweat profusely and stick to my desk chair in the classes that followed the dreaded gym class. My good attitude for the remainder of day went the way of my sweaty jockstrap. Sour!

Coach Terry died awhile back... Many who had him as their middle school coach liked him. He was famous for his wicked 1/4 inch thick, shellacked, tennis racket sized paddle with grooves and holes cut into it. My butt only kissed it once. That was enough.

I had always been told that he paddled the kids he liked the most. Huh? The "less" fortunate ones were sent to the principal's office. There were many tales of the tails that got whopped with that paddle. Most are too painful to recall. I'll miss coach and even that paddle. I only wished he hadn't liked me so much!