He looked at the single sheet of writing paper I had just handed him from the ream I had brought with me. He was confused and looked back up at me. “Paper?”
I nodded. He looked at it, trying to see if it was more than the plain, store bought lined paper it was. I watched his confusion and frustration grow.
I handed him a pen. “Twenty lines.”
A flash of pain went across his face, but he knew not to argue. “Yes, Ma’am.”
It was a simple sentence, but it took him a while to write it as he was kneeling on the floor with his pants around his ankles. I waited and when he sat back up, I stood and held my hand out for the page. He had rushed on a few of the lines, but it was not the lines that was the point of the punishment.
I smiled, but not kindly. “Stand.” I took the pen from him as he stood, his bunched pants making it difficult for him to stand for a second. I marked the errors on the page and turned so that he could see the marks I put on the paper.
I walked to the open space on the wall and judged his height. I held the page onto the wall with my finger and moved so he could see. “Come here.”
He shuffled over and looked at the paper where I had marked it. He grimaced, but did not say anything. I positioned him and held his forehead against the wall, holding the paper to the wall, his eyes too close to see it, but he knew what was on the page.
“Stay there until I say you can move. And don’t let the page fall.” »Read More
