The following conversation took place in the 80s, at Riverdale Junior High School:<\/p>\n
“Well, Mr. Blacknell, you’ve got a choice.\u00c2\u00a0 Detention, or three licks.”<\/p>\n
“Three what<\/em>?”<\/p>\n
“Three licks.”<\/p>\n
“uhh . . . “<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
I was standing in the assistant principle’s office, at the time, probably because I’d told a teacher she didn’t know what she was talking about (true in 9 out of 10 cases, in retrospect).\u00c2\u00a0 I’d just moved to Georgia (from West Germany), and I was still having a bit of trouble with the accents.\u00c2\u00a0 But even putting aside the accent in this case, I didn’t know what the hell a “lick” was.\u00c2\u00a0 And as I came to understand that “lick” meant hitting me with a long wooden panel, I was . . . gobsmacked (not a Georgia word, btw).\u00c2\u00a0 Never in my life had any adult, aside from my parents, ever even *looked* like they would threaten me with physical violence.\u00c2\u00a0 Ultimately, though, I decided that three smacks to my ass were far easier to deal with than 60 minutes sitting in a quiet classroom after school. But it struck me then – as it does now – as an entirely ridiculous approach to discipline.<\/p>\n