When I was in 4th Grade, we lived in Hot Springs Village, Arkansas. In the fall of 1980, Ronald Reagan had just been elected President, and Bill Clinton had just lost the election for what would have been his second term as governor (He was later re-elected).
We lived in the newest house I'd ever lived in. Hot Springs Village was large gated community built in 1970, with man-made lakes, golf courses, its own supermarket, and several churches. This little suburbia with its community ordinances was close to heresy for my parents: Papa refused to mow the lawn because there were wild onions growing in the ditch. Because we were only going to be there a year, we acquired only a bare minimum of furniture to fill the big two bedroom 2 1/2 bath house. The living/dining room contained two upholstered chairs, a small black and white television, and a low table at which we ate, sitting on pillows on the floor. I slept on a thin foam mattress in my bedroom, the same one I had slept on when we lived in the tent in Florida.There was a work table in the kitchen that Papa built for my mother.
The main service that Hot Springs Village lacked, as it was largely a retirement community, was a school. I rode the bus every day to Jessieville Elementary School. The biggest difference to me about school in Arkansas versus New Hampshire (besides everyone's funny accent) was that corporal punishment was legal at school. There were one or two boys in my class who got into trouble frequently. They would be taken to a storage closet on the side of the classroom and be paddled by Mrs. Wainscott, a tall pregnant woman with Farrah Fawcett hair. The paddle hung ominously on the wall next to the closet. When someone did something really bad, they would be sent to the principal's office, for what one assumed was a much harder paddling.
Another custom of school in Arkansas was that each student was paddled in front of the class on his or her birthday. One paddle for every year, plus one for good luck. I was familiar with the concept of birthday spankings, which didn't really hurt, but that paddle looked painful. Every time it was someone's birthday, I watched closely to see if it hurt them, and could never be sure how hard Mrs. Wainscott was hitting.
I was horrified at the prospect of going to school on my birthday. I could not remember ever doing anything worth reprimanding, and thought it was unfair that I had to be paddled in front of the class if I didn't do anything wrong. My birthday, December 23, fell on a Tuesday that year. School was in session. On Monday, I was uncomfortable all day. I sat at my desk staring at the space in front of the class where Mrs. Wainscott paddled the birthday kids. None of my friends had had their birthdays yet that year, so I didn't have anyone to ask if it really hurt. I didn't want to ask a boy, because they would just act tough and say it didn't hurt at all, even if it did. My dreams of having a summer birthday (so Christmas didn't interfere and I could have a swim party) were reinforced, because there would be no school. But here it was, December 22, 1980, and I didn't know what to do.
I woke up on December 23 with a sore throat and a fever. I was too sick to go to school. I happily spent the day in bed reading a book, and just the three of us had a nice little party that evening at the table sitting on the floor. I never found out if the birthday paddling really hurt.
Here's my 4th grade picture:
