Trying to understand - some personal issues based on experience

The following was written for another forum, but nobody was really
able to give me any useful feedback. Someone suggested that I try
here, and so I am. This wound up fairly long - I was just intending to
write something fairly short about my experiences, but it kept
growing. Having written it, I've decided to leave it in.

The reason I've decided to post, to put my experiences down, because I
personally find them rather hard to fit into the whole corporal
punishment
debate. I have discussed these in other forums before, but never here.

My edperiences tell me that corporal punishment in schools at least (I
know this is a parenting forum, but it was suggested to me as the best
place I was likely to find to get intelligent answers to this) can be
very positive.

The problem for me is while I'm philosophically opposed to the idea of
corporal
punishment of children, and I've read many of the studies on it, I
can't really
reconcile that with my own experiences - and that troubles me to some
extent.

I'm going to outline a lot of stuff here, some of which probably isn't
that
relevant - but I'm trying to get my own head around these concepts as
well.

I came from a military family, which meant I attended four quite
different
schools in my first two and a half years of schooling. The first was a
state
primary school in the state of Victoria, Australia, the second was a
very
traditional Catholic primary school in New South Wales, the third was
a more
modern Catholic primary school in New South Wales, and the fourth was
a similar
modern Catholic school back in Victoria. Corporal punishment was
permitted at
all these schools, but the experience differed greatly - at the state
primary
school (which I only attended for about eight weeks anyway) I don't
have memory
of it being used - I do remember some discussion between my mother and
some
other parents about the fact that the principal at that school didn't
like using
it - but it's a very vague memory.

At the very traditional Catholic primary school in Sydney, things were
considerably different - we had an unusually large class - 41 children
- and the
teacher in charge relied very heavily on the threat of corporal
punishment to
keep us under control. She used to hit a table with a ruler to get us
to be
quiet, with the implied threat that she could hit us instead. We were
always
told that very naughty children could get the feather duster - which
had a short
cane handle and sat on the window ledge, and I do remember being quite
scared of
that idea. But I cannot remember any actual incident of corporal
punishment in
the, I think, about 8 months I was at that school. I don't know for
certain
that it didn't happen and I don't remember - but I'm inclined to think
it didn't
happen. I remember enough of what happened to think I would remember
if it was
actually used. The next school - which I attended for a year and six
weeks or so
- was a more modern Catholic primary school. Her e there was the
threat of the cane, but it wasn't a major feature of life in the
school. We just knew it existed - it wasn't ever seriously threatened.
And again I have no recollection of it being used. Then we moved back
to Victoria, and, again, I attended a local Catholic primary school.
This school was the first one I spent any significant time at - I
started there two months after the start of grade two, and remained
there until the end of grade six.

Soon after I started there - sometime when I was in Grade Two, there
was a 'bark
fight' one lunchtime. We had bark covering our entire playground,
because it was
softer to fall onto than the ground - and people were throwing it at
each other.
A significant number of the kids who were throwing it were made to go
to the
office - and that afternoon, they were given the strap. We all knew
this had
happened. A couple of boys from my own class were on the receiving end
and I
remember them coming back into the class, still crying. I remember the
incident
vividly.

I got bullied a *lot* at school. I had been a favourite target from
the day I
started school. At the state school I attended first, uniforms were
optional -
and I was the few boys who wore one - that made me a target. When we
moved -
well, at the next three schools I was the perpetual new boy. The
bullying wasn't
that bad to begin with - but it was always there.

In Grade Four, one of my classmates was picking on me - I think
because I had a
picture of superman on my library bag - our class teacher overheard
it, and
called us both into the classroom. He asked me what had happened - and
when I
told him, he grabbed my classmate by the arm and smacked him across
his backside
twice, hard. I was quite shocked - the strapping incident two years
previously
was the only example of corporal punishment I knew of at the school. I
was
bullied almost every day - what this boy did this day, was no
different than
happened to me three or four times a week. Really - he hardly ever
bullied me -
some boys did it constantly - he was just the unlucky one who got
caught, one of
the rare times he did it. I don't really think I had any really strong
feelings
about what happened at that point, beyond initial shock. And I can't
remember if
it stopped him doing it again or not.

At the start of Grade 5, I was kicking a soccer ball around before
school - and
the *worst* bully I knew at the school came up to me to try and take
the ball
away. This person picked on me absolutely constantly at every
opportunity - I
think mostly out of jealousy. I was the best student in the class, he
was the
worst. This day - well, he just took my ball. For some reason, at this
moment,
all the bullying I'd had for years built up and something snapped
within me. I
knocked him down - and when I had him on the ground I started kicking
him, over
and over and over again. In the body, in the head. I really, really
wanted to
hurt him. I'd never felt that way before in my life - I just stood
there and let
people hit me normally - in fact, with this kid, the previous year
when I'd been
left in charge of the class during a wet lunchtime (I was the
teacher's pet, I
guess) and part of my job was to write down names of kids who were
misbehaving,
placing a tick next to them if they did it again - well, I wrote his
name down for something - and someone told him. He came over and hit
me across the back of the head. I added a tick. He hit me again. I
added a tick. He hit me again. I added a tick - and I just kept going.
I never fought back. Ever. Except this one time - when I really lost
control. After I'd kicked him quite a few times - I have no idea how
many - I suddenly realised what I was doing - and I stopped, terrified
at the idea I might have seriously hurt him. He jumped to his feet -
and began chasing me. I ran to the nearest teacher - who was coming
across the playground because she'd seen me kicking him.

We both wound up having to see our deputy principal - the man who
handed out
official punishments. And he took out the strap and showed it to me
and told me
how much it hurt, and how he wouldn't use it this time - but if I ever
kicked
someone again, he would. And to the bully - well, it basically became
clear that
he had got the strap before - and he wasn't getting it this time, only
because
I'd already hurt him. This teacher scared the living daylights out of
me - he
made me so scared of the strap I decided that I didn't want to ever
get it. I'm
not sure it really had a positive effect on my behaviour at that point
- because
99% of the time, I was very well behaved, and that last 1% - well, I
was beyond
thinking of consequences - but if I had been inclined to be poorly
behaved, I
wouldn't be surprised if it would have deterred me.

The above is my entire primary school experience of corporal
punishment, as far
as I can recall. And it's really only listed for background to what
comes next
in case it has some relevance - I'm not sure if it does or not.

I finished primary school at the end of grade six, and along with,
probably 90%
of my classmates, moved on at the start of Year 7 to the local
Catholic
secondary college. This is where most kids from my school and about
half a dozen
other Catholic primary schools in the region wound up. It was almost
automatic,
and it was my parents plan I'd stay there until the end of my
schooling. They
didn't put a great deal of thought into it - beyond wanting me to get
a Catholic
education, they assumed all the local schools were probably much the
same. We
were working class - the local schools were all that really got
considered.

Now, this school was quite large - about 1200 students evenly spaced
across the
six years of secondary school - 200 in each year. The junior school -
one end of
the main campus - was virtually a separate school - Year 7 and Year 8.
About a
quarter of the kids in Year 7 had been at the same primary school as
me, so I
knew a lot of kids - and unfortunately they knew me.

Now, at some stage over the previous year - when I was in grade five
or grade
six, the Catholic Eduation Office had announced that all schools in
the Catholic
system in the archdiocese of Melbourne should stop using corporal
punishment.
Now, I don't know that that made a huge difference to my experiences
at this
school - this school believed in what they called 'non-punitive
positive
discipline', no use of punishment of any sort except as an absolute
last resort
- this idea was so ingrained that I'm sure it must have predated the
CEO's
decision and so presumably that decision wasn't relevant at this
school.

Please let me make something clear - I've no fundamental problem with
the idea
of non-punitive discipline, or positive discipline. If it can be made
to work,
wonderful. But this school didn't make it work - I don't even think
they really
tried. I probably cannot be more critical of this school in this
regard - but
that criticism is directed at the *specific* practices at this school,
not to
the general concepts that they used, misused, or misappropriated the
names of.

Basically, I'm inclined to the view that this school had basically no
discipline, whatever it called its policies. Kids were allowed to do
just about
anything they wanted outside of the classroom (and often inside it as
well).
Unfortunately, a sizeable proportion of the boys (mostly) decided what
they
wanted to do was bully someone else.

And somehow - because of the fact that about a quarter of the kids
knew me -
news got around that I was the *perfect* target. I didn't fight back
(well,
except that one time - but the only guy who knew about that besides me
hadn't
moved onto this school). I was a nerd who liked to read rather than
play
football and cricket (actually I would have happily played football
and cricket
if I'd thought I could have done so safelt). Anyway - they started
picking on
me. Constantly, three days a week (two days a week, the library was
open to boys
at lunchtime - girls could use it Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays -
boys on
Tuesday and Thursday). It started out just as verbal teasing - but it
quickly
became physical. I was held down and almost drowned in puddles. I was
stabbed
with compasses. It started to happen in class as well, as it became
clearer and
clearer that the school's policies wouldn't protect me.

I had a class teacher - a home room teacher - who was also my teacher
for three
subjects. She really bought into all the school ideas - I'm sure a lot
of
teachers just went along with them because it was where they worked -
she
*believed* in all of them. She was the person I should have been able
to go to
for help. But we had personality conflicts as well - because one of
her other
ideas was that all children had inherently equal levels of ability -
and I
didn't fit neatly into that idea. I found the classwork in school
absurdly easy
- it didn't fit into her ideas at all. Anyway, I couldn't go to her
for help -
and if I had, she wouldn't have done anything anyway.

When winter came, things got far, far worse. They were building
something - a
sports centre, I think - which took up a great deal of the playing
area. Much of
the rest of the playgrounds couldn't be used in wet weather. So if it
rained -
or if it had rained in the previous day - we found ourselves at
lunchtime
confined to a very small area of the playground which was concreted
and
undercover - 200 of us crammed into an area that was close to standing
room
only. I couldn't hide from anyone. I had to stand there and take
whatever people
threw at me - sometimes literally. I was beaten. I was burned. I was
crushed. My
glasses were stolen. My clothes were ruined. Teachers even saw it
happen,
sometimes - and did nothing. They couldn't punish anyone. And they
didn't seem
to have any other tactics.

I used to spend my entire day in terror, and my lunctimes in pain.
When I used
to get home at the end of the day - well, I wasn't in the mood to do
anything
associated with school. I just wanted to turn school off in my mind -
have
nothing to do with it. I stopped doing my homework. I stopped doing
anything to
do with school. And because of what was happening to me everyday - and
because
the teachers even when they knew about it did nothing, I started to
feel like
there was something wrong with me. I mean - the teachers weren't
stopping people
from hurting me, so obviously those people weren't doing anything
wrong. I must
have deserved what was happening. So I wasn't going to tell my parents
what was
going on.

And, back at school - well, things just kept getting worse. They
didn't punish
kids for not doing their homework - the idea was that your marks would
suffer as
a natural consequence - but my marks were still very high, so that did
nothing.
The teachers either didn't want to rock the boat - or didn't see
anything
particularly wrong with what was happening.

Then one day, a boy in an electric wheelchair - one of the worst
bullies I knew
at that time - surrounded by his cronies - trapped me in corner in a
hallway. He
was using his chair to crush me into that corner. And he was seriously
hurting
me - I was in serious fear for my life, the pressure was getting so
great. In
desperation, I reached out and grabbed his hair, and I pulled his head
back - I
was trying to injure him, I hadn't lost control this time - I was
using pretty
much the minimum force I could to save myself - and a teacher saw.
From where he
was - he must have been able to see everything.

And came charging down the hall, and separated us and took me to a
classroom.

And there he read me the riot act and accused me of bullying. It was
completely
unjustified - I was the victim of constant bullying that this teacher
*knew*
about - he had seen it happen. And he'd seen this incident, and so
knew I'd been
defending myself.

But - well, I found out then that the only kids considered worthy of
being
protected at that school were those with obvious physical disabilities
- and it
probably helped that his mother was a Cabinet Minister.

(Just for the record - I now think this boy bullied me simply because
he was an
even more obvious target than me - he joined the bullying in a big
way, to
protect himself. Four years later, we met again in an environment
where neither
of us had to fear bullies - and he was a completely different person.)

I was given a note to take home telling my parents I'd been caught
bullying a
disabled boy. Fortunately - well, perhap unfortunately really, because
it might
have exposed what was happening to my parents earlier - I was able to
forge my
father's signature on the reply slip.

After this incident I was suicidally depressed. I spent a huge amount
of time
fantasising about ways of killing myself. I don't know why I didn't do
it. I
really was deeply, deeply, depressed and could only see it getting
worse.

Matters finally came to a head a little over halfway through the year.
I went to
the toilets during classtime, and was attacked by a couple of older
students -
they shouldn't have even been down at our end of the school. I don't
know why
they attacked me - today I wonder if I'd walked in on a drug deal, but
the idea
never occurred to me then. They beat me senseless and left me
unconscious on the
toilet floors.

After a while, my teacher wondered why I was taking so long - and in
an
incredible example of her thinking skills sent a girl to find me - she
knew I'd
gone to the toilets, and she a girl looking for me. I'm glad she did -
but it
baffles me.

This girl came and found me - and she ran to a phone and called for an
ambulance, before heading to the office. The ambulance service hearing
a report
of a child beaten in a school toilet contacted the police. I was taken
to
hospital - fortunately not seriously injured, but my parents were, of
course,
informed.

My father had left the navy by this time, after twenty years service -
he'd come
out a very senior NCO. He was the type of man who expected to get
answers - so
the following day, he went to the school to find out what they could
tell him.
He managed to get past all their attempts to hide what was going on
and had been
going on - he got an accurate idea of what had been happening. The
senior school
counsellor was actually very helpful - I wish she'd been available to
me. She
suggested my parents take me to a psychologist - they asked who she
recommended
and she told them the name of the man who was supposedly the best in
the state -
so my parents took me to see him.

He confirmed my depression - he also IQ tested me, and gave me a whole
range of
other tests - I turned out to be 'profoundly gifted' - something he
said that
school couldn't handle, and probably the major reason why I was such a
target -
I couldn't relate easily to other kids, and in an environment where I
was
constantly terrified of being beaten up by them, I wasn't going to
learn. He
told my parents the names of three schools where he recommended they
should try
and send me - all exclusive, expensive, private schools.

I had to go back to the school I was already at, until the end of the
year. It
was really unavoidable - it was September by the time all the testing
had been
done, and the Australian school year coincides with the calendar year.
If I was
withdrawn from school, the likelihood of the three schools suggested
taking me
would have gone way down - and the local high school which was the
only short
term alternative, was regarded as the third-worst school in the state.

I was able to survive my remaining time at this school, only because
of the hope
I'd get out of there. It wasn't easy - the school's "solution" to my
constant
bullying - given that they didn't think they could punish the bullies
(who
'needed help') was to give me lunctime detention for the rest of the
year, so
I'd be safe.

But I was *deeply* clinically depressed - and genuinely suicidal. I
fully
intended at this point to kill myself rather than come back to that
school the
following year. I developed a stutter, I found myself completely
unable to trust
most people. I was quite seriously harmed by my year at this school
under it's
regime of "non-punitive discipline" and "positive discipline."

And, hearing such terms still make me shudder, unfortunately.

Anyway - to continue. My parents, with the help of the psychologist,
managed to
get me offered places at two of the three schools he suggested. One
was quite
close to where I lived - one was a considerable distance away. They
chose the
latter for three reasons - firstly, that it was Catholic (the other
was Church
of England) and while that had ceased to be their priority in choosing
a school,
they still saw it as a positive if it was possible. Secondly, that it
was the
psychologist's top recommendation - it was the one he felt was best,
the other
two had been suggested simply because they were closer to home. The
third - was
that for the first year, I'd be able to attend the school's prep
school that was
much closer to my home, and was much smaller - and had a reputation
for having a
very nurturing environment, which they felt I needed after the year
I'd just
experienced. They were seriously worried about my psychological
wellbeing.

So at the start of year eight - about a week after my thirteenth
birthday, I
began at the preparatory school to one of the state's most expensive
private
schools. It was a major financial sacrifice for my parents to send me
there -
but they were willing to do what was needed.

This school was considerably different to the one I'd just come from.
It was
much smaller - about 250 boys across four years (Grade 5-Year 8).
Whereas the
other school had been proud to be "modern", this one was very big on
"tradition". And, significantly here, in terms of their disciplinary
policies.

This school had no problem with the idea of positive disciplinary
methods as
part of what they did - but, at the same time, they had no problems
with the
idea of punishment when necessary - including corporal punishment. It
was
considered a serious sanction for fairly severe misbehaviour - but it
was most
definitely available, and was used fairly often.

Now, this school did not have a major bullying problem, but it wasn't
totally
immune from it. And unfortunately for me, I was, once again, something
of a
target. For a start, I was the new boy - and it was very rare for a
boy to enter
the school in year 8. So I stood out. Secondly, about two weeks before
school
started I'd attended a summer camp run by the Archdiocese for Catholic
boys from
schools all over the city - and in response to the normal question
kids ask of
each other - "What school do you go to?" - I'd revealed that I was
coming to
this new school - there were a couple of the boys at the camp who came
from my
new school, and on the last night of the camp, we had a trivia
competition -
where, fed up with the fact that my team hadn't won a single sporting
event all
week, I decided to show off my extensive general knowledge and blew
the
opposition out of the water. Somehow a rumour got started at my new
school that
the reason I was coming into the school was because I was some sort of
genius who'd won a scholarship - and that I was that I was poor - both
of which had some truth, behind them, but weren't really true - my IQ
had influenced the school's decision to take me, but there was no
scholarship, and while my family wasn't poor - my father earned a
decent wage - we certainly had nothing like the money these boys were
used to. It really didn't matter to most of the boys at the school -
but there were a few boys who were inclined to bully, and this gave
them some ammunition.

The psychologist - I was still seeing him weekly - had told me that
this school
was a place where it was safe for me to allow my intellectual and
academic
abilities to show, unlike my previous school - so I did. And that made
things
slightly more difficult. He'd also told me that most bullies would
give up if
they didn't get a reaction, so I did my best not to react. I tried to
ignore
them. I didn't report them because that would have been a reaction.
They were
tenacious though - they didn't give up just because I denied them a
reaction
most of the time. But compared to what had happened the previous year,
these
boys were nothing to really worry about. If I hadn't already been
carrying so
much emotional baggage, they wouldn't have worried me at all - as it
was, they
were a mild annoyance, a constant reminder of what could happen - I
was worried,
mostly about escalation.

Corporal punishment at this school was an ever-present fact of life.
It was
constantly being threatened, and in fairly regular use - but it didn't
really
worry me that much. I've tried to work out why - I think it was a
combination of
a number of factors - the first was that it was understood that you
really did
have to earn it - it wasn't like you were going to get it by accident
- for
something you didn't mean to do. That applied to everyone - and nobody
seemed to
worry that much about getting hit, unless it seemed likely it was an
imminent
event. For me, there was also, perhaps, the added factor that my
previous year
in a hellish environment where there was no real discipline and no
real
punishment might have made me more amenable to the idea that the
existence of
any form of punishment was a positive thing.

Now - intellectually I was still having no problems with my schoolwork
-
however, at this school, homework counted for a lot - and over the
previous
year, I'd completely lost any self-discipline I had when it came to
doing my
homework, for the reasons I described earlier. I had always been lazy
when it
came to schoolwork - I found it so easy that I never developed decent
work
habits. The previous year had just made the problem worse. Actually it
hadn't
really been a problem up until now - but it was definitely going to be
in the
future, given the way our education system worked here (university
entrance
determined by sustained performance on homework assignments in your
final year
of school).

When I didn't do my homework - to start with I got away with mild
reprimands -
then more severe ones. It moved onto lunchtime detentions, and then
afterschool
detentions. They tried other things as well - talking to me to try and
explain
why it was important, negotiating with me about what I had to do, etc
- but I
don't remember all of those things that well. Neither approach seemed
to be
working.

They took things pretty slowly - I suspect, because all my teachers
knew a lot
about my previous year, they were very reluctant to treat me too
harshly. They
stretched out every stage to breaking point - when they normally would
have
taken action in days, they gave me weeks. That's a guess on my part -
but it
seems likely. And the fact that I was getting away with things
(relatively
speaking) that other boys weren't, started to become obvious.

The bullies - three of them - made it clear to me that they intended
to get me
strapped. I wasn't incredibly worried by that threat - frankly,
because I
couldn't see how they could do it, and it wasn't something that really
worried
me that much anyway, in comparison to what I'd already been through.
They
started pulling little tricks to get me into trouble - stealing my
homework -
putting an apple in my desk just before we had a desk inspection (food
was not
allowed in desks). Minor harassment like that. Then, finally, the week
after our
PE teacher had threatened to strap anyone who forgot their PE uniform,
they
removed and hid my shinpads - needed for hockey. I knew what had
happened - but
decided to play without them. They spent the entire period hacking
away at my
shins at every opportunity - it hurt a bit, but not that much. After
PE, we had
to shower - a big communal shower - strip off, get in, get the mud off
and get
out. It wasn't closely supervised.

They jumped me in the shower - they knocked me down. I thought the
worst thing
they could to me was kick me - so I curled up into a ball to protect
myself.

They didn't kick me. They urinated on me. It didn't hurt me physically
- but
emotionally, it sent me into a huge spin. Everything that had happened
to me -
that I was slowly recovering from - started to flood back. I couldn't
believe
what was happening - it was absolutely awful.

Somebody went and got the teacher - which indicates how seriously the
other boys
viewed this - one thing you never did was tell on someone else - but
this went
completely beyond the pale. He pulled them out and I remember him
screaming at
them to get dressed, and telling a couple of our more trustworthy
classmates to
get me dressed and to the sickbay.

They did as they were told - and I was in incredible emotional
distress. I
couldn't believe what these people had done to me. This school had
become my
haven - and they completely violated me in one of the worst ways I
could
imagine. I was suicidal again - frankly, I was homicidal - I would
have happily
seen them dead. It was a hideous feeling, and I hate writing about it,
or
thinking about it.

But I got to see them strapped for what they did. They were belted and
I got to
see it happen - and that is what calmed me down, more than anything
else. I
don't think I really needed to see it - just knowing it had happened,
probably
would have been enough. But the fact that that happened made it clear
to me that
this school, and these teachers, considered me worthy of their
protection. My
need to be safe from unwarranted, uncontrolled abuse was important and
they'd
take steps to make it happen. But at that stage, I needed to know
unambiguously
that what they'd done was not considered acceptable in any way - and I
don't
think anything else could have made this clear to me.

These boys never bullied me again. And that is when I really started
to recover
- to the point that I wouldn't fall back. I think that very possibly
saved my
life - because I had four and a half years more of school to go
through, and
some bullying was inevitable, and until that moment there was always a
risk that
any incident could have retriggered everything that had come before.
This is
when I got to the stage that I wouldn't... overreact to a single
incident again.
I wasn't out of the woods - systematic abuse similar to what I'd had
the
previous year could have taken me back - but a single incident, no
matter how
bad - and there were a couple more in later years - didn't.

And, personally, my teacher's indulgence eventually did run out. I
have vivid
memories of walking behind my form master down the stairs from our
classroom to
the office, my heart pounding, my mouth dry, after I'd told him I
couldn't do a
detention for not having done my maths homework on Thursday night,
because I
already had one for not having done my Latin homework. What happened
next hurt a
lot more than I had expected. But it was all over in less than five
minutes from
the time he discovered my transgression. It happened once more before
I got the
message that they were serious about this, and it would keep
happening. It hurt,
I certainly did not enjoy it - but it didn't too me any long term harm
that I
can detect. In fact, it did me a lot of good - I started out doing my
homework
just to avoid the strap - and after only a few weeks I was so used to
doing it,
that it didn't phase me anymore - by the following year, when I was in
quite a
different disciplinary environment (at our senior school, corporal
punishment existed in theory, but was incredibly rarely used, and
certainly not for homework violations) it had become a habit, and I
was well on the way to developing greater self-discipline in most
areas of my life.

So this year - a year when I most faced corporal punishment at school
and I
actually received it - well, frankly, it was the happiest year of my
entire
childhood, and, by far, the happiest of all my years at school. The
presence of
corporal punishment only played a small role in that - but it was a
real and
important role.

The year when the focus was "positive discipline" and "non-punitive
disipline"
almost killed me, and left me a clinical depression. The year when
corporal
punishment was just an accepted part of life saved me - and left me
able to
function and actually be happy again (it took another decade to
completely shake
off depressive episodes - this wasn't a miracle cure - but it gave me
part of
the start). Now, maybe the first year, the ideas were used unusually
badly and
perverted away from how things should have been. And maybe the second
year,
everything was used unusually well - I don't know, really. All I know
is what my
experiences tell me.

I apologise for the length of this post - I actually expected it to be
fairly
short when I started writing it - but frankly, the above paragraph,
while an
honest assessment of my feelings, disturbs me more than a bit -
because as I
say, philosophically, I don't like the idea of corporal punishment. I
hate the
idea of children being hurt by adults.

And I've read the research - not all of it, but a lot of it, and I
know what it
says. And I'd like to give those things more credence.

But... well, to do so, seems to mean denying my own experiences, and
as a matter
of honesty, I can't easily do that.

Over the years since I finished school, I've wondered why my reaction
and
experience might not fit in too well with conventional opinion.

I've considered all sorts of possible reasons - my IQ level, for
example -
simply because it's unusual enough to mean anomalies could sometimes
occur.

My background - while unusual at my school, no different from a lot of
other
people.

I even considered for a long time the idea that there was a sexual
element
involved, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

I've looked to try and find reasons why my experiences don't seem to
mesh with
the conventional thought on this issue, and I can't figure it out. The
above aren't the only reasons I've considered, by any means - I just
mention them as an indication I have looked to try and explain this.

Why does it matter? Well, two reasons, really.

The first is that at the start of last year, I began my studies to
become a
teacher. Now it's very unlikely I'll ever be a teacher in a school
where
corporal punishment is used - there's so few left here, and they're
not the type
I am at all likely to work in - but my views on this do impact my
views on other
forms of punishment and other methods of discipline as well. It's
still over two
years before I'll be in a classroom regularly so I have plenty of time
to think
about this.

The second reason - in the first half of next year, a book is being
published in
the United States, which I wrote a chapter of, outlining some details
of my
school experiences. For various reasons, my school experiences are
considered of
interest and valuable to others - people are going to read them, and
maybe base
teaching practice on them (at least that's part of the purpose of the
book).
Now, I didn't mention my punishment experiences in that chapter - they
weren't
particularly relevant - but it's been mentioned to me that I may be
asked to
help spruik the book here in Australia (as I'm one of the few people
who wrote a
chapter from here - it's mostly a US book) and that means I could be
asked
questions about my schooling and before I am I want to try and work
about what I
believe about other aspects of it.

So I'm trying to work out what is going on here. If anyone has any
ideas -
please pipe up.

Stuart,

You state that you have read many of the studies on corporal punishment.
Can you provide references to the studies you have read? This may be
a starting point for discussion. I will be on vacation for the next two
weeks and so will not be able to respond. However, I think it would be
helpful to know which studies you have read.

LaVonne

Stuart Magpie wrote:
The following was written for another forum, but nobody was really
able to give me any useful feedback. Someone suggested that I try
here, and so I am. This wound up fairly long - I was just intending to
write something fairly short about my experiences, but it kept
growing. Having written it, I've decided to leave it in.

The reason I've decided to post, to put my experiences down, because I
personally find them rather hard to fit into the whole corporal
punishment
debate. I have discussed these in other forums before, but never here.

My edperiences tell me that corporal punishment in schools at least (I
know this is a parenting forum, but it was suggested to me as the best
place I was likely to find to get intelligent answers to this) can be
very positive.

The problem for me is while I'm philosophically opposed to the idea of
corporal
punishment of children, and I've read many of the studies on it, I
can't really
reconcile that with my own experiences - and that troubles me to some
extent.

I'm going to outline a lot of stuff here, some of which probably isn't
that
relevant - but I'm trying to get my own head around these concepts as
well.

I came from a military family, which meant I attended four quite
different
schools in my first two and a half years of schooling. The first was a
state
primary school in the state of Victoria, Australia, the second was a
very
traditional Catholic primary school in New South Wales, the third was
a more
modern Catholic primary school in New South Wales, and the fourth was
a similar
modern Catholic school back in Victoria. Corporal punishment was
permitted at
all these schools, but the experience differed greatly - at the state
primary
school (which I only attended for about eight weeks anyway) I don't
have memory
of it being used - I do remember some discussion between my mother and
some
other parents about the fact that the principal at that school didn't
like using
it - but it's a very vague memory.

At the very traditional Catholic primary school in Sydney, things were
considerably different - we had an unusually large class - 41 children
- and the
teacher in charge relied very heavily on the threat of corporal
punishment to
keep us under control. She used to hit a table with a ruler to get us
to be
quiet, with the implied threat that she could hit us instead. We were
always
told that very naughty children could get the feather duster - which
had a short
cane handle and sat on the window ledge, and I do remember being quite
scared of
that idea. But I cannot remember any actual incident of corporal
punishment in
the, I think, about 8 months I was at that school. I don't know for
certain
that it didn't happen and I don't remember - but I'm inclined to think
it didn't
happen. I remember enough of what happened to think I would remember
if it was
actually used. The next school - which I attended for a year and six
weeks or so
- was a more modern Catholic primary school. Her e there was the
threat of the cane, but it wasn't a major feature of life in the
school. We just knew it existed - it wasn't ever seriously threatened.
And again I have no recollection of it being used. Then we moved back
to Victoria, and, again, I attended a local Catholic primary school.
This school was the first one I spent any significant time at - I
started there two months after the start of grade two, and remained
there until the end of grade six.

Soon after I started there - sometime when I was in Grade Two, there
was a 'bark
fight' one lunchtime. We had bark covering our entire playground,
because it was
softer to fall onto than the ground - and people were throwing it at
each other.
A significant number of the kids who were throwing it were made to go
to the
office - and that afternoon, they were given the strap. We all knew
this had
happened. A couple of boys from my own class were on the receiving end
and I
remember them coming back into the class, still crying. I remember the
incident
vividly.

I got bullied a *lot* at school. I had been a favourite target from
the day I
started school. At the state school I attended first, uniforms were
optional -
and I was the few boys who wore one - that made me a target. When we
moved -
well, at the next three schools I was the perpetual new boy. The
bullying wasn't
that bad to begin with - but it was always there.

In Grade Four, one of my classmates was picking on me - I think
because I had a
picture of superman on my library bag - our class teacher overheard
it, and
called us both into the classroom. He asked me what had happened - and
when I
told him, he grabbed my classmate by the arm and smacked him across
his backside
twice, hard. I was quite shocked - the strapping incident two years
previously
was the only example of corporal punishment I knew of at the school. I
was
bullied almost every day - what this boy did this day, was no
different than
happened to me three or four times a week. Really - he hardly ever
bullied me -
some boys did it constantly - he was just the unlucky one who got
caught, one of
the rare times he did it. I don't really think I had any really strong
feelings
about what happened at that point, beyond initial shock. And I can't
remember if
it stopped him doing it again or not.

At the start of Grade 5, I was kicking a soccer ball around before
school - and
the *worst* bully I knew at the school came up to me to try and take
the ball
away. This person picked on me absolutely constantly at every
opportunity - I
think mostly out of jealousy. I was the best student in the class, he
was the
worst. This day - well, he just took my ball. For some reason, at this
moment,
all the bullying I'd had for years built up and something snapped
within me. I
knocked him down - and when I had him on the ground I started kicking
him, over
and over and over again. In the body, in the head. I really, really
wanted to
hurt him. I'd never felt that way before in my life - I just stood
there and let
people hit me normally - in fact, with this kid, the previous year
when I'd been
left in charge of the class during a wet lunchtime (I was the
teacher's pet, I
guess) and part of my job was to write down names of kids who were
misbehaving,
placing a tick next to them if they did it again - well, I wrote his
name down for something - and someone told him. He came over and hit
me across the back of the head. I added a tick. He hit me again. I
added a tick. He hit me again. I added a tick - and I just kept going.
I never fought back. Ever. Except this one time - when I really lost
control. After I'd kicked him quite a few times - I have no idea how
many - I suddenly realised what I was doing - and I stopped, terrified
at the idea I might have seriously hurt him. He jumped to his feet -
and began chasing me. I ran to the nearest teacher - who was coming
across the playground because she'd seen me kicking him.

We both wound up having to see our deputy principal - the man who
handed out
official punishments. And he took out the strap and showed it to me
and told me
how much it hurt, and how he wouldn't use it this time - but if I ever
kicked
someone again, he would. And to the bully - well, it basically became
clear that
he had got the strap before - and he wasn't getting it this time, only
because
I'd already hurt him. This teacher scared the living daylights out of
me - he
made me so scared of the strap I decided that I didn't want to ever
get it. I'm
not sure it really had a positive effect on my behaviour at that point
- because
99% of the time, I was very well behaved, and that last 1% - well, I
was beyond
thinking of consequences - but if I had been inclined to be poorly
behaved, I
wouldn't be surprised if it would have deterred me.

The above is my entire primary school experience of corporal
punishment, as far
as I can recall. And it's really only listed for background to what
comes next
in case it has some relevance - I'm not sure if it does or not.

I finished primary school at the end of grade six, and along with,
probably 90%
of my classmates, moved on at the start of Year 7 to the local
Catholic
secondary college. This is where most kids from my school and about
half a dozen
other Catholic primary schools in the region wound up. It was almost
automatic,
and it was my parents plan I'd stay there until the end of my
schooling. They
didn't put a great deal of thought into it - beyond wanting me to get
a Catholic
education, they assumed all the local schools were probably much the
same. We
were working class - the local schools were all that really got
considered.

Now, this school was quite large - about 1200 students evenly spaced
across the
six years of secondary school - 200 in each year. The junior school -
one end of
the main campus - was virtually a separate school - Year 7 and Year 8.
About a
quarter of the kids in Year 7 had been at the same primary school as
me, so I
knew a lot of kids - and unfortunately they knew me.

Now, at some stage over the previous year - when I was in grade five
or grade
six, the Catholic Eduation Office had announced that all schools in
the Catholic
system in the archdiocese of Melbourne should stop using corporal
punishment.
Now, I don't know that that made a huge difference to my experiences
at this
school - this school believed in what they called 'non-punitive
positive
discipline', no use of punishment of any sort except as an absolute
last resort
- this idea was so ingrained that I'm sure it must have predated the
CEO's
decision and so presumably that decision wasn't relevant at this
school.

Please let me make something clear - I've no fundamental problem with
the idea
of non-punitive discipline, or positive discipline. If it can be made
to work,
wonderful. But this school didn't make it work - I don't even think
they really
tried. I probably cannot be more critical of this school in this
regard - but
that criticism is directed at the *specific* practices at this school,
not to
the general concepts that they used, misused, or misappropriated the
names of.

Basically, I'm inclined to the view that this school had basically no
discipline, whatever it called its policies. Kids were allowed to do
just about
anything they wanted outside of the classroom (and often inside it as
well).
Unfortunately, a sizeable proportion of the boys (mostly) decided what
they
wanted to do was bully someone else.

And somehow - because of the fact that about a quarter of the kids
knew me -
news got around that I was the *perfect* target. I didn't fight back
(well,
except that one time - but the only guy who knew about that besides me
hadn't
moved onto this school). I was a nerd who liked to read rather than
play
football and cricket (actually I would have happily played football
and cricket
if I'd thought I could have done so safelt). Anyway - they started
picking on
me. Constantly, three days a week (two days a week, the library was
open to boys
at lunchtime - girls could use it Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays -
boys on
Tuesday and Thursday). It started out just as verbal teasing - but it
quickly
became physical. I was held down and almost drowned in puddles. I was
stabbed
with compasses. It started to happen in class as well, as it became
clearer and
clearer that the school's policies wouldn't protect me.

I had a class teacher - a home room teacher - who was also my teacher
for three
subjects. She really bought into all the school ideas - I'm sure a lot
of
teachers just went along with them because it was where they worked -
she
*believed* in all of them. She was the person I should have been able
to go to
for help. But we had personality conflicts as well - because one of
her other
ideas was that all children had inherently equal levels of ability -
and I
didn't fit neatly into that idea. I found the classwork in school
absurdly easy
- it didn't fit into her ideas at all. Anyway, I couldn't go to her
for help -
and if I had, she wouldn't have done anything anyway.

When winter came, things got far, far worse. They were building
something - a
sports centre, I think - which took up a great deal of the playing
area. Much of
the rest of the playgrounds couldn't be used in wet weather. So if it
rained -
or if it had rained in the previous day - we found ourselves at
lunchtime
confined to a very small area of the playground which was concreted
and
undercover - 200 of us crammed into an area that was close to standing
room
only. I couldn't hide from anyone. I had to stand there and take
whatever people
threw at me - sometimes literally. I was beaten. I was burned. I was
crushed. My
glasses were stolen. My clothes were ruined. Teachers even saw it
happen,
sometimes - and did nothing. They couldn't punish anyone. And they
didn't seem
to have any other tactics.

I used to spend my entire day in terror, and my lunctimes in pain.
When I used
to get home at the end of the day - well, I wasn't in the mood to do
anything
associated with school. I just wanted to turn school off in my mind -
have
nothing to do with it. I stopped doing my homework. I stopped doing
anything to
do with school. And because of what was happening to me everyday - and
because
the teachers even when they knew about it did nothing, I started to
feel like
there was something wrong with me. I mean - the teachers weren't
stopping people
from hurting me, so obviously those people weren't doing anything
wrong. I must
have deserved what was happening. So I wasn't going to tell my parents
what was
going on.

And, back at school - well, things just kept getting worse. They
didn't punish
kids for not doing their homework - the idea was that your marks would
suffer as
a natural consequence - but my marks were still very high, so that did
nothing.
The teachers either didn't want to rock the boat - or didn't see
anything
particularly wrong with what was happening.

Then one day, a boy in an electric wheelchair - one of the worst
bullies I knew
at that time - surrounded by his cronies - trapped me in corner in a
hallway. He
was using his chair to crush me into that corner. And he was seriously
hurting
me - I was in serious fear for my life, the pressure was getting so
great. In
desperation, I reached out and grabbed his hair, and I pulled his head
back - I
was trying to injure him, I hadn't lost control this time - I was
using pretty
much the minimum force I could to save myself - and a teacher saw.
From where he
was - he must have been able to see everything.

And came charging down the hall, and separated us and took me to a
classroom.

And there he read me the riot act and accused me of bullying. It was
completely
unjustified - I was the victim of constant bullying that this teacher
*knew*
about - he had seen it happen. And he'd seen this incident, and so
knew I'd been
defending myself.

But - well, I found out then that the only kids considered worthy of
being
protected at that school were those with obvious physical disabilities
- and it
probably helped that his mother was a Cabinet Minister.

(Just for the record - I now think this boy bullied me simply because
he was an
even more obvious target than me - he joined the bullying in a big
way, to
protect himself. Four years later, we met again in an environment
where neither
of us had to fear bullies - and he was a completely different person.)

I was given a note to take home telling my parents I'd been caught
bullying a
disabled boy. Fortunately - well, perhap unfortunately really, because
it might
have exposed what was happening to my parents earlier - I was able to
forge my
father's signature on the reply slip.

After this incident I was suicidally depressed. I spent a huge amount
of time
fantasising about ways of killing myself. I don't know why I didn't do
it. I
really was deeply, deeply, depressed and could only see it getting
worse.

Matters finally came to a head a little over halfway through the year.
I went to
the toilets during classtime, and was attacked by a couple of older
students -
they shouldn't have even been down at our end of the school. I don't
know why
they attacked me - today I wonder if I'd walked in on a drug deal, but
the idea
never occurred to me then. They beat me senseless and left me
unconscious on the
toilet floors.

After a while, my teacher wondered why I was taking so long - and in
an
incredible example of her thinking skills sent a girl to find me - she
knew I'd
gone to the toilets, and she a girl looking for me. I'm glad she did -
but it
baffles me.

This girl came and found me - and she ran to a phone and called for an
ambulance, before heading to the office. The ambulance service hearing
a report
of a child beaten in a school toilet contacted the police. I was taken
to
hospital - fortunately not seriously injured, but my parents were, of
course,
informed.

My father had left the navy by this time, after twenty years service -
he'd come
out a very senior NCO. He was the type of man who expected to get
answers - so
the following day, he went to the school to find out what they could
tell him.
He managed to get past all their attempts to hide what was going on
and had been
going on - he got an accurate idea of what had been happening. The
senior school
counsellor was actually very helpful - I wish she'd been available to
me. She
suggested my parents take me to a psychologist - they asked who she
recommended
and she told them the name of the man who was supposedly the best in
the state -
so my parents took me to see him.

He confirmed my depression - he also IQ tested me, and gave me a whole
range of
other tests - I turned out to be 'profoundly gifted' - something he
said that
school couldn't handle, and probably the major reason why I was such a
target -
I couldn't relate easily to other kids, and in an environment where I
was
constantly terrified of being beaten up by them, I wasn't going to
learn. He
told my parents the names of three schools where he recommended they
should try
and send me - all exclusive, expensive, private schools.

I had to go back to the school I was already at, until the end of the
year. It
was really unavoidable - it was September by the time all the testing
had been
done, and the Australian school year coincides with the calendar year.
If I was
withdrawn from school, the likelihood of the three schools suggested
taking me
would have gone way down - and the local high school which was the
only short
term alternative, was regarded as the third-worst school in the state.

I was able to survive my remaining time at this school, only because
of the hope
I'd get out of there. It wasn't easy - the school's "solution" to my
constant
bullying - given that they didn't think they could punish the bullies
(who
'needed help') was to give me lunctime detention for the rest of the
year, so
I'd be safe.

But I was *deeply* clinically depressed - and genuinely suicidal. I
fully
intended at this point to kill myself rather than come back to that
school the
following year. I developed a stutter, I found myself completely
unable to trust
most people. I was quite seriously harmed by my year at this school
under it's
regime of "non-punitive discipline" and "positive discipline."

And, hearing such terms still make me shudder, unfortunately.

Anyway - to continue. My parents, with the help of the psychologist,
managed to
get me offered places at two of the three schools he suggested. One
was quite
close to where I lived - one was a considerable distance away. They
chose the
latter for three reasons - firstly, that it was Catholic (the other
was Church
of England) and while that had ceased to be their priority in choosing
a school,
they still saw it as a positive if it was possible. Secondly, that it
was the
psychologist's top recommendation - it was the one he felt was best,
the other
two had been suggested simply because they were closer to home. The
third - was
that for the first year, I'd be able to attend the school's prep
school that was
much closer to my home, and was much smaller - and had a reputation
for having a
very nurturing environment, which they felt I needed after the year
I'd just
experienced. They were seriously worried about my psychological
wellbeing.

So at the start of year eight - about a week after my thirteenth
birthday, I
began at the preparatory school to one of the state's most expensive
private
schools. It was a major financial sacrifice for my parents to send me
there -
but they were willing to do what was needed.

This school was considerably different to the one I'd just come from.
It was
much smaller - about 250 boys across four years (Grade 5-Year 8).
Whereas the
other school had been proud to be "modern", this one was very big on
"tradition". And, significantly here, in terms of their disciplinary
policies.

This school had no problem with the idea of positive disciplinary
methods as
part of what they did - but, at the same time, they had no problems
with the
idea of punishment when necessary - including corporal punishment. It
was
considered a serious sanction for fairly severe misbehaviour - but it
was most
definitely available, and was used fairly often.

Now, this school did not have a major bullying problem, but it wasn't
totally
immune from it. And unfortunately for me, I was, once again, something
of a
target. For a start, I was the new boy - and it was very rare for a
boy to enter
the school in year 8. So I stood out. Secondly, about two weeks before
school
started I'd attended a summer camp run by the Archdiocese for Catholic
boys from
schools all over the city - and in response to the normal question
kids ask of
each other - "What school do you go to?" - I'd revealed that I was
coming to
this new school - there were a couple of the boys at the camp who came
from my
new school, and on the last night of the camp, we had a trivia
competition -
where, fed up with the fact that my team hadn't won a single sporting
event all
week, I decided to show off my extensive general knowledge and blew
the
opposition out of the water. Somehow a rumour got started at my new
school that
the reason I was coming into the school was because I was some sort of
genius who'd won a scholarship - and that I was that I was poor - both
of which had some truth, behind them, but weren't really true - my IQ
had influenced the school's decision to take me, but there was no
scholarship, and while my family wasn't poor - my father earned a
decent wage - we certainly had nothing like the money these boys were
used to. It really didn't matter to most of the boys at the school -
but there were a few boys who were inclined to bully, and this gave
them some ammunition.

The psychologist - I was still seeing him weekly - had told me that
this school
was a place where it was safe for me to allow my intellectual and
academic
abilities to show, unlike my previous school - so I did. And that made
things
slightly more difficult. He'd also told me that most bullies would
give up if
they didn't get a reaction, so I did my best not to react. I tried to
ignore
them. I didn't report them because that would have been a reaction.
They were
tenacious though - they didn't give up just because I denied them a
reaction
most of the time. But compared to what had happened the previous year,
these
boys were nothing to really worry about. If I hadn't already been
carrying so
much emotional baggage, they wouldn't have worried me at all - as it
was, they
were a mild annoyance, a constant reminder of what could happen - I
was worried,
mostly about escalation.

Corporal punishment at this school was an ever-present fact of life.
It was
constantly being threatened, and in fairly regular use - but it didn't
really
worry me that much. I've tried to work out why - I think it was a
combination of
a number of factors - the first was that it was understood that you
really did
have to earn it - it wasn't like you were going to get it by accident
- for
something you didn't mean to do. That applied to everyone - and nobody
seemed to
worry that much about getting hit, unless it seemed likely it was an
imminent
event. For me, there was also, perhaps, the added factor that my
previous year
in a hellish environment where there was no real discipline and no
real
punishment might have made me more amenable to the idea that the
existence of
any form of punishment was a positive thing.

Now - intellectually I was still having no problems with my schoolwork
-
however, at this school, homework counted for a lot - and over the
previous
year, I'd completely lost any self-discipline I had when it came to
doing my
homework, for the reasons I described earlier. I had always been lazy
when it
came to schoolwork - I found it so easy that I never developed decent
work
habits. The previous year had just made the problem worse. Actually it
hadn't
really been a problem up until now - but it was definitely going to be
in the
future, given the way our education system worked here (university
entrance
determined by sustained performance on homework assignments in your
final year
of school).

When I didn't do my homework - to start with I got away with mild
reprimands -
then more severe ones. It moved onto lunchtime detentions, and then
afterschool
detentions. They tried other things as well - talking to me to try and
explain
why it was important, negotiating with me about what I had to do, etc
- but I
don't remember all of those things that well. Neither approach seemed
to be
working.

They took things pretty slowly - I suspect, because all my teachers
knew a lot
about my previous year, they were very reluctant to treat me too
harshly. They
stretched out every stage to breaking point - when they normally would
have
taken action in days, they gave me weeks. That's a guess on my part -
but it
seems likely. And the fact that I was getting away with things
(relatively
speaking) that other boys weren't, started to become obvious.

The bullies - three of them - made it clear to me that they intended
to get me
strapped. I wasn't incredibly worried by that threat - frankly,
because I
couldn't see how they could do it, and it wasn't something that really
worried
me that much anyway, in comparison to what I'd already been through.
They
started pulling little tricks to get me into trouble - stealing my
homework -
putting an apple in my desk just before we had a desk inspection (food
was not
allowed in desks). Minor harassment like that. Then, finally, the week
after our
PE teacher had threatened to strap anyone who forgot their PE uniform,
they
removed and hid my shinpads - needed for hockey. I knew what had
happened - but
decided to play without them. They spent the entire period hacking
away at my
shins at every opportunity - it hurt a bit, but not that much. After
PE, we had
to shower - a big communal shower - strip off, get in, get the mud off
and get
out. It wasn't closely supervised.

They jumped me in the shower - they knocked me down. I thought the
worst thing
they could to me was kick me - so I curled up into a ball to protect
myself.

They didn't kick me. They urinated on me. It didn't hurt me physically
- but
emotionally, it sent me into a huge spin. Everything that had happened
to me -
that I was slowly recovering from - started to flood back. I couldn't
believe
what was happening - it was absolutely awful.

Somebody went and got the teacher - which indicates how seriously the
other boys
viewed this - one thing you never did was tell on someone else - but
this went
completely beyond the pale. He pulled them out and I remember him
screaming at
them to get dressed, and telling a couple of our more trustworthy
classmates to
get me dressed and to the sickbay.

They did as they were told - and I was in incredible emotional
distress. I
couldn't believe what these people had done to me. This school had
become my
haven - and they completely violated me in one of the worst ways I
could
imagine. I was suicidal again - frankly, I was homicidal - I would
have happily
seen them dead. It was a hideous feeling, and I hate writing about it,
or
thinking about it.

But I got to see them strapped for what they did. They were belted and
I got to
see it happen - and that is what calmed me down, more than anything
else. I
don't think I really needed to see it - just knowing it had happened,
probably
would have been enough. But the fact that that happened made it clear
to me that
this school, and these teachers, considered me worthy of their
protection. My
need to be safe from unwarranted, uncontrolled abuse was important and
they'd
take steps to make it happen. But at that stage, I needed to know
unambiguously
that what they'd done was not considered acceptable in any way - and I
don't
think anything else could have made this clear to me.

These boys never bullied me again. And that is when I really started
to recover
- to the point that I wouldn't fall back. I think that very possibly
saved my
life - because I had four and a half years more of school to go
through, and
some bullying was inevitable, and until that moment there was always a
risk that
any incident could have retriggered everything that had come before.
This is
when I got to the stage that I wouldn't... overreact to a single
incident again.
I wasn't out of the woods - systematic abuse similar to what I'd had
the
previous year could have taken me back - but a single incident, no
matter how
bad - and there were a couple more in later years - didn't.

And, personally, my teacher's indulgence eventually did run out. I
have vivid
memories of walking behind my form master down the stairs from our
classroom to
the office, my heart pounding, my mouth dry, after I'd told him I
couldn't do a
detention for not having done my maths homework on Thursday night,
because I
already had one for not having done my Latin homework. What happened
next hurt a
lot more than I had expected. But it was all over in less than five
minutes from
the time he discovered my transgression. It happened once more before
I got the
message that they were serious about this, and it would keep
happening. It hurt,
I certainly did not enjoy it - but it didn't too me any long term harm
that I
can detect. In fact, it did me a lot of good - I started out doing my
homework
just to avoid the strap - and after only a few weeks I was so used to
doing it,
that it didn't phase me anymore - by the following year, when I was in
quite a
different disciplinary environment (at our senior school, corporal
punishment existed in theory, but was incredibly rarely used, and
certainly not for homework violations) it had become a habit, and I
was well on the way to developing greater self-discipline in most
areas of my life.

So this year - a year when I most faced corporal punishment at school
and I
actually received it - well, frankly, it was the happiest year of my
entire
childhood, and, by far, the happiest of all my years at school. The
presence of
corporal punishment only played a small role in that - but it was a
real and
important role.

The year when the focus was "positive discipline" and "non-punitive
disipline"
almost killed me, and left me a clinical depression. The year when
corporal
punishment was just an accepted part of life saved me - and left me
able to
function and actually be happy again (it took another decade to
completely shake
off depressive episodes - this wasn't a miracle cure - but it gave me
part of
the start). Now, maybe the first year, the ideas were used unusually
badly and
perverted away from how things should have been. And maybe the second
year,
everything was used unusually well - I don't know, really. All I know
is what my
experiences tell me.

I apologise for the length of this post - I actually expected it to be
fairly
short when I started writing it - but frankly, the above paragraph,
while an
honest assessment of my feelings, disturbs me more than a bit -
because as I
say, philosophically, I don't like the idea of corporal punishment. I
hate the
idea of children being hurt by adults.

And I've read the research - not all of it, but a lot of it, and I
know what it
says. And I'd like to give those things more credence.

But... well, to do so, seems to mean denying my own experiences, and
as a matter
of honesty, I can't easily do that.

Over the years since I finished school, I've wondered why my reaction
and
experience might not fit in too well with conventional opinion.

I've considered all sorts of possible reasons - my IQ level, for
example -
simply because it's unusual enough to mean anomalies could sometimes
occur.

My background - while unusual at my school, no different from a lot of
other
people.

I even considered for a long time the idea that there was a sexual
element
involved, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

I've looked to try and find reasons why my experiences don't seem to
mesh with
the conventional thought on this issue, and I can't figure it out. The
above aren't the only reasons I've considered, by any means - I just
mention them as an indication I have looked to try and explain this.

Why does it matter? Well, two reasons, really.

The first is that at the start of last year, I began my studies to
become a
teacher. Now it's very unlikely I'll ever be a teacher in a school
where
corporal punishment is used - there's so few left here, and they're
not the type
I am at all likely to work in - but my views on this do impact my
views on other
forms of punishment and other methods of discipline as well. It's
still over two
years before I'll be in a classroom regularly so I have plenty of time
to think
about this.

The second reason - in the first half of next year, a book is being
published in
the United States, which I wrote a chapter of, outlining some details
of my
school experiences. For various reasons, my school experiences are
considered of
interest and valuable to others - people are going to read them, and
maybe base
teaching practice on them (at least that's part of the purpose of the
book).
Now, I didn't mention my punishment experiences in that chapter - they
weren't
particularly relevant - but it's been mentioned to me that I may be
asked to
help spruik the book here in Australia (as I'm one of the few people
who wrote a
chapter from here - it's mostly a US book) and that means I could be
asked
questions about my schooling and before I am I want to try and work
about what I
believe about other aspects of it.

So I'm trying to work out what is going on here. If anyone has any
ideas -
please pipe up.

On Mon, 2 Aug 2004, Carlson LaVonne wrote:

Stuart,

You state that you have read many of the studies on corporal punishment.
Can you provide references to the studies you have read? This may be
a starting point for discussion. I will be on vacation for the next two
weeks and so will not be able to respond. However, I think it would be
helpful to know which studies you have read.

LaVonne

We can always start with Power & Chapiesky (1986). ;-)

Doan

(Stuart Magpie) wrote in message . com...
The following was written for another forum, but nobody was really
able to give me any useful feedback. Someone suggested that I try
here, and so I am. This wound up fairly long - I was just intending to
write something fairly short about my experiences, but it kept
growing. Having written it, I've decided to leave it in.

My apologies for the formatting of my previous message - it looked all
right when I posted it.

Carlson LaVonne wrote in message ...
Stuart,

You state that you have read many of the studies on corporal punishment.
Can you provide references to the studies you have read? This may be
a starting point for discussion. I will be on vacation for the next two
weeks and so will not be able to respond. However, I think it would be
helpful to know which studies you have read.

That's actually harder to answer than I thought it would be - the
problem is, I've been doing this for a while, and it's hard to
remember everything I've read - doing my education course, I'm at a
university with a large education specific library, so it's not hard
to get most things I've seen referenced.

Most recently, it's been McMillan, Boyle, Wong, Duku, Fleming and
Walsh - "Slapping and spanking in childhood and its association with
lifetime prevalence of psychiatric disorders in a general population
sample."

I've read quite a bit of Straus' work.

I think I'll have to go through all my photocopies of articles I've
made to see what I've got - but they are in storage as I'm currently
moving furniture around.