by Paul Jackson
Joanne Brett and her family moved to the state of Texas two years ago. Her father had been offered a lucrative long term contract with an oil company, and the Brett's had since settled into an expansive, beautiful new home in Fort Worth. Joanne, an affable, vivacious, yet quaintly English teenager, had adapted well to life in Texas, and had successfully settled into high school, both academically and socially. Her imperturbable charm and fizzy personality that blended well with her Englishness ensured that she made lots of friends, with many students doing their best to befriend the sixteen-year-old English girl. If there was a beach party, student dance, or a drive out, you could bet Joanne would be invited along.
Joanne couldn't get enough of Texas culture and its rich history. In Fort Worth she often spent her time visiting the array of museums, especially the wonderful modern art museum. By contrast, she adored the yearly World Rodeo Finals and spending great times with her high school friends at Sundance Square and its pulsating plaza.
School life was very different from that of her English comprehensive school in Surrey. Firstly, there was no compulsory school uniform, which she felt gave her more freedom, allowed her to express herself, and made her feel like an adult. There was dress code, but in the main, students wore what they liked. Although intrinsically modest, Joanne was well aware of her attractiveness.
The pleated skirts, blazers and ties from her English school did nothing for her superb figure and physical charms, whereas tight pants, short skirts and skimpy tops did much to show off her teenage appeal. And there was little doubting that designer clothing and casual wear helped to enhance her desirability with the guys on campus, who found her angelic, clear features and mounds of thick chestnut hair, irresistible.
Academically, the American high school stretched her more and had a wider curriculum base, and the extra-curricular activities were varied and exciting. But of equal importance, although there were school rules, there was a feeling of freedom and camaraderie not experienced at her comprehensive in England.
So the two years she had so far spent at Dean Valley High, which would soon see her turn eighteen, had been the happiest of her school life. However, there was one issue that both she and her parents had questioned, that was vaguely mentioned in the student handbook. It was the issue of discipline. It briefly mentioned that a student could make a choice between suspension and something called 'swats.' The handbook did not explain this further and nothing referring to 'swats' was discussed when her parents were interviewed for Joanne's prospective enrolment.
Joanne was not exactly sure what 'swats' meant, until on her acceptance, she and her parents were asked to sign a consent form. Of course Joanne was horrified to learn that 'swats' meant reporting to an Assistant Principal (AP), or indeed the Principal, to be spanked with a wooden paddle. It was also made clear that there was no discrimination between female and male students regarding 'swats'. In her mind there was absolutely no chance that she would submit to such a thing. There had never been any corporal punishment in any of her English schools, her parents had never hit her, and she was absolutely adamant that she was not about to start being 'whacked', as she termed it, 'as a mature teenager.'
Her parents, being staunch liberals, were equally aghast. They were of the belief that there were other more advantageous ways of dealing with kids rather than resorting to corporal punishment. They were in favour of leniency, understanding and counselling of kids who misbehaved. In fact they were so angry about the corporal punishment option that they decided to withdraw Joanne from the school and seek out another, until they discovered that every school in the district, and most of Texas, had the same agenda. After much protest and letters of complaint to the school board, her parents were forced to reluctantly sign the corporal punishment consent form, knowing that their daughter had always been a model student, and the issue of 'swats' was unlikely to arise.
Joanne indeed had always been a well-behaved student in England, with never a single detention or telling off in her whole school career. She was bright, mature, well-modulated, and articulate and her parents could not envisage any problems arising regarding Joanne's behaviour. Additionally, it was continually emphasised that the issue of 'swats' was very much a student and parental choice and one could opt for a suspension if preferable, which made the likelihood of ever getting swats even more remote. During the following two years, after the fracas with the ISD superintendent, the possibility of 'swats' had never been discussed at home again. Her self-discipline and respect for authority ensured that she had not even received a single referral, and her parents accepted the criterion in the knowledge that their daughter was receiving a first class education.
What Joanne had found extraordinary was that students, including the females, found the concept of being hit with a paddle to be 'no big deal' and would often shrug their shoulders and say, 'That's how it is in Texas.' And as much as Joanne had tried, she had found out very little, apart from the obvious, on how the paddle was issued. Students almost thought it a 'joke thing' and would laugh off Joanne's questions or say something like, "Geez! Jo! How the heck d' ya think it's done, dumb-dumb?!"
Joanne, or 'Jo', as she had become known, was now in 12th grade, her final school year, and was on course for straight 'A's. She would be leaving for college in the fall to study modern art, languages and sociology. Although she had made many friends, her three main 'school buddies' were Kerry-Ann Harper, Stacey Reid, and Louise Stamford, all eighteen years old. Three typical all American high school girls: pretty, sporty, fun-loving, high-spirited, often rebellious, and LOUD! Jo loved spending time with them, driving out to movies, eating hot dogs and having fun. They in turn found uniqueness and something quaint about their English friend. Jo would often have them at her house to swim or play music.
Every once in a while the issue of 'swats' was discussed, amid the usual fun poked at Jo. Discussions usually arose if a student in her grade had been paddled, which was not very often. Out of Jo's three high school friends, only Stacey Reid had ever been paddled. That was when Stacey was in 9th grade, aged fourteen years old.
The three Texan school friends would often harp back mockingly to the day when Jo found out how and where the paddle was given, deriving great amusement from her reaction. This had occurred almost two years earlier, after a girl of sixteen was given three swats by one of the APs. Stacey Reid had remarked, "They sure know how to burn your butt!" Jo froze on the spot, and a tirade of anger followed. "They do what!?"
"Hey! I say something wrong? What's the big deal, Jo?"
"They hit girls on the bottom, did you say?" Jo responded in her well-modulated English tone. "They shouldn't be allowed to do it there!"
"Oh, 'on the bottom!'" mocked another female student, mimicking Jo's English accent. "'Bottom'. How posh. How 'unashamedly English!'"
Stacey Reid came to Jo's rescue. "Hey, quit the crap!" she said to the other girl, then turned to Jo. "Why, yeah, where else, Jo?"
"Well, on the hand!" suggested Jo, with a bewildered, disturbed look on her sweet face. "I mean it has to be... surely!" she continued in a voice that could not hide her profound shock. "This is nonsense!"
"Jo, be serious!" said Stacey in a calm, rational tone.
"Yeah, she's kiddin,' right?" asked Louise Stamford.
"Jo, don't be silly," said Stacey again, who like the other girls present that day in the locker room, was having difficulty in understanding Jo's problem with this. "That would be so, so dangerous. I mean, you tell me how they could hit your hand with a board that's so big?" She demonstrated the dimensions of a standard Texas school paddle with her hands. "The butt is the right place, believe me."
"Well I suggest they should use a smaller, narrower paddle, or a metre rule, so they could hit your hands. It is not right for girls to be hit on the bottom!" Jo bleated angrily. And on that day, two years back, the debate continued all the way home from school.
Just after her eighteenth birthday, somebody new walked into her life. Jo had taken a keen interest in American history, especially the Wild West. She loved it. From the Stetsons and the saddles, to the six guns, salon bars, sheriffs and the outlaws. She was in the main school library after her school day doing some research on how the Wild West began and evolved.
"Hi, there, mam," came a voice that Jo thought was a blended timbre of Deep South and upper south. She swung around to see a tall hunk of a guy, dark featured and muscular, wearing tight, faded denims and what she termed as a 'cowboy shirt'. In fact, it was a Powder River red & black plaid shirt that was straining across his barrel-like chest and well developed biceps.
"Hello," she said, with a soft smile.
"Wow-weee! You certainly ain't from around these parts!" he smiled.
Joanne, noticing his gorgeous smile and perfect white teeth, replied, "No, no, I'm from England. I live here with my parents."
She saw his face light up.
"That's cool. My name's Connor. I'm a new student at Dean Valley. And you are?"
"Jo, err, Joanne. The students call me Jo," she flustered.
"I have seen you around the campus. You're very beautiful, Joanne."
He watched Jo's sweet face blush a pretty pink.
"Gotta cute little button nose and sweet eyes, too, mam," he continued with that smile Jo would have been embarrassed to admit was slowly melting her heart.
"What you researching, Joanne? WOW! The history of the Wild West? Great! Hey! I could show you so much! My dad has a ranch."
"Really?" beamed Jo.
"Yup! Sure thing! Why don't I show you the Wild West museum and take ya along to the rodeo show this Saturday."
Before Jo could bluster out an excited reply, Connor's quick-fire tone came again...
"Geez! I just love that cute accent," he enthused, giving a wide smile.
Jo looked away, shyly.
"Say, Joanne, you know what?! Let me tell ya, I'm riding in the bronc completion myself, so why don't you come out there and watch. Then I'll show you how to make a lasso!"
"You're riding in the bronc?!" Jo almost squealed.
"Yup! Do it all the time - bareback bronc, saddle and bull. I'm one of the best bucks in town, mam! Gotten myself one helluva lot of awards for bronc riding. Yes mam! I'm a rancher with my dad right here in Fort Worth."
Having agreed to spend the day with Connor, they went to the Wild West museum, where they watched a mock Wild West shoot-out on a set that was a life-like cowboy town, then to a rodeo show and bronc where Connor was competing.
They walked down the main walkway of the exhibition area towards a coffee house.
"So, how do ya like Dean Valley High school, Jo?" asked Connor.
Oh, yes. It's a great campus to be part of."
"Had your ass paddled there yet?"
"I beg your pardon. No I have not!"
"I know they like to swing a mean one at Dean Valley," laughed Connor. "I bet they'd love to give you a butt whooping!"
"Connor!" she half laughed. "What is it in Fort Worth with this bum smacking thing?!"
"Bend over and reach for 'em, Miss Brett! I can just see it now. First English kid to get it!"
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