A pale white canvas underneath my blue jeans. A surrealist in diligent spontaneous creation. And, a lasting impression. All ingredients for rectification of the wrong I'd committed.

Mentally, I returned back to my bedroom from our overnight hike to Caprock Canyons State Park. I especially liked the bison, with their shaggy manes and massive heads, we'd spotted along Lake Theo. The challenging Haynes Ridge Overlook Trail was where I'd twisted my ankle horse-playing with Terry Snyder and George Clovis.

A faint, bright, and sweet scent drifted on the wind through my open bedroom window. The fragrance came from chicory. The woody perennial, with its blue flowers, grew wild in the roadside ditches along Highway 62 that lead out of Astatula.

A health-conscious eater, Beth often said, "Chicory is a good source of beta-carotene. It is also a prebiotic and will stimulate your appetite."

All I knew was she added chicory to her coffee to give it a nutty flavor.

Face down over Sheriff Daniels knee, my eyes cut over to my little green Army men. They were strategically arranged on the top of the decorative Formica table in the far corner of my room. These were the first toys the Sheriff gave me. That made them all the more special to me. My favorites were the ones with flamethrowers, bazookas, and machine guns. Accessories I had for them included helicopters, hovercraft, and fighter jets. However, even they could not help me now.

Monochromatic to create a sense of simplicity, these warriors were dressed in modern military uniforms. Armed with all the latest twentieth century weaponry, they were good for imaginative storytelling. There were strategies to plot, tactics to work out, and nations to save. On top of all that, they taught me how to deploy armies and always won the war. But, the most fun they provided was there was always something to blow up. Ker-boom! I would entertain myself with them for hours at a time.

"Perhaps you did not hear me, Cody. I said I want you to tell me why you started that fight with Matt," the Sheriff sternly stated.

His comment refocused me on the situation at hand. But, I still had no honest explanation why I'd acted the way I did when Matt and I raced our bikes home. My hesitation in answering the Sheriff did not please him, and the first stinging bite was taken out of my backside.

"Ouch! That hurt!" I exclaimed.

Instinctively, I reached my hand back to cover my sit down spot.

"Good. It was supposed to hurt," the Sheriff informed me, saying, " now, move your hand, Cody. You have every bit of this coming. It is a lesson you will never forget. And, I'm still waiting for an answer to my question, young man."

The Sheriff was right. I never did forget this incident. Reluctantly, I dropped my hand back down on the floor. Bite Number Two quickly followed. I felt the sizzle, but no tears ran down my face. I wasn't deliberately being obstinate, I just had no truthful words to say, so I didn't say anything at all.

My silence brought the third swat to what was rapidly becoming a much more tender portion of my lower anatomy. This one firmer than the first two landed. I winced, but did not yelp.

"I don't know why I started a fight with Matt," I told him.

"This is the first time I've seen you behave like a little banshee, and I don't like you acting that way at all," the Sheriff told me. "However, I know what to do to make sure it never happens again. And, I'm going to do just that!" he promised.

The fourth application was applied and I felt my legs dance. I tightly locked the back of my right knee into the front of my left one. And, no, I wasn't doing the cha-cha.

"When I get done with you, you're going to have the sorest tail end in Astatula," the Sheriff vowed.

"Yes, sir," I could hardly vocalize the words. His message was sinking in.

Applied with vigor, and in rapid fire succession, swats five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten landed precisely where the Sheriff intended for them to. I squirmed more with each bitter count. Still, I did not allow myself the luxury of crying. When it was over, the Sheriff stood me up on my feet.

"You received one swat for each year of your age, and that's enough," he somberly said. Then, he stared me straight in the face and stated, "Hear me loud and clear, there will be no fighting tolerated in this house. You know better than to act like that and I will not accept those types of misbehaviors out of you. Do I make myself perfectly understood, Cody?"

I promised the Sheriff I would not fight anymore. Then, I did something I never did when Earl Anthony Schroder beat me. I apologized for my misbehavior.

"I'm sorry for fighting with Matt. It won't ever happen again," I said as I rubbed the fire out of my tail end.

"I'm glad to hear you tell me that, Cody," was all the Sheriff said, "and, I'm going to hold you to your promise. So, make sure it does not ever happen again."

The Sheriff handed me the paddle and instructed me to, "Go put your paddle back on top of your dresser where it belongs. After that, I want you to go over and sit down at your desk."

I took the paddle from him and intently listened to what he said to me. I looked at the vindicator and wondered how such a thin piece of wood could sting so much?

He continued with, "While you are sitting there you are to think real hard about how you are to properly behave in this house from now on. When you figure that out you can come downstairs."

"Yes, sir," I said.

I hoped this would be the last time the paddle would be employed. The Sheriff doubted it would be. Once again, he was right. Slowly, I strolled over to the dresser and laid the implement back on top of it under his watchful eye.

Suddenly, I sprinted across the room and hugged the Sheriff tight around his waist. I needed reassurance and to know he would give me another chance. Briefly, the sheriff hugged me back.

That's when I heard him say, "I did not enjoy any part of what just happened here, Cody. So, make sure we don't ever have to repeat this performance again. However, I will. Your bridge will be burned every time you need a reminder of how to properly behave."

"Yes, sir," I replied, "From now on, I'll be good and not fight anymore."

"Now, I want you to go over to your desk, and while you are in quiet contemplation there is to be no playing with anything. That includes your model train collection, your video games, your computer, and most of all not your toy soldiers," the Sheriff remarked.

I nodded my head I understood him.

"And, to make sure you learned your lesson, I expect you to write five hundred words explaining why fighting and lying to me about it, were wrong. I also expect them to be very neatly written. When you are done, I want you to bring your paper downstairs to me so I can read what you wrote," the Sheriff told me.

I knew my cursive writing was very sloppy, so I asked him, "Can I print the words?"

"As long as the words are neatly done, yes, you may print them. Oh, and Cody, they'd better be very neatly done. That means, take your time and really concentrate on what you're saying," the Sheriff responded.

I made my way to the chair standing in front of my desk. Carefully, I pulled the Aeron out so I could gently settle my sore haunches on its foam cushion seat. I saw the disappointment in me on the Sheriff's face. It was a look of dismay I did not like.

I reached over and picked up a writing pad and a sharpened pencil. Once the Sheriff departed my bedroom, I buried my forehead on my arm. The dam burst and the floodgates opened wide. When I raised my head my face was soaked. What was coming over me? How was the Sheriff of small town Astatula able to break through the walls of defenses I'd built around myself in Palo Pinto to survive? My impenetrable shield now had a crack in it.