Last week as I rifled through my son’s school diary looking for some proof — ANY PROOF — that he had homework, I came across a note.
‘Dear Sir, As my son has a cold cough please excuse him from PE today. Menaka.’ I had not written this note or signed off on it. My son the (rubbish) forger. Such a proud moment for me as a parent.
I suppose I should have been angry and told him off, but I was just amused instead. After all, who among us has not forged report cards, permission slips and sick notes?
As parents, we all like to pretend to our children that we had lily-white pasts. No! We never lied! Or stole! Or drank! We tell our kids these things in the hope that they will follow our (fake) lead and be better-behaved.
When I was in school I had a teacher I was petrified of. I hated the subject she taught and her colour coordinated sari-blouse-lipstick-handbag ensemble that was invariably in a violent shade of Pepto-bismol pink. And so, I began to ‘fall sick’ during her class. A headache. A stomach ache. ‘Fever, ma’am.’ And voila! I would get sent to the sick room. I never did it too often, because duh then I would get caught.
This act came in handy at other times too. March past practice being one of them. If you are short and have poor arm-leg coordination March Past is a thing from hell. I would invariably get shunted to the middle position somewhere in the back between two marching amazons who were instructed to keep me in check. The blistering afternoon sun and long periods of waiting for the person with the drum did little to soften my feelings towards this activity.
So I employed dizziness, onset of heatstroke and nausea embellished with a delicate cough and if I was feeling so inclined a weak but determined ‘No! No! I am okay! I will come.’ Followed by more delicate coughs. But the problem with such success is that soon everyone is ripping your idea off like it’s a monogrammed Louis Vuitton bag. One girl falling sick due to her delicate constitution will not be noticed. An entire passel of girls fainting, cramping and coughing rouses suspicion. My successful streak came to an end and I was soon back at the YMCA ground flailing my arms around and attempting to march to the beat.
One must share these stories of past bad behaviour carefully so that our children don’t think they have permission to do these things. I shared my story as a cautionary tale: We all get caught in the end, kiddo.
My children are preparing for their upcoming Sports Day and are far more enthusiastic about it than I ever was. But what’s this? A cordial invitation to all parents to attend and cheer on the young athletes?
You know, I feel a cramping cough coming along. Perhaps I can ask my little forger to write a note excusing me from attending. He’ll need to work on that signature though.
Menaka raman
@menakaraman
The writer’s philosophy is: if there’s no blood, don’t call me