68. A Series of Unfortunate Mistakes

My high school days keep coming to mind. Last month I published a story about my Latin teacher and it got me thumbing through my senior yearbook. I was enjoying the written comments and well-wishes from some of the members of my class. “Best of luck in the future.” “It's been a great 4 years.” “Always remember our fun times.” And then there was this that Lovely Adele wrote next to her photo, “OK Bobby, I’ll never forgive you for dropping out of Calculus.” Wow, I had to pause for that one. I’m no Ferris Bueller, but there’s a story here!

Adele stuck it out in Calculus, bless her. I always assumed she’d do fine, but she apparently missed the moral support from this guy in the next seat, also overwhelmed by higher math. Up to that point, I actually enjoyed math; but Calculus, for some reason, was over my head and beyond my interest in catching up. It was such a relief to drop it. Mistake # 1.

By the time I did that, it was too late in the term to transfer to another class, so I had no option but to take a study hall period. Mrs. H., I'll call her, seemed to seethe with disgust at the job of study hall monitor; she was one of the strictest and crankiest teachers I’ve ever run across. I yearned to escape her prison, so I accepted the offer of a friend to forge Mrs. H.’s signature on a pass that would spring me free, supposedly to participate in some extra-curricular activity. Once out of study hall, I decided to go to fourth period lunch instead. I already had third period lunch, so for several months I enjoyed two lunches in a row. I was so cool! Mistake # 2.

Feeling glib and cocky, I wasn’t devious enough to know that you don’t flaunt your crime in front of a cop. That is, I shouldn’t have expected the teacher on cafeteria duty to simply accept my funny story of finessing a double lunch period for all those weeks. He happened to notice me leaving the cafeteria then circling back to enter again. I assumed he’d get a kick out of this cute setup that only a smarty-pants guy like me could pull off. Then I even told him I had submitted a signed pass… Ooooh no, back up! I thought he was a pal. Mistake # 3.

Actually, he was the great-great-grandson of Inspector Javert of Les Misérables renown. This teacher, my so-called “pal,” was a digger and delver of a higher order, as tenacious as a pit bull. After finding said forged pass in the student files, he let the Vice Principle know that Sickles was up to something, and I heard my name called over the PA to report to the office. There, under the stark light of interrogation, I decided to stick to my bluff that Mrs. H.'s signature on the pass was genuine. Mistake # 4.

Now close the end of the school year and graduation just a few weeks away, I was again going with glib and cocky, and assumed that the Vice Principle would chuckle at my cleverness and let it go with a wink and nod. But as he went through the list of my offenses, he told me I was in serious trouble that would be a blot on my permanent record.

“My permanent record? Oh, No! Not that!” I thought sarcasm would play well. I had a hard time taking him seriously, but my levity was not powerful enough to overcome his gravity. Mistake # 5.

I was remanded to after-school detention, hosted by another of the strictest and crankiest teachers around. There, I found myself in the company of a rogues’ gallery of truly hardened adolescent criminals. What was I doing in that place? When the man asked if I was ready to confess my sin, I proclaimed my innocence and gave a flippant account of the thing, biased completely in my defense. Mistake # 6.

My punishment was thereby prolonged until the end of the term, and consisted of writing sentences every afternoon, until my right hand was stove up and my arm hung crooked. Mistake # 7. I should have known the trick that my daughter used in 7^th grade many years later! She spent her spare minutes during the day writing pages of sentences ahead of time, so detention could be a quiet time to do homework!  

Lesson learned? Well, yeah… that I was a feckin’ idjit. If only I had chosen to slog through Calculus, my permanent record would be spotless, and I wouldn’t be wondering if, in the 50+ years since, Adele ever did find it in her heart to forgive and forget.