TIFU By trying to outsmart my dad and school

Standard – This did not happen today.

As was often the case, I was sitting in detention. The teacher observing us briefly stepped out of the room and I decided to give my legs a stretch by wandering around the classroom.

I noticed a pack of school letter headed blank paper on my teacher’s desk. It took a few seconds for my mind to comprehend the importance of such a find. It was only my friend and I sitting in the room and he alas did not realise the potential of what I had just found, I swore him to secrecy as I swooped up a few into my bag. The teacher soon came back into the room and crucially did not notice the missing paper.

Over the course of the year, my dad received letters to our home from my school… A few examples:

- A letter from my tutor to say how impressed he was with my much-improved behaviour in classes.

- A letter from my maths teacher informing him that I had recently come first in a quiz.

- A letter from my tutor informing him that a certain Friday will be a teacher’s training day, that they apologise for the late notice but new health and safety regulations from the government meant they had to be re-trained in basic life support.

One morning during breakfast my dad told me another letter from my school had arrived. I did a double take as I realised it was not one I had authored.

Here comes one of the major fuck ups of my school years. Parent-teacher evenings are a thing.

My face must have been ashen because my dad asked me what was wrong. I blurted something about needing the toilet and rushed out the room.

As the date approached my dread grew and although I did think about sending home a letter stating parents evening had been cancelled or postponed. I could not think of how to stop my tutor from calling my dad if he did not attend.

The evening finally arrived. My dad, I, and my elder brother who insisted on coming every year, for the ‘entertainment value’, all went to my school.

First up was my math teacher and it went something like this.

After exchanging a few pleasantries my teacher said something along the lines of. ‘Mr Dean, so the good news is Adam continues to get good grades, the bad news is that his behaviour is still disruptive, he is easily distracted and distracts others.’

My dad turned to me with that age old disappointed look. ‘I see. I will have to remind him that behaviour is as important as grades.’ He then turned back to my maths teacher and said. ‘I recall reading he did well on a quiz’

My hands clenched together as my maths teacher flicked through his notes for what felt like an age.

‘Well, yes, he did well in his last test.’

They went on to speak about upcoming tests and other things I zoned out for. I had survived. I looked over to my brother who was staring at me with a suspicious ‘What that fuck are you up to’ look.

Meetings happened with a few more of the teachers and they all seemed to go relatively well, with the normal comments and stories from my teachers about my lack of attention, causing a disruption, and getting grades that could be better.

The next and most notable meeting was with my tutor. This was the one I feared the most.

It started off quite well, they talked about my overall performance, wellbeing and future interests. I thought I had gotten away with the whole thing and actually started participating in the conversation. We were nearly at the end, my dad put his scarf back on his neck and started rising from his chair. When a thought must have struck him and he said.

‘Thanks for the letter about his behaviour, I know you are always looking out for him, but I can see there is still much work to do in that area.’

‘What letter?’ my tutor asked with a confused expression.

I raised a fist to my mouth and held my breath.

‘The one where you said he had improved his overall behaviour. However, having spoken to a number of his teachers, it looks like we are not quite there yet. I will be having a word with him later.’ My dad replied.

‘I have not sent any letters to you Mr Dean.’ My tutor said with absolute confidence.

I closed my eyes; the game was up. I was fucked.

‘That was from my tutor.’ My brother said. The fucking legend.

I breathed out what was the longest breath I had ever held and opened my eyes to look at my brother who smiled at me. We both looked at our dad. I was not sure if it was enough to convince him.

‘No, I am sure...’ My dad started but my brother cut in.

‘Yeah, it was for me. Remember?’ My brother insisted.

My dad hesitated for a bit but then sighed and moved on to saying goodbye to my teacher.

In exchange for not telling my dad and saving me from most likely getting expelled, I, over the next few months had to:

- Clean his room every week

- Fold and put away his laundry

- Never question what game we played on our PS and what show he had on tv

Many years later my dad told me that my brother had told him what I had done and they had agreed on my ‘punishment’. The bastard.

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TL;DR : by trying to outsmart my school and dad.