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The Art of the Excused Absence
by Bruce Gardner
A determined kid recognizes no boundaries to his creativity when planning to miss a day in school. As the kid constructs new ploys, parents develop countermeasures. The hapless kid goes to school unless he can quickly adapt to and defeat the countermeasures.
My two brothers and I attempted to elevate the excused absence to an art form through steady practice. We strived to exceed the beauty of our last performance by never declaring ourselves to be accomplished.
In our early days of dodging school a simple, "My head hurts", worked with regularity. With four kids in the household, that one quickly became shop worn. Next on the scale of measure/countermeasure came, "My head hurts and my tummy hurts", followed by "My head hurts and my tummy hurts and my legs hurt", followed by, "I can’t walk." Well, you get the picture.
Sometimes a ruse would seem to be perfect. In practice it would come up a little short. For instance, one morning when I was certain Mom wasn’t watching the bus stop, I hid in the chicken house as the school bus passed. I was at once successful at having missed the bus and at the same time quite unprepared for my day of freedom. Try spending an entire day cooped up in a chicken house with fifty-five Rhode Island Red hens and nothing to eat but laying pellets. That afternoon I managed to stroll back to the house from the general direction of the bus stop. Greeting my mother with a cheerful, but parched, "Howdy", I never considered a repeat performance.
Forgery proved useful for a time. That time ended shortly after my production of a heart-wrenching ‘Please excuse...’ note purportedly signed by my mother. This same morning Mom showed up at school to lead the 4-H program. The teacher holding my soulful note was working with Mom and the 4-H kids that day. This teacher remarked to my mother that it was quite amazing that I had been able to make such a rapid recovery from my life-threatening malady of only the day before. The gig was up and it did, in fact, take longer than a day for my backside to recover.
Analytical tools came to be employed in assessing the merits of our claimed illness. A thermometer was reliable, and Mom set a bench mark for determining our case, below 100 degrees--off to school you go, above 100 degrees--poor fellow, you can stay home. We brothers experimented with the standard tricks and Mom proved wise to most of them. Strike a match to warm the thermometer--Mom smells the sulfur. Hold the thermometer under hot water and the reading shoots up to 115 degrees, exceeding the highest recorded body temperature for a living human being. Rub the end of the thermometer briskly on the sheet as if starting a fire--same problem as the hot water trick. We brothers knew that every challenge holds opportunity, we simply needed to discover that opportunity.
Sometimes the solution to a challenge is dropped--or jumps--right into your lap. Well, that’s what happened to my little brother and I. The two of us had decided the evening before to be ill next morning. Upon being awakened we set forth with our most convincing series of groans, eyes rolling in excruciating pain. For a brief time it seemed that Mom was buying it, buying it until the thermometer came out.
Mom gave the thermometer a quick shake and a quick swab with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. She poked that mercury filled glass tube in my mouth, looked at me hard, and marched from the bedroom. She then set up an observation post between the bedroom and the bathroom, with its supply of hot water. Just as my spirits began to slump Tiger, the family cat, jumped onto the bed and settled on my chest. It’s true that I missed a fair amount of school. It’s also true that I remembered much of the schooling I was exposed to, especially if the subject matter concerned animals. I had recently learned that cats have a higher body temperature than people and that veterinarians take a cat’s temperature rectally--so as not to get bitten I supposed.
Well, well, well. Here was Tiger right on top of me. To the wild-eyed stare of my little brother, I grabbed Tiger, pinned him down, lifted his tail, and took his temperature. Tiger didn’t appreciate my concern for his health and fled the bedroom, full-tilt, as soon as I released him. I managed to fake taking the thermometer from my mouth, handed it to Mom, and smiled as she read 101 degrees Fahrenheit. Bingo--no school for me.
Mom, now turning to little brother, gave the thermometer a second, quick shake. Deciding that whatever malady I had, little brother had too, she dispensed with the alcohol swipe. Little brother, never having completely lost his earlier wild-eyed stare, opened his mouth to protest. Mom poked that glass thermometer right under his now-extended tongue. On that day, from that moment forward, little brother did not need to fake it. He was sick sure enough.
With today’s medical diagnostic tools, absentee excuses signed in triplicate by the attending physician, and automated voice messaging systems from schools to homes, I’m certain that missing a day of school is more challenging than when I was a kid. I’m also sure that as weapons to combat a day stolen from school have improved, kids have not only kept apace but have stayed a step ahead. If you, as parent, smugly think you have a handle on this situation, I want you to do something for me right now. Tiptoe to your child’s room and watch quietly as little Johnny or little Susie makes that computer do things you didn’t even know existed. Feel better?
I’ll be seeing you out there.
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