Troublemaker

I always got in trouble on account of my behavior. These troubles have followed me since grade school, all throughout high school, and even in college. I have all sorts of stories, for all audiences, for every occasion. The one you’re about to hear is one of the most endearing.

I must have been about seven or eight years old. My problems were disciplinary. I struggled with the coursework too, but that’s another story. I don’t remember the specifics, but I got three demerits. A demerit slip, as it was known by its full name, was one of the school’s official sanctions. A sanction that details the cause of the infraction and its gravity expressed in quantity. The demerit is superior to a detention but inferior to a suspension.

The demerit must be shown and signed by a parent or guardian, the showing of which causes — depending on the mood of said parent or guardian — a stern scolding and if one is truly unlucky, a whooping. Even at such an early stage of my education I was already a promise in demerit collection. “It’s only bad news after bad news with you!” my mother would say. I guess this was when my survival instinct kicked in. An instinct that now bordered with the criminal. I worked up a plan I thought flawless.

I went through my mother’s papers with a detective’s zeal, looking for something that would save my hide — and I found it. Some bank statement or a document from the office that had her signature at the bottom. I took up some scissors and Elmer’s glue and the demerit slip was signed. I remember being astonished at my own intelligence, my cunning, my resolve!

The next morning rolled around and I presented the doctored document. As expected, I didn’t fool my homeroom teacher and was given three demerits more — dishonesty they said. My parents were informed of my botched attempt at deception and I was punished accordingly. The moral of the story is… I don’t know, what do you think?