Mom, We Have a Problem!
My brother Adi and I used to skip classes when we were in high school. We weren't the only ones, of course. But we never skipped school together. We attended different high schools, and each of us handled his own problems.
Whenever a teacher asked where we'd been, we always had an excuse ready. To us, our explanations sounded perfectly reasonable. To our teachers, not so much.
Then, somehow, we both found ourselves in the same kind of trouble at almost exactly the same time.
This time, we hadn't missed just a few classes. We had missed entire days of school. Several days each, at our respective high schools. And our usual explanations weren't working anymore.
The principals didn't believe we'd been sick for that long. They wanted proof. More specifically, medical certificates confirming that we'd been ill and stating our diagnoses. There was one small problem: we hadn't been sick.
And another: we didn't know a doctor willing to help us.
So we did what we always did whenever we got ourselves into trouble and couldn't figure out how to get out of it. We went to Mom.
Ever since we were little, Mom had taught us to come to her whenever we had a problem. And boy, did we have problems! She always found a solution. She was our rescuer, our confidante, and our best friend.
But this time, we weren't little boys anymore, and the situation was serious. We were facing suspension or even expulsion.
At first, Mom was shocked to discover that we'd missed entire days of school, not just a few classes.
Then came the difficult part. We needed to find a doctor who would give us those medical certificates, and Mom would have to go in and ask for them.
Mom had never done anything like that in her life. She wasn't the kind of person who asked for dishonest favors, and the very idea made her feel ashamed and humiliated.
But we were her boys. And we needed help.
I remembered a small medical office near a friend's house. We started asking around to see whether the doctor or the nurses there might be willing to help.
We received a few encouraging answers. The decision was made. That was where we would try our luck.
In those days, in communist Romania, giving someone a small gift in exchange for a favor was fairly common. Whether you were dealing with a doctor, a government employee, or someone else, such arrangements were part of everyday life.
So we managed to get a few packs of foreign cigarettes: Kent, Marlboro, and something else.
For anyone who didn't live in communist Romania, it's worth explaining that Western cigarettes were highly desirable commodities. Sometimes they could open doors that ordinary explanations couldn't.
Mom was horrified. She told us how embarrassed she felt, how humiliating the whole thing was, and how frightened she was to do something she'd never done before.
But she wanted to save us. Again.
We even prepared the story she would tell the doctor.
Her boys had been sick. High fevers, terrible flu symptoms, several days in bed. She had taken care of us at home without thinking to bring us to a doctor.
A very convincing story. Especially considering that not a single word of it was true.
We all went to the medical office together. Mom went inside alone. I don't remember whether Adi and I waited in the hallway or outside the building. What I remember is the waiting.
Mom was in there for quite a while. Or maybe it just seemed that way. For two teenagers whose entire academic futures seemed to depend on a couple of pieces of paper, every minute felt like an eternity.
And finally, the door opened. Mom came out. She had the medical certificates. Both of them!
We were overjoyed. We were saved! But Mom didn't hand over the papers immediately.
First, she made us promise that we would never, ever do anything like that again.
And we promised. Of course we promised!
I honestly don't remember whether I skipped classes again after that. Probably.
But one thing I know for certain: I never missed another entire day of school, no matter how tempting it might have been.
Many years have passed since then.
I no longer remember what diagnoses were written on those medical certificates. But I do know that Mom did something for us that she never would have imagined herself doing.
And if I had to say just one thing about her today, it would be this:
We had the best mother in the world.
A memory from our high school years in Bucharest, about two inventive minds, one serious predicament, and a mother whose heart was bigger than all the foolish things her boys could dream up.
Owl Spit — Stories live as long as we keep telling them.