From the Mischief of the Catanescu Brothers
By Ovi Catanescu
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 we didn't know a doctor who would provide such certificates.
So we went to our mother.
Ever since we were little, Mom had taught us to come to her whenever we had a problem. And believe me, we had plenty.
She always seemed to find a solution, no matter what kind of trouble we'd gotten ourselves into.
She was our rescuer and, above all, our best friend.
But this time, we weren't little boys anymore, and the situation was much more serious. We could be suspended or even expelled from school.
At first, Mom was shocked to learn that we had missed entire days, not just a few classes.
And, of course, she didn't know any doctor who would participate in such a deception.
She had never in her life asked anyone for a dishonest favor, and the whole idea made her terribly uncomfortable.
We explained that this was the only way out. We would find the doctor, and all she had to do was come with us and ask for the certificates.
I remembered a small medical office near a friend's house. I asked around to see whether the doctor or the nurses there might be willing to help, and I received a few encouraging answers.
We decided that was the place.
Our only hope.
In Romania in those days, giving someone a gift in exchange for a favor was a perfectly ordinary practice, whether the person was a doctor, a police officer, or just about anyone else.
So we talked to Mom and gathered a few packs of good foreign cigarettes — Kent, Marlboro, and whatever else we could find.
Mom told us how embarrassed, humiliated, and frightened she felt about doing something like this.
She had never done anything of the sort in her entire life.
But she wanted to save us.
Again.
We prepared the story she would tell the doctor.
Her boys had been sick with high fevers and all the symptoms of a terrible case of the flu. That was why they'd missed so many days of school. She had taken care of them at home, never thinking it necessary to take them to a doctor.
We all went to the medical office, but my brother and I didn't go inside with her. I honestly don't remember whether we waited outside the examination room or outside the building.
Mom went in alone.
She stayed there for quite a while.
To the two of us waiting outside, it felt like an eternity.
Then she came out.
With the certificates. Both of them.
We were happy.
Unbelievably happy.
But before she handed them over, Mom made us promise that we would never, ever do anything like that again.
And, of course, we promised.
I don't remember whether I ever skipped another class after that.
But one thing I know for certain:
I never again missed an entire day of school, no matter how tempting the opportunity might have been.
The Owl Doesn't Forget. 🦉