I’m pretty sure I only served one or two detentions in school.
I was a “good kid.” I was a teacher’s kid, for crying out loud. There was really no option where in-school conduct was concerned – if you did something bad and your parent was a teacher, they knew all about it before your butt ever hit the front seat of the car.
When I went to high school, I thought I was free at last! Free to do what, though, I had no idea. I mean, I really was a “good kid.” My idea of rebellion was wearing the wrong color sweater with my uniform just to see what would happen.
What happens, by the way, is that you get a detention and Teacher Mom knows about it before dismissal. The Curse of the Teacher’s Kid followed me! What is this magic power of telepathy that these people have?
But that was not my most awful detention.
And by awful, I mean embarrassing. Really. I can’t even believe I’m writing this, but it is pretty funny, so pull up a chair for confessional time, folks.
My big bad detention was for PDA in the hallway. Yup – Public Display of Affection. This was an absolute no-go in my school. But there was this sort of unwritten rule way back in the glorious 80s that if you had a boyfriend or girlfriend, you swapped class rings, put them on long neck chains, wore each other’s jeans jackets, and publicly displayed your affection in the hallways between classes whenever possible.
Now, anyone who knows me knows full well that I’m really not a PDA kind of girl. So where that whole high school thing came from, I’ll never know. But there we were, The Boy and me, grabbing a smooch between classes when we are caught red-handed (er, uh red-lipped?) by one of the math teachers on his way up the stairs. The next thing I knew, I was signed up for detention with some of the school’s worst hardened criminals and frequent offenders…
OK, not really. But for me, the very good, very afraid of Teacher Mom teacher’s kid, this may as well have been a ticket to Alcatraz. Detention. How humiliating! Teacher Mom knew about it, of course, before dismissal and the opportunity for displays of affection – public or otherwise – were swiftly eliminated from my social roster for the foreseeable future.
But that isn’t the worst part.
The worst part is that the teacher in question is now a colleague. I see the man nearly every day in the very same halls where the infraction occurred. Talk about returning to the scene of the crime! I am certain that he has absolutely no recollection whatsoever of that day. But every now and then, I find myself wishing I could crawl under a rock and hide when I see him coming down the hall.