Funny things happen when I say the D word: At school
On irresponsible parents and missing birth certificates.
Venue: Reputed school St XYZ of the Ever Effervescent, on whose hallowed admissions list my kid’s name has magically appeared.
Problem: Admission is subject to submission of the original birth certificate of the kid. This document is in the hands of the kid’s hostile Dad who has not taken the news of the divorce well, to say the least.
Possible solutions:
a) Get the kid to say “I hate this dump” and avoid admission altogether.
With this noble mission in mind, I take my four-year-old Sunny on a personal tour of St XYZ. Despite my painting a pretty abysmal picture of stone school walls caging him in, large playgrounds hurting him and monstrous teachers forcing homework on him on a regular basis, he seems curiously unconvinced.
The last straw is when, out of the blue, a teacher smiles at him, ruffling his damn curls and hands him a lolly — that’s it.
The kid’s officially in love with the damn school.
b) Negotiate with the school Principal:
How does one convincingly explain the lack of the kid’s birth certificate without bringing up the D word? (Divorce or death. And I did consider saying I’m a widow. The only hitch in the plan being that the traitor who wouldn’t hate the school I wanted him to hate probably would not play along with plan B either. More’s the pity.)
Meeting with the Principal:
I wonder if there is an architect’s blueprint for Principal’s offices that says all of them must be tiny, square rooms with the token plastic pot plant and regulation-issue brown desk behind which the dragon awaits. The Principal(P) is a fifty-something woman sporting a lorgnette that looks like spectacles and cruel, red lips.
I know I’m in trouble when she puckers her forehead at the request letter for exemption of the birth certificate until it can be acquired — at an unspecified date in the remote future.
P : Our admissions policy is very strict. St XYZ of the Ever Effervescent has a very long and proud history. We never compromise. Unless there are Extenuating Circumstances.
I sit up, feeling perky again. What could be more Extenuating than my Circumstance?
Me : The birth certificate. I need more time to get it.
P : Admissions close in two days.
Me : Two days isn’t enough.
P : Where is the birth certificate?
Me : With the father of the kid.
P : Where is the father?
Me : Abroad.
She leans back. She looks like she would like to cane me. Memories of the days when I came very close to getting caned by my school Principal come flooding back to me. I gulp.
Me : We are in the process of a divorce. He won’t hand over the certificate to me. I need time to get a new one issued.
I cringe wondering where she keeps her cane. Why couldn’t Sunny hate this place? He might have come round to my way of thinking if I’d brought him along to meet this dragon.
P (nostrils flaring and eyes wide, pale cheeks suddenly red and angry): How can you get a divorce? Do you know what you are doing to your children? You parents, you have no idea. We see these children here everyday. Miserable. Wrecks. All because of irresponsible parents like you.
My turn to sit looking horrified.
What I should have said is:
I am not getting a divorce from you or your son. I do not have to listen to your bullshit or explain myself to you. Fuck you.
At this point, I should have gotten up and throwing the admission papers in her face with a flourish, gracefully exited left — before she called in security. I could have gone straight home and told Sunny the damn school had burnt down and that until they re-built it — slowly, over the next twenty years — he would have to go to another school. So there. Two birds with one very satisfying stone.
Sigh. What actually ensued is this:
Despite her divorcee-shaming me, I sit up straighter, my chunky nose pointing up in the air like I’ve got a whiff of her putrid stench.
Me : I understand you are concerned for the children’s well-being. As am I. I just need time to get the certificate issued.
P : Why are you doing this? Why can’t you think of the children? How will they survive without a father?
You mean without a father who withholds his kid’s fucking birth certificate so I can run around in circles? They’ll survive very well, thank you very much.
Me: He was abusive. The children — and I — are safe now. And happy. They are doing well. We have kept them out of the divorce.
P : Why was he abusive?
Me (gob-smacked): The birth certificate. I need more time.
She stares at me, giving me a once-over and the heebie-jeebies. This is so not going as planned.
P : You must have done something to make him angry.
Me (leaning forward, fist punching her wooden table, making sure she gets my point): I was the only one who stood by him through thick and thin. I gave up everything I loved for him. I am the sole provider for my two children now. I do not deserve this.
She sits speechless. I revel in my hard-won victory. Can we please get back to what I came here for? Please God.
P : How long will the divorce take?
My turn to stare at the woman’s audacity. She seems to believe she has every right to dissect the pathetic state of my marriage. Bloody hell, Sunny.
Me : My lawyer says it depends. Two years, four years.
P : Has he asked for custody of the children?
I’m itching now to get up and walk away. The off-white walls seem to be closing in on me. Is the admission here really worth this? What else will I have to do? Strip naked and dance for her pleasure?
Me : We haven’t discussed custody yet. Ma’am, I came here today to request for time to get a new certificate issued.
P: If he asks for custody, you will have to hand over one child to him.
Wow. Did she just cross the line of all lines? Diabolical is an understatement for this woman. And Sunny is going to be taught by her? Far better I tell him the school’s burnt down and spare him the pain.
Me: There is no reason to expect such a contingency. Should an unreasonable request of this nature arise from him, I assure you I will ensure he regrets it. Allowing one of my children to live with an abusive parent is entirely out of the question. The only circumstance in which this may feasibly occur is in the highly unlikely event of my demise.
She sits still staring at me, slack-jawed. I let her stew.
Shock and awe, baby.
P : You are determined to go through with this, aren’t you?
Ice Queen attack mode ON. System ready to release ballistic missiles.
Me(reaching the end of my too-long tether): Absolutely. Ma’am, I need a month to submit the certificate. I can pay the fees today.
Take it or leave it. One more nosy question out of you and I will lose it.
So help me God.
P : We need the original birth certificate.
Me : It shall be yours.
P : One month.
I nod.
She writes a note granting me exemption from submission of the damn birth certificate and directs me to the accounts section where I confirm that Sunny will be imprisoned in St XYZ with that nut-job for one entire year.
He better not say I didn’t warn him.
