We weren't sure what Detention would look like, so when I pulled up to school an hour after closing to see our son lugging a bag of trash across the parking lot, I burst out laughing. Way more effective than sitting at a desk staring at the clock.
He had already faced consequences at home. A week had passed since his transgression, so my initial mortification had faded.
Apparently, his teacher noticed he wasn't on task. When she asked what he was doing, he responded sheepishly, "It's inappropriate" before handing over a sheet of paper.
He'd made up a quiz where all the answers were definitely "inappropriate", spelled wrong, and he thought, would make his classmates think he was funny.
"Well, your teachers don't think you're funny. Your mother saw it and doesn't think it's funny. Do you even know what testosterone is?!" I said. "And Detention is NOT funny," (unless you see your kid most-deservedly cleaning up campus).
"And as your friends mature, they won't think it's funny either."
"And," I have a hard time leaving things alone, "the older kids get and still think they have to impress their friends by being naughty, the more dangerous and stupid the things kids do."
"And…." keep hammering, Mom. "You are a great kid. You are funny and a good friend and interesting without being disrespectful."
That was before he served his actual detention. Once he dumped his trash and got in the car, he described his fellow ne'er-do-wells as "the boys I expected to be there."
Throwing stones from his big glass house, eh?
"The one kid thinks he's a rapper, so he was rapping one of his songs in class."
"Disruptive," I agreed.
"No," he responded, "rap has bad words in it. You know that, right? I mean, how stupid was he?"
I couldn't help myself, "Same as the kid who wrote them down."
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