As my teacher stood at the door holding her cane, I stood in the corner at the front of the class, wishing the wall behind me would suddenly reveal a secret door through which I could escape.
But escape I couldn’t so it was time to face the wrath of Mrs Wanguhu’s famous cane. Don’t feel sorry for me. I deserved the walloping and a good one at that.
The day before was Monday and I had arrived in school eager to learn (more like to see my friends). Right after the morning assembly was over, I walked into my classroom, plopped my bag on my desk and fished out my school diary. I was just about to place it on the top of the pile of diaries on the teacher’s table when it struck me that this could turn out to be the worst day in my life; my diary wasn’t signed.
I had done my weekend homework, alright, but my dad had left for a trip before I could get him to sign it. Now here I was about to face the music. As I peeped around me, I opened the diary and stared back that the blank space that read ‘Parent sign.’ Then I took out my pencil and made a scribble on the page. And just as I placed the diary on the teacher’s desk, she called the class to order and our lesson began.
So on Tuesday with each fall of the headmistress’s dreaded cane, I recalled how naïve (nay, foolish) I had been to forge my father’s signature. I had been caught (duh, scribble in pencil) and now I was paying for my sins. I later found out that my dad had in fact sanctioned the caning.
Clearly, I didn’t die but I learned a valuable lesson; there’s such a thing as tough love and we should be thankful for it.
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