My neighbour, Deb, was extremely proud of her two sons — and didn’t she want everyone to know about it! At 8 and 11 years old, they were the cockiest, most arrogant children I had ever met, and all because their parents never disciplined them for any of the reckless antics young boys are known for.
On top of this, I had to put up with the constant bragging about how amazing her sons were — at sports, academic work, singing, drama. In their mother’s eyes, there was nothing these boys could do wrong, and they excelled at every single thing life presented to them.
I might not have minded her constant boasting if I didn’t have my own children of the same age, who often had to sit around over our cups of coffee hearing themselves being compared to the world’s most perfect children. Without boasting myself, there were several things my children were better at — but Deb would shoot it down whenever I even suggested their own brilliance!
I began to get sick and tired of feeling like I had children who were “underachievers” — her generalisation for any child who wasn’t hers. It was a word she often used in front of my boys.
A few months before the end of her eldest’s last year in primary school, Deb and her family went away on holiday for a few weeks. I was given the task of collecting the mail, and over the weeks I noticed a number of letters coming from a prestigious local private school — a school I would almost have killed to get my own child into.
After the third letter, I began to imagine that the correspondence was quite important and I couldn’t help myself: I opened the letter! No real surprise, it was a last-minute offer for a place at the school for Daniel. The catch was they had to reply by the end of the week. Knowing that the family wouldn’t be home for another two weeks, I hatched my evil plan. What if I could get my son Tom in, in Daniel’s place?
My son Tom was genuinely brilliant, but it the fees for this school were exorbitant so I’d never considered sending him there. But my desire to show up Deb was greater than my consideration for our finances. I rang the number on the school letterhead and was soon telling the receptionist that Daniel’s family had left the area, but that I had a son who was soon to be of secondary age.
Of course, there was a lot of haggling: they had waiting lists, policies, entrance exams. But it soon became apparent that they had recently lost a lot of government funding, and needed to fill all available spots very quickly. It may also have been that she was tired and bitter — the poor woman sounded sick to death of dealing with the politics and bureaucracy of the school. Whatever the reason, after 20 minutes of my frantic begging, the worn-down woman did what I had never really expected her to do. She gave my son the place!
You can’t imagine how smug I felt when Deb came over a few weeks later, devastated that her son had lost his place.
“I can’t understand it,” she whined. “The old secretary left. Apparently she had some gripe about the school. And now some underachiever is going to benefit just because she was a sad old cow!”
Sipping at my coffee, I bit down the urge to joyously profess who the “underachiever” was!
Two years later, my son is doing brilliantly. I could never have imagined how the right recourses and environment would make my son soar — and he is so happy. I’m sure Daniel is still doing well, also. I wouldn’t know — Deb and her family have moved. But I often wonder what she would say if she knew Tom has taken her precious son Daniel’s place at the fantastic school.
All names have been changed. Picture posed by model.
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