‘She had him down as Finglas’s answer to Stephen focking Hawking’
I WAS NOT A HAPPY rabbit to be told last week that my son had failed his mock Junior Cert. In fact, I ended up having a total knicker-fit.
Not that there’s anything wrong with failing exams.
I’m saying that, remember, as a man with an IQ that seldom exceeds the room temperature.
It’s just that 12 months ago, Ronan was considered officially gifted. Now, he’s just scored an E, an F or a No Grade in every single one of his spring exams. Which puts him, in academic terms, on a par with where I stood at his age. And obviously it gives me no pleasure at all to see him following in my footsteps.
His old dear is, like, mystified. She had him down as Finglas’s answer to Stephen focking Hawking. I’m not though? Because I was the one who warned Tina that this was going to happen, 10 months ago, in fact, when he was first discovered to be a boy genius and Tom McGahy – his headmaster, who Tina just so happens to be sleeping with – persuaded her that he should sit his Junior Cert a year early.
I was the one who argued against it. I figured what was the actual rush? My exact words were, “Yeah, let’s make him sit his Junior Cert at 14, his Leaving Cert at 15 – he should have his degree by the time he’s storted shaving. What about being a kid? Yeah, no, he can squeeze that in some time between his retirement and his death.” I just thought they were pushing him way too hord. I was overruled. But I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve been proven right.
You can imagine my reaction, roysh, when Tina rings me the other day and tells me that McGahy want us to go up to the schools to see him. “He wants to talk to us,” she went, “as he’s peerdents”. I was like, “Bring it. Because I’ve one or two things I wouldn’t mind saying to that dude.” Ronan, by the way, wasn’t even taking my calls. That’s how crushed he was by what happened. I left him one or two messages to try to cheer him up, just going, “Ro, I never passed an exam in my entire life and look at me today”. But he never called me back and I hadn’t spoken to my son for, like, a week.
Which meant I was, like, seriously fired up for the meeting – even more so when I took the long route to McGahy’s office along a corridor that was once known as the Hall of Fame. Once, the walls were lined with framed photographs of the great Castlerock College teams of the past, including the one captained by yours truly in 1999. Since McGahy banned the playing of rugby and pulled the school out of the Leinster Schools Senior Cup two years ago, they’ve been replaced by photographs of past pupils who’ve made their names in business, politics, academia and the orts.
Can you imagine? It threw me into a bit of a rage, to be honest. I ended up morching straight past McGahy’s secretary and straight into his office. Tina was already in there, the two of them chatting away like they were hurting no one. I ended up going straight on the offensive. I was there, “Are you two satisfied now?” McGahy was, “Please, Ross, sit down”. Which I reluctantly agreed to do.
He was like, “Obviously, I’ve asked you here today to discuss young Ronan, whose recent exam results – I think it’s fair to say – came as something of a surprise to all of us”. I went, “Can I just say, McGahy – as the only person in the room who’s not currently enjoying a sexual relationship with you – that they didn’t come as a surprise to me. I was right. I said you were pushing him too hord and I said he’d crack. But you wouldn’t listen.” He put his elbows on the desk, the fingers of his two hands touching – a real teachery thing to do – and went, “I’m 100 per cent certain – for whatever reason – that Ronan deliberately failed these exams”. I was like, “Deliberately? As in, on purpose?” Tina tutted – I’m presuming at my slowness off the mork.
“Yes, on purpose,” McGahy went. “Most of them, he only stayed in the examination hall for the required minimum of 30 minutes. He didn’t fill more than a single A4 sheet of foolscap in any single exam.” Memories of the Leaving Cert suddenly came flooding back to me.
“So the question,” McGahy went, “is why would an exceptional student, with an exemplary school career to date, do such a thing?” I laughed. “Er, is it not obvious? He doesn’t want to sit the Junior Cert a year earlier than the rest of his friends. He doesn’t want to be a freak. He doesn’t want a school career, as you call it. He wants a childhood.” Tina went, “A childhood like yoo-ers?” Tina went. “It’s lasted toorty years”, which was out of order. It was actually bang out of order? I stood up to leave. I was like, “You can say what you want about me. But one area in which my record is above is as a father.” Of course, as some of you possibly know, have a horrible way of letting you down.
It was at that exact moment that the phone on McGahy’s desk rang. He picked it up, listened, then handed it to me. He was like, “It’s your, er, wife”. And it was actually Sorcha? She was like, “Oh my God, Ross, I’m so sorry I had to ring you at the school. I was trying your mobile”. I was there, “Yeah, no, I left it in the cor . . . Babes, can this not wait?” “No, Honor’s had a meltdown, Ross?” “What do you mean, Honor’s had a meltdown? What kind of a meltdown?” Sorcha went, “She’s locked herself in my cor and she’s refusing to come out until I promise to bring her to Dundrum”. “I don’t understand, Babes. Can you not just give in to her demands?” “No, she’s been to Dundrum this week. Twice, in fact. I don’t want her turning into one of those, like, mall girls you see on TV.” That was a definite case of the pot racially abusing the kettle, by the way.
I said nothing, though.
I was like, “Okay. Why don’t you promise you’ll take her to Dundrum, then when she opens the cor door, just tell her to fock off”. “What,” Sorcha went, “and fracture her trust in adult authority figures?” like that made me somehow a monster. “Look, I’ll tell her she can go. But just for a fro-yo and a quick look around BT2. And possibly House of Fraser,” and then she hung up.
I handed the phone back to McGahy, who, like Tina, had a smug little grin playing on his lips. He was like, “Of course, far be it from me to question your abilities as a father . . .” And he just left it hanging there, as if to say, “Point proven”.