Burning Tulips

Chapter Two: Notes and Soaps

7 Chapter Two Notes and Soaps The note says: “Please excuse my daughter from school. She was ill and feels extremely bad about missing class.” “I’m not going to write that you feel extremely bad,” Mom informs me. “Ma, ya gotta write that. You don’t understand how school works. The teachers take it as an insult when you miss a day. Mrs. Brown already thinks that I hate her. We gotta leave that part in.” “I will do no such thing. That’s a lie. If any of the neighbors saw you outdoors hula-hooping while I was on the phone, they’d think I was a horrible mother who encourages my daughter to play hooky.” “How am I going to get on the “Ed Sullivan Show” if I don’t practice hula-hooping?” “Ah! Quit talking about the “Ed Sullivan Show.” You go to school and get an education. Then you won’t need to be shaking your hips all day long.” “I’m gonna live in Hawaii and wear a grass skirt.” Mom isn’t smiling and I need her to sign the note to excuse me from class. Mom is in one of her moods and it looks like she is going to try to teach me a lesson. To soften her up, I defend my position by saying, “I only hula-hooped for a few minutes. And that was after you cured me, Ma.” “You conveniently got well as soon as lunch was over so you wouldn’t have to go to school in the afternoon. Rewrite that note saying you were sick, nothing else.” “Ah, you’re mean. Mrs. Brown is gonna take it out on me. And it ain’t all that great staying home with you. When you’re not watching soap operas , you’re on the phone. If I was really sick, I’d have died on the couch without you noticing.” “You just be glad you get to go to school. If I could trade places with you, I would.” “Let’s do it then. You go hand that note to Mrs. Brown.” “I ain’t afraid of Mrs. Brown. I’d gladly hand it in to her and then I’d thank her for teaching me how to spell.” “Ah, you don’t want to go to school. You’d miss all those soap operas.” 8 Burning Tulips “I hardly watch those soap operas. Some ladies watch them all afternoon . I turn it off at one. “ “You only turn it off for a half hour while you talk about the shows to your sisters. Then it goes on and you watch that hospital show.” “Ah, you watch your mouth, young lady. I’m gonna write a note that said you played hooky.” “Oh, no you ain’t. How do ya spell hooky?” “Don’t be sassy to me. I can spell hooky. Look, Miss Hot Shot, you’re not the only person that can spell. I could ask your sister to help me write notes.” Mom finally wins. She knows I pride myself on being her note writer. The biggest insult would be for Mom to ask my little sister to write her notes. “Go ahead, ask her. Reading ain’t the same thing as spelling. Sue will misspell everything and say that you wrote the note. But I’ll get rid of the extremely part. When she pulls my hair in class, I hope you feel bad.” Mom and I are always going round and round about school. In our note battles, Mom insults me by saying she’ll give the duty to my sister and I mock her soap operas, but both of us are dependent on one another. I enjoy staying home and Mom seems to enjoy my company. While my classmates are at school learning how to add double digits, I’m wrapped in clean sheets, lying on the couch next to the TV tray which holds my glass of 7-Up and saltine crackers, watching “Captain Kangaroo,” confident that I am learning more from Mr. Green Jeans than I ever do from Mrs. Brown. After “Captain Kangaroo” is finished, Mom comes into the living room and turns her soaps on. And that is when my real education takes place. Mom doesn’t act like her normal self when she watches “As the World Turns” or “Love of Life.” Somehow, she has grown emotionally-attached to those well-dressed, distraught characters on the screen...