Wagging, like marijuana, is next to impossible to overdose on. But to be on the safe side (and avoid any lasting side affects) it should be done in moderation.
When I first began wagging, the main thing I absolutely, positively, under no circumstances wanted to happen was to have my mother find out. I’d go to great lengths to avoid this; like writing fake notes and pretending to be my father whilst I called in sick. Though despite my best efforts, my mother, like every-other-parent-of-every-other-wagging-kid at my school, ended up finding out anyway.
That would have to be my first piece of bad advice for a potential wagger: When you wag, your parents are going to find out about it. Unless your school’s system for monitoring attendance is still a pen and paper one, or your school’s teachers aren’t doing their job properly, then the moment where one of your parents enters your room, phone in hand, and says “I just got a call from your school” is inevitably going to happen.
For me this moment is usually followed by a very long lecture about the way I’m living my life, and how I’m making the wrong choices, and how I’m only hurting myself, and how it is going to reflect heavily on my promising future.
“You have so much talent.” My mother says (every parent thinks their child has an endless amount of talent) “The teachers can see that, and they are concerned about you.”
That leads to my second piece of bad advice for a potential wagger: Never get into a fight with your parent’s about wagging. If they listen to what you have to say and still want to lecture you, shout at you and deal out some horrendous punishment in order to teach you a lesson, then they’re entitled to. You were the one wagging, after all.
I know I have it easy. And I have to give my mother some credit. She is right. The teachers are concerned about me. Heck, I’m even concerned about me. I don’t want to end up as a thirty year employee of Chartwell McDonalds, and I especially don’t want to end up in a town gutter, unshaven, wearing three coats and preaching about how I could have been somebody.
But at the same time all I want to do is avoid the immense pressure placed on students to do well. I want to avoid the stress, and the work, and the ‘what mark did you get for this test?’ game that high achievers play. And, like so many other people in the world, the only way I know how to avoid these things is to wag.
I agree, wagging isn’t the answer to life’s problems. Yes, in the end, it does stunt my learning because I miss valuable class time. But there are just some days that I can’t bring myself to face. Does that make me a coward? Probably. Does it make me any less of a person than those straight shooting students, with perfect attendance and excellent marks? No. It doesn’t.
That brings me to my third piece of bad advice, this time directed at those who disapproving shake their heads every time someone mention’s ‘skipping class’: Waggers have feelings too! Give them a break! You are not necessarily any better of a person than they are. Has it ever occurred to you that waggers might be skipping school because you make them feel so completely and utterly bad about themselves? Too many times have I been slapped on the wrist and given detentions for skipping class. Not once has my dean asked me ‘what’s wrong?’ or ‘why is this happening?’ before doing so.
Most waggers I know are simply lost, confused and frustrated kids because no one is listening to them. I consider myself very lucky to have a reasonable parent who, rather than making accusations and pointing the finger right away, will listen to what I have to say and let me speak on my own behalf before they take action. Many kids aren’t as lucky.
I am aware that schools are much better than they were thirty years ago, where a school with a permanent guidance councillor was -- at best -- a rare occurrence. But I still think it’s a long way to go until every awkward adolescent receives the help and support they need.
It’s incredible how two thousand kids, each completely different from one another, are stuffed into classrooms together and expected to flourish. Wagging -- in my opinion -- is always better than killing someone because you don’t get along with them.
So ends my first blog. One that reads like an opinion piece in the local newspaper that I grit my teeth at and endure only because: A. ‘Official’ articles are boring to read and B. The sports section begins over the page and I don’t think any newspaper in the world has developed a less interesting section than ‘Waikato Times Sports’. Before you ask: I don’t know why this blog wasn’t filled with sharp and witty humour, either. I mean, if I read a blog written by a high school student on the topic of skipping class, I would expect it to be entertaining.
In an attempt to redeem myself, I’ll sign off with a quote from Bill Hicks:
“There’s dick jokes on the way, please relax.”
Thanks for reading!
