As you may or may not have known, I was on house arrest for the past few weeks, and I just got off probation last Thursday. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the lenient type of probation that is issued by the judicial system; this was straight up, hardcore, cold-blooded grounding.
Certain kids are grounded for certain reasons, and all receive different consequences for their actions based upon how much of a pussy their parents are. For example, when an only child sneaks out on a Friday night and is brought home by the police, they are penalized with relieved hugs and a raised allowance because the parents are just grateful their little baby wasn’t raped by Mexicans. Whereas if this sweet, innocent girl had another sibling, the punishment would have been slightly harsher, like, for example, a firing squad.
In my case, being the oldest of three, my loving parents discipline me by revoking everything I hold dear to me; namely my cell phone, TV, computer, and Ipod. They figure that the only good way to torture me is by annihilating my entire social life and the only way I get entertainment is by lighting my bed on fire. Because of this, I try to stay out of trouble as much as I can, which forces my parents to jump at any slight opportunity to execute their parental authority. Whether it’s because I came home at 11:15 instead of 11:00, of because I forgot to do to laundry, my blood-thirsty parents lunge at any prospect to hurt me. This time, however, I brought the discipline upon myself when I failed three classes.
It wasn’t that I necessarily “failed” three classes; it was more like I was getting “academically challenged in three classes. And it wasn’t as much that I was getting “academically challenged” in three classes as it was that I just wasn’t trying. You see, in late February I got deathly sick with the common high school disease Notwannalearn Virus. Side effects of this contagious illness include a headache, stomach ache, nausea, light headedness, and other ailments that your parents can’t disprove. I had this infection many times this past year, and one of my absences led to the missing of a Spanish project. And because my Spanish teacher is pissed that she isn’t pregnant anymore, she takes her redeveloped monthly periods out on her students by making project grades worth 85% of your grade. My missed project grade brought my flawless average down to a 45%, allowing my teacher to send a progress report home informing my parents that my Spanish intelligence was that equivalent of raviolis.
The good news is that I passed in that Spanish report, received a 97% on it, and my grade was restored to its normal average. The bad news is that I still flunked science and math because I failed every test and didn’t do my homework. This, in turn, led to two more progress reports, which led to my parents finding out, which led to me getting relentlessly beaten with a radio.
During my grounding, I was told to be home by 3:00 every day (forcing me to gallop home a mile uphill while I was at my dad’s house), all my social electronics were abjured, and my father specifically warned me that if he ever caught me hanging out with my friends he would—and I quote:
Disembowel you with rusty razors until my blood-stained clothes smell of your diced vital organs
As you may have guessed, I obeyed my father’s wishes and did my time until the school term ended. Generally, a high school student without his technology would slowly transform into a bumbling mass of counter production, but my creative mind—along with 4 years of Boy Scouts—provided me with enough materials to survive my perilous time in my hostile environment. Instead of playing computer games, I would play piano; instead of watching TV, I would read a book; instead of talking on the phone, I would do my homework. In short, I changed from a popular teenager to a lifeless nerd in only a matter of days.
But that’s alright, because after four gruesome weeks of social isolation and attempted suicides, the term ended. This doesn’t mean that I brought my grades up; it just means that my F’s were permanent, and that there was nothing I could do to change them. And with a few quick lies (“Dad, I discovered how easy it was to just study for an hour and do my homework.” “Dad, I’ll try harder this term, I swear”) I got my life back and was finally able to socialize again.
This post was originally going to be able how I spent my first day of freedom partying with my friends, getting piss drunk, hooking up with every girl in the house, and then passing out on my kitchen floor. I am not going to divulge into this because a) no one is interested in my social life, and if you were I really don’t care, and b) my parents read this site. Instead, I am going to talk to you about how I managed to not get in trouble for getting caught drinking underage. I will share with you some of my deepest secrets, tactics, and strategies for avoiding the harshest punishment by your parents. So here it is:
THE ONE AND ONLY WAY TO NOT GET IN TROUBLE, REGARDLESS OF WHAT YOU DID WRONG
• Lie- Everyone knows that if you tell the truth, you will get in more trouble. I know that “honestly is the best policy”, but that doesn’t work while explaining something to your parents, because even though you might evade danger, parents talk. And if your truth is more believable than your friend’s lie (“Mom, that window was broken when we bought the house”), you’re going to bring your friend down with you. It is much safer to make up an exotic story that will send your parents—and all the parents they talk with—on a wild goose hunt trying to patch things up. In time, your lie will die down and you’ll be home free.
• Talk To Your Friends Before Hand- Like I said before, if your stories don’t match up, you and your friend will both be in deep poop. I know I’m not the only one who’s had this conversation:
Parent- Tell me what happened last night
You- Well, uhh. We were at Doug’s house playing video games, and then we got bored so we rode our bikes to the park.
Parent- Then how come Doug’s mom said that no one was at their house last night?
You- No you don’t understand, we didn’t hang there, we just went there to pick up video games and then we went to the park.
Parent- Doug told his mom that they went to the arcade.
You- Yeah, after we rode our bikes to the park.
Parent- Doug didn’t mention riding his bike to his mother.
You- That’s because Doug didn’t ride his bike. Billy and I rode ours, and Doug walked beside us.
Parent- Billy’s parents say that he’s been dead for three years now.
Situations like this can easily be avoided if you and your friend just think up an alibi before hand. Agree on a place you went, when, how, and why, and if your parents ask you a question that you guys didn’t solve in advance, tell him what you said just in case his parents ask him the same question. This is one of the main things that saves or kills a kid in terms of getting in trouble.
• Don’t Name Drop- Parents are greedy little bastards that feed off of other people’s misery. There is nothing they enjoy more than reporting other children to their parents and all having a good laugh as the ludicrous punishments they sentenced them to. “I made Johnny clean the kitchen,” one of them will shriek as they all sip red wine; “And we don’t even have a kitchen!” Like I addressed before, my parents LOVE taking away my electronics, and there is no way in hell I would ever bring that upon another child. So when your parents ask you who you were hanging with when you got into mischief, make up names. Pretend that they were a completely new set of friends that you parents never heard of, and then exclaim that you learned your lesson and won’t hang out with the wrong crowd again. And for an extra spin make the names sound very badass, like the kind of kids that get in trouble. Brutus, Bruno, Turner, and Tyrone are all the names of kids your parents don’t want you hanging out with and will be relieved to hear you’re done with.
• Turn The Tables/Get Angry- One of the worst things about getting in trouble is your lack of control. You’re the one fighting to survive; you’re the one getting interrogated, and you’re the one on the brink of death. To prevent this, all you have to do is use the classic old trick of accusing your parents. I have a feeling I don’t have to go into detail because you’ve probably all pulled the trick before. Blame your parents for invading your space, not giving you enough freedom, or just flat out being ugly:
Parent- So if you and Doug didn’t do anything, how come I saw a text message of him telling you that he was still hung over?
You- Where did you see that?
Parent- On your phone.
You- Why are you reading my text messages?
Parent- Because I’m your parents
You- Why don’t you just stay out of my life!
Parent- I’m just here to protect you!
You- Maybe if you weren’t so god damn ugly!
Hopefully these helpful hints will assist you in defending yourself against your parent’s deadly discipline methods, and with a few keen lies (“Dad, I learned new study tactics and I do so good on tests now”) you will be able to survive the rest of your partying lifestyle. And as you lie out your ass reminding your parents how much you love them, remember the ancient saying:
You can’t spell “mediocre” without “Me”
