I think I’m on the record as saying that being a parent is one of those things that I just happen to be very, very good at without having to put any actual effort into it. Even allowing for that, at the end of a long, hot summer, just like the rest of you, I’m absolutely sick of the sight of my children and I’m glad they’re now someone else’s problem until the end of October.
It’s, like, 11 o’clock in the morning and I’m sitting in – yeah, no – Gleego’s, having a coffee and flirting with one or two of the Willow Pork moms when my phone all of a sudden rings? Gwen – because we’re already on first-name terms – goes, “Are you not going to get that?” because I’ve let it ring out twice now. Whoever it is, they’re pretty dogged.
I’m there, “Yeah, no, I’d better get it. Could be the Leinster Branch, putting together a coaching dream team to replace the big man.”
So I step outside. Surprisingly, it ends up not being the Leinster branch? Yeah, no, it’s my old mate Fionn, in other words, the principal of Castlerock College. He goes, “Ross, where are you?”
I’m there, “I’m at work,” because I want to find out first where this conversation is headed.
He goes, “You don’t work. You don’t have a job.”
“Well, I’m waiting for a call from you know who.”
“I need you to come to the school to collect Johnny.”
“Do you mind me asking why?”
“Because he’s been suspended.”
“Suspended? What, two hours and 40 minutes into the school year? Is that some kind of record?”
“Why do you sound pleased?”
“I don’t know. It’s probably the competitor in me. So what did he illegibly do?”
“Oh, there’s no illegibly about it, Ross. And don’t start talking to me like you’re Hennessy Coghlan-O’Hara. He was singing an offensive song.”
“Oh, you mean the song that used to be the school anthem?”
Yeah, no, he was singing it in the cor this morning. It’s a genuine earworm, in fairness.
He goes, “Yes, Ross, that song.”
I’m like, “And what’s wrong with Castlerock Über Alles?”
“You know what’s wrong with it. The lyrics are problematic. Especially the references to Lebensraum and taking Alsace and the Sudetenland.”
“Even though you were happy to belt it out when you were on the Senior Cup team with me.”
“Times have changed, Ross.”
“It’s a bunch of woke horseshit and you know it.”
“Well, the students have been told that it’s now banned. And if Johnny insists on singing it at the top of his voice at the back of the maths class, then I have no choice but to suspend him for two weeks. Now, are you coming to get him?”
I’m there, “Like I said, I’ll come when I’m ready,” and I hang up and tip back inside.
The girls have bought me another cappuccino. I think Gwen has a bit of a thing for the Rossmeister. I’m showing her a way to do bicep curls to totally eliminate under-orm fat when my phone suddenly rings again. I check the screen. It’s Fionn.
I step outside. I’m like, “This is storting to border on harassment. I said I’d come when I’m ready.”
He goes, “Well, you can collect Leo when you do.”
I’m like, “Leo? The fock has he done?”
“He told Mrs Reedy that she looked foxy.”
“Jesus – we obviously need to get him stronger glasses.”
“It’s not funny, Ross. Students are not permitted to speak to the staff in that way.”
“Can I just remind you–?”
“Ross, I don’t care what happened in our day. We are living in a different world – thankfully.”
“I’d say it’s a long time since anyone told Mrs Reedy–”
“Ross, I don’t want to hear it. Just come and collect your boys. They’re both suspended for two weeks.”
I end up losing it.
I’m like, “Dude, why do I even bother sending my kids to school? It’s your job to control them. If you can’t do that, then maybe you need to stort asking yourself whether you’re in the right business.”
“Ross–”
“No, I’m serious, Dude. It’s Day One of the school year and you’re already trying to outsource your problem students to me. Well, you can forget it. My children are your responsibility now – between September and Halloween, then from Halloween to Christmas. You chose to be a school principal. Live with it, Dude.”
I hang up on him and I tip back inside. The girls are really loving my company. Conversation is another thing I happen to be good at without having to even try. I lick the cappuccino froth off the back of my spoon and Gwen tells me in a flirty way that it’s dribbling out of the side of my mouth. She’s dabbing it with the corner of her napkin when – unbelievably – my phone rings a third time.
I check the screen and I end up flying into a rage. I answer and I’m like, “Dude, what port of ‘my children are your responsibility’ do you not understand?”
The girls nod. They know where I’m coming from.
He goes, “Ross, I’ve just had Mr Brady in the office.”
I’m like, “I don’t even know who that is.”
“He’s been the music teacher here for 40 years.”
“That would explain why I’ve never focking heard of him. What’s his problem?”
“Brian is–”
“Is what? Suspended as well? All focking three? Are you actually serious?”
“If you’d let me finish, Ross–”
“Call yourself a school?”
“He thinks Brian has a real gift for singing. He wants to cast him as the lead in the school musical this year.”
There’s, like, silence on the end of the phone. He’s waiting for a reaction from me.
I’m there, “Are you only telling me this because you know I’ll go racing up to the school.”
He goes, “I’m only passing on what he told me. And, you know, rehearsals clash with rugby training, so he’d have to pick one or the other.”
“Dude, don’t fock with my head.”
“I’m only passing the message on. He said he has a tenor voice – the best he’s heard for a boy of his age.”
I’m there, “Okay, you win. I’m on the way. And if you happen to see Brian, will you tell him that I feel let down by him and he’s a disgrace to the family name?”