180. School subjects choices 1

The form filling was always a tense moment but this was going to prove particularly tricky.

'So ...' I asked nervously 'What box should we tick?'

And there he was, off again. It reminded me of when he was a little boy. My husband and I never pronounced the word homework out loud. We had code names and used complicated sign language to check if we were ready for the crunch. 

I should have kept this going as today I have just realised I have pulled the infamous trigger. He looks at the blue form (I need to have a word with the school, these forms should be plain old white) and already I see he is frowning. 

'You're not going to start on this now! It's the weekend! You teachers are obsessed with that kind of stuff!' 

I turn to my husband for support but he decides he wants croissants for breakfast and so he is off, leaving me all alone inside the cage with the lion.

'I'm your mum. Not your teacher!' I decide to be brave and put on a fight. 

'Well, you behave like a teacher right now, a very annoying one.'

'I just want to know what box to tick. I can't just tick any random box. It's your future, not mine.'

He is cross now. I can see that. I hope the queue at the boulangerie is not too long.

'Mum! Honestly! Do you seriously think my future (he makes little cute quote marks up in the air with his fingers) depends on which box I tick on this blue form? Please, tell me you don't!'

I want to tell him I agree and it would be better if the form was white but I don't. Instead I take a deep breath and I put some coffee on. My husband won't be long and will no doubt knock some sense into him.

He is going to blow his top, I know, but I feel it is my duty as a mother and in due respect to all these poor administrators who designed this first-rate form. 

'This form has been designed by clever, educated and experienced people who only want the best for you.' I pipe in, chuffed.

'MUM! Stop believing everything! It's just a useless piece of paper. Lots of kids won't even hand it in and nothing's going to happen to them! You think they're just gonna drop dead or something?'

'Don't say gonna, please! And I do not want to know about other people's kids.' 

I can barely cope with mine, one at a time, so other people's kids no thank you. Thankfully at that time his father walks in with the croissants and three baguettes - three! He always always buys only one at a time (something to do with French bread not lasting), so I think maybe they're freebies, maybe the baker is also filling in the blue form.

He puts the already greasy paper-bag (real butter croissants) on the table. He does not pick on the tense atmosphere around his wife and son.

'Coffee?' 

'The form.' I reply, pointing discreetly at the paper with that stupid shade of blue. 

'I am just about to tick the boxes myself, as your son does not want to discuss it.' 

I stress the your on purpose. It can't be anything to do with me, after all I'm a teacher, totally convinced of the usefulness of these forms. They're just the wrong colour.

'Put rugby.' My son speaks the word through a mouthful of croissant.

We both turn and look at him in disbelief.

'Wrong answer. No box for that.' I reply.

'You said I need to think about what I like. I like rugby.'

I raise my eyes to the ceiling. My husband peers into his coffee using his spoon to chase a crumb.

'See! Typical! I gave you an answer but ooooh noooo ... this is not the right answer. So that's why I don't want to fill in that stupid form on your stupid blue paper!'

I open my mouth to say that we are on agreement about blue beings he wrong colour but he's off and there's no stopping him.

"You know, you're right, you can just tick all the boxes yourself. Stupid boring useless philosophy: tick. Boring geography: tick, literature and Latin and useless languages that nobody speaks: tick, tick, tick. But rugby? No! No box to tick for rugby. Well, I say you need to draw a box there and write RUGBY! Or else I'm not going.'

And he storms out.

'That went well.' My husband concludes. I sigh, grab the box and tick the boxes that every parents tick and sign the from. I pass it to his dad who fakes his son's signature. Sorted. Where in that book of mine about raising tenenagers did I see that you should always discuss things? I'm gonna rip that page out.