Noted writer Frank McCourt made a brilliant observation during his days as a teacher in Brooklyn: when kids forged excuses from their parents, they were often more clever and imaginative than when given actual creative writing assignments.

“How could I have ignored this treasure trove, these gems of fiction and fantasy? Here was American high school writing at its best—raw, real, urgent, lucid, brief, and lying.

I read:

• The stove caught fire and the wallpaper went up and the fire department kept us out of the house all night.

• Arnold was getting off the train and the door closed on his school bag and the train took it away. He yelled to the conductor who said very vulgar things as the train drove away.

• His sister’s dog ate his homework and I hope it chokes him.

• We were evicted from our apartment and the mean sheriff said if my son kept yelling for his notebook he’d have us all arrested.

The writers of these notes didn’t realize that honest excuse notes were usually dull: “Peter was late because the alarm clock didn’t go off.”
One day I typed out a dozen excuse notes and distributed them to my senior classes. The students read them silently, intently. “Mr. McCourt, who wrote these?” asked one boy.

“You did,” I said. “I omitted names to protect the guilty. They’re supposed to be written by parents, but you and I know the real authors. Yes, Mikey?”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“This is the first class to study the art of the excuse note—the first class, ever, to practice writing them. You’re so lucky to have a teacher like me who has taken your best writing and turned it into a subject worthy of study.”
Everyone smiled as I went on, “You didn’t settle for the old alarm clock story. You used your imaginations. One day you might be writing excuses for your own children when they’re late or absent or up to some devilment. So try it now. Imagine you have a 15-year-old who needs an excuse for falling behind in English. Let it rip.”

The students produced a rhapsody of excuses, ranging from a 16-wheeler crashing into a house to a severe case of food poisoning blamed on the school cafeteria. They said, “More, more. Can we do more?”

So I said, “I’d like you to write—” And I finished, “ ‘An Excuse Note from Adam to God’ or ‘An Excuse Note from Eve to God.’ “ Heads went down. Pens raced across paper.

Before long the bell rang. For the first time ever I saw students so immersed in their writing they had to be urged to go to lunch by their friends: “Yo, Lenny. Come on. Finish it later.”

Next day everyone had excuse notes, not only from Adam and Eve but from God and Lucifer. One girl defended the seduction of Adam on the grounds that Eve was tired of lying around Paradise doing nothing, day in and day out. She was also tired of God sticking his nose into their business.

Source: ReadersDigest.com

TEACHER MAN BY FRANK MCCOURT, COPYRIGHT © 2005 BY GREEN PERIL CORP., IS PUBLISHED AT $26 BY SCRIBNER, 1230 AVE. OF THE AMERICAS, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10020.