I had a severe accident in year 7, where I leapt over a school bench and ended up crashing down a set of grass & wood ampitheatre steps. My body hit the grass, my face, the wood. I mushed my face up good and it’s a sheer miracle I didn’t lose any teeth, though to this day some are still loose. It took weeks to heal and even be able to eat normally again.
The upshot of this accident was that my parents didn’t want me to play sport for fear of further damage. Both to me and to their hip-pocket.
My parents would write me notes saying that they didn’t want me to particpiate in Physical Education (PE) classes at school.
The teacher didn’t like this and after quite a few notes, told me I had to bring a doctors certificate to get out of the class, or I had to play. I said ok, told my parents, who said no, and wrote me a note for the next lesson.
When the next PE class came arond, I handed my teacher a note and said, “Here you go!”
Well, didn’t the proverbial hit whatever the outdoor equivalent of a fan is!! “I told you to bring me a doctors certifciate!!” And on went the yelling.
I’m not quite sure how a child in grade 8 is supposed to pay for a doctors visit on their own. And being a smart child (if I may say so myself), I knew the teacher was being impractical and basically throwing a tantrum. Which I may have found funny. Which may have caused tanturm to get worse.