Connor Skillman's Day Off

NOTE: Despite the seemingly reckless nature in which it may appear that I’ve treated this sensitive subject, I did indeed get permission from living persons involved with this story--HOWEVER--deceased persons were not available for comment.

Ferris Bueller has nothing on Connor.  Connor got the day off school earlier this week and I think he got way way more than he bargained for.

His adventurous day started off with a mid-morning visit to the doctors office to get current on all his vaccinations.  A few days prior we received a letter in the mail from his school alerting us to the fact that the kid was perniciously behind on his shots and was about to be barred from going back to school. 

 

At the doctor’s office, we found out which shot Connor was not current on:  Tetanus.  TETANUS!  Now there’s a contagion that spreads like wildfire.

So after doing our civic duty and inoculating the kid so he could once again qualify for an education, I decided to take him to Dairy Queen--where all the woes of a kid who just got a big ol' shot in the arm can be soothed away in frosted splendor.  Connor sat and consoled himself over a chicken strip basket and frozen Oreo Blizzard while silently concocting a scheme that entailed and elaborate ruse which he hoped would result in not going back to school.  In a swirl of ice cream-induced bravado, he then commenced a short soliloquy on this endeavor.  As he was mid-proposal, I got a phone call which put his little truancy speech on hold.

The phone call came from an acquaintance whose sweet mother had passed away.  A very sad thing indeed.  She had called to see if there was any way I thought a coffin might fit in the back of my excursion, the car we call “The Beast”, the mother of all SUV's that I’ve always claimed was big enough to haul anything.  It now appeared as though I was about to get the chance to do a little fact-checking.

This friend actually makes coffins and she needed to transport it from her house to the funeral home and did not want to incur the hefty $750 charge the funeral home would bill her if she used their hearse.

Well, why not?

But there was one teensy weensy little hitch.  The coffin they wanted me to transport was not an empty one.  Yes, it would have a passenger inside.  Gulp.

Well who am I to turn down the need of a friend, albeit a most unique need.  Why the heck not?  The title “Hearse” could definitely be added to our excursion’s long esteemed list of dutiful descriptions.  I told her I’d be right there and then hung up the phone.

Then I looked across the table at Connor and smiled wide.  “Connor…how bad do you want to get out of school?”

  

“Pretty bad Mom.  I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yup.  Clean the house, whatever.”

I smile even wider.  “How ‘bout move a dead body?”

He looked at me quizzically.

  

“Yes, move a body.  You wouldn’t mind would you?”   

I gave him a little explanation and without hesitating he said it sounded much better than going back to school and agreed to come.  But I’m not sure he knew what he had just bargained for. 

When we reached my acquaintance’s house they had me back into the driveway near the garage door.  Connor and I stepped out in the rain and waited patiently by the garage.  And although we’ve never had much experience as hearse drivers we knew this sort of job required patience.  So we waited.  Ever so reverently I might add.  And if we had to talk at all we used our library voices.

After a while there was stirring in the garage and soon the garage door began to lift open.  Our first assumption as newly appointed hearse drivers was that of course we would find a coffin inside the garage, which I can assure you we did.  What we had not expected was that the coffin was still open.  Connor was in for a bit of a shock there.   

Once the door was opened, I stepped farther in the garage as Connor took several GIANT steps back from of the garage.  My friend motioned to him that is was alright for him to come in and take a peek but he politely declined with an “Uh, I’m actually okay right here, but thank you.”

At least the kid was polite.

I ventured in and my friend and I both peered inside.  Her mom looked fantastic.  I commented on her hair and her make-up and even the fact that her nails were polished to perfection. 

Soon the lid was placed on the coffin and a few men loaded her coffin gently into the back of my car.  It was official—the Con-Man and I were now hearse drivers.  Connor and I ever so carefully and respectfully climbed into the excursion and headed to the mortuary. 

Connor was quiet for a few minutes and then he finally spoke.  In a slight whisper so that perhaps our passenger might not overhear or conversation, he said, “Mom, I can’t believe women are still worried about their hair and make-up after they die.”

I smiled knowing he had heard me comment to my friend on how nice her mother looked.  “Yep, I’m afraid so son.  It’s a girl thing, and it seems we don’t stop after we’re dead.  You’ll make sure my hair and make-up look nice when I go won’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah I guess so,” he weakly offered.  Then he cheerfully added, “I’ll even make sure you’ve got your Uugs on if you want.”

“Good idea.” I said.  Although if I happen to go while it's summer time someone please tell the kid to just put me in my favorite flip-flops.

Our jaunt into the world of hearse driving took us about a half hour and during that time we were presented with some heretofore unknown transportation quandaries:

It was a chilly day out and Connor and I were both cold from standing outside in the rain so I turned the heat on.  As I did so, Connor quickly turned it back off and then quizzed me on whether or not that was such a good idea.  He thought we’d better be careful not to overheat the inside of the car.   But it was pretty chilly and I was afraid that driving all that way in the January chill would result in not just one--but all three passengers suffering from rigor-mortis by the time we arrived.   Then Connor, who was taking our job very seriously, remembered that our excursion came equipped with duel heat zones!  Connor suggested it was best to set ours on warm--not hot--and set the back on cool.   A good compromise we could all live with...so to speak.

With our thermostat quandaries solved, Connor then remarked how unusually bumpy the road was.  He felt the corners seemed especially sharp, the train tracks especially jarring, and the huge potholes excessively rutted.  For him it proved to be a nerve racking drive as he was sweetly concerned about our fellow passenger and wanted her to arrive in the best possible condition.  He worried that contents might shift as we threaded our way through town and kept a vigilant eye on the road ahead alerting me to any disruptive hazards.   I've seen him less careful holding a jello mold on his way to a church potluck.  

At last we arrived at the funeral home and successfully finished our most serious task.   On the way home I asked him if he would have rather gone back to school instead of driving shotgun on our little hearse adventure.  He thought about it for a moment and said,  

"I'm sorry that lady died but I'm glad she got me out of math class."

By the time we were done with our errand school was out and Connor indeed got his wish.  

But for me, the next day was the fun part.  That's because I've become a little infamous down at the school for my unique writing skills.  It seems I have a real flair for penning an excuse note.  These notes to school, in my opinion, are an untapped source of joy that parents have sorely overlooked.  My kids hate taking excuse notes to school that I've written for them.  My theory is that no one ever really reads them so I always try and include bizarre reasons, sometimes so strange that my kids would rather take their chances and not bring any excuse to school at all. 

So the next morning I was extra excited about writing his note.  It was sure to be the mother-of-all-excuse notes in the history of my authorship.  I simply wrote: 

‘Please excuse Connor from school yesterday.  He had to help me move a dead body.” 

I’m fairly sure Connor probably left it in the bottom of his backpack with all the other excuses I've written that he was too embarrassed to turn in.  Instead I bet he chose to be unexcused and note-less and miss out on his lunch recess for having an unexcused absence.

But if he did he'd probably tell you it was a fair trade.  At this point the kid has certainly proved he'll do anything to get out of math class.