One day in the 7th grade in class as our teacher didn’t show up we were left with a free period. Tavassoli who was in charge during such times urged us to work on the assignment we would have had. I zipped through it and then hoping to get out of class and asked him, “What do we do if we are done with our class assignment?”

“Just study until the bell rings,” he responded.

Of course I had no such intentions. With us being in the midst of Tehran’s provisional soccer season, I ripped out a page from my notebook and began drawing a bunch of blue clad players sitting on the ground nodding their heads. At a podium I drew my best impression of Naser Hejazi, the Esteghlal goalkeeper. Using speech bubbles I had him saying “Getting our asses kicked on the field is not right (sahih nist)!” The nodding teammates all responded, “It’s absolutely right (sahih ast).” I was quite pleased with my play on words and after showing my drawing to a neutral party, Bijan (who supported Homa), I also showed it to Eslami, a hardcore Esteghlali. It did not sit quite well with him and he ripped the paper out of my hand. As I struggled to get it back a melee ensued and with Tavassoli intervening and ultimately taking the paper away from both of us we took our seats. I was hoping that nothing more would come of it but I when I was called into the office during recess I knew Tavassoli must have reported it.

“What is with you?” Mr. Jalaei wanted to know. “Why are you always involved in some kind of chaos?”

“I didn’t do anything. Eslami took my piece of paper and I was trying to get it back.”

I hoped he wouldn’t ask what was on the paper. He did. I explained it was a drawing.

“So you just draw pictures in class? Who said you could do that?”

“I was done with my assignment. I asked Tavassoli what to do and he said do whatever you want.”

“I’m gonna call Tavassoli in here right now and if he tells me otherwise you’re expelled.”

I called his bluff hoping that Tavassoli would only remember the gist of what he had said. “Go ahead. You’ll see that that’s what he said.”

Mr. Jalaei called Tavassoli over the loudspeakers and moments later he was in the office. “What did you tell him after he said he was done with his assignment?”

“I told him to study,” Tavassoli responded.

“Do you have his drawing?”

“I do,” Tavassoli said as he reached into his pocket. Mr. Jalaei unfolded it and looked at it. I noticed he actually cracked a barely visible smile after reading over it. He dismissed Tavassoli, raised an eyebrow and looked at me.

“That’s not what he said. He’s remembering it wrong,” I protested. Mr. Jalaei didn’t expel me but let me know I was on thin ice.

At the end of the day I was once again called into the office. Mr. Jalaei wanted to talk to me in what turned out to be a surprising adult conversation. He first apologized for the way he treated me in the morning and said his anger got the better of him. He then explained that while soccer is a healthy hobby that I shouldn’t get so involved in the rivalries and trash talking to hurt my friends and that I should keep my soccer support of teams at a moderate level. He concluded with, “So I take it you are Perspolisi?” and smiled at me. I took it that he was too.