But as I justified it to myself, I had two-year-old twins to
return to who would keep me busy and the school was just a hop, skip and a jump
up the road. With his nana teaching there and surrounded by his kindy friends,
he was in familiar territory, I had nothing to worry about.
Last week, I made up for it. It was Master Ten’s debut at
Intermediate, a day I had been dreading. The day before, with the other kids
back at primary school, the two of us had spent it together and what a special
day it was. There’s something about one-on-one time that brings out the best in
children, that no amount of X-Box and materialistic guff from $2 shops can
deliver. These are the memories they hold onto and, unfortunately, too many of
us are guilty of not creating enough of them.
But thank goodness I put that time aside to spend with my
‘baby’ before he is swallowed up by the big wide world. We went for a morning
jog together, followed by sushi in town and then, on a whim, as we were driving
past Ten Pin Bowling, I swung the car into the car park. His eyes lit up and
for the next hour, we hit strikes and sunk gutter balls and he could see I was
not just ‘Sadie the cleaning lady’. After that we returned home, where I had
promised to have a game of X Box with him. By then my chores were stacking up
and I was running out of time before the return of the primary schoolers but I
put those thoughts aside and endured a couple of games of car racing (which
turned out to be fun and addictive!)
I could tell this was a day he would not forget but, all too
soon, it was over as the other kids descended and Master Ten reduced to the
back of the pack as they bombarded me with stories about their day.
The following day, it was all nervous energy as he donned
his new uniform and chitter-chattered all the way in to school. I had asked if
I could drive him on his first day, not wanting to surrender him to the bus. On
the way, he spotted lots of other WIS students, all wearing the same bucket
hats, which gave him confidence to put his own on. Luckily, he ran into a
number of his mates at the gate and we were welcomed onsite with a powhiri.
That’s when it hit me. Suddenly I was crying! I could hear
other parents around me laughing and talking – what was wrong with me? But then
his friend’s mum approached and I could see she was also feeling it.
“My friend went through this last year,” she told me. “And
said all the parents were balling.”
That was all the permission I needed and the floodgates
opened and didn’t stop until after the long ceremony. Luckily the school boy
himself didn’t notice – I was treading a fine line being allowed on this
territory after apparently embarrassing him on school turf in the past.
Everyone waited with bated breath as the names were called
for the classes and I watched as he tried to hide his disappointment as,
one-by-one, his friends left with their new teachers.
Surprisingly, he allowed me to come over to his new class,
along with several other parents, one who I noted still hadn’t managed to
switch off the tears. As I later pointed out to my mother, they must’ve been
hardened back in the day as my first day I walked to the bus stop and caught
the bus by myself. But today’s schooling encourages parental presence and,
although I’m no ‘helicopter parent’, on occasions like these, I’m all for it.
After I’d seen him settled at his new desk, I retreated and
cried all the way to the car … and home … and for the rest of the day.
There was something comforting about having all the children
just along the road at the same school but, despite the daunting feeling of the
bus taking your baby further away from you into unfamiliar territory where
they’re exposed to new experiences and likely to come home with different
attitudes, his new school has a good feeling about it and, so far, he is
hopping back off the bus and coming home just the same kid.
It’s: “Hi mum!”, followed by a quick hug, then off to the
fridge, before joining his siblings to frolic in the pool.
Phew.
No comments:
Post a Comment