Scary, very scary.
In September a significant new chapter will open for my son, and me I suppose, when he embarks off on his formal education journey.
I was delighted, and a little overwhelmed, to get his official acceptance letter into the village school. I was always assured that it was a forgone conclusion, with our proximity to the school, but was still relieved to finally get that stance ratified.
It was right at the end of March, which was actually 12 weeks ago; proof itself that time with him seems to be flying. Well I suppose it will when you are having this much fun.
The postman arrived, and I was actually already outside – not waiting for him, but doing something around the garden – but I knew straight away what the letter he had just handed me should confirm.
I perched at the entrance of my home, opening this correspondence, and then quickly reflecting on a big part of ‘the plan’ becoming reality.
Sat at the doorway to the property we had self-built, a building I had also fathered, on a beautiful sunny morning, with written confirmation of a village school place, was a nice little, yet huge, moment.
Also a huge does of a plan becoming a reality.
Or an imminently dawning one anyway.
Then came communication from the school about inductions, emergency contact forms, meetings, then last week, a uniform order form.
Today was the first of his familiarisation sessions, and I joined him at the end of it, for a school lunch.
It all seems to be happening at a break neck pace.
Max was brilliant this morning. Confidently, but not cockily, making his way into the classroom corridor, when most around him were floundering and doing their best limpet impressions.
I was warmed by this, but surprisingly unemotional, I did think of Samantha, his mother, and how I would have loved to have shared this vision with her, but even that did not override my general feeling of being proud.
That will change I am sure, when he gets all suited and booted, and trots off for his first day at school for real.
He knew I was coming for dinner with him, and he greeted me with one of his trademark smiles.
“Sit here dad.”
We got invited up to the dinner dispensing trolley thing, and were asked to choose between haddock bites and cottage pie. Both of us plumping for the latter.
There was a bit of a false start as the dinner lady kept calling him a girl, something that does happen a bit, but I did not correct her, I left the boy to do that.
Lunch was perfectly edible, I demolished mine, and Max made great work of his, his fruit and juice too.
His teacher then walked us through the cleaning up process, and took my son off to collect his hoody.
She explained that the photos they had taken today, would be over the pegs next week, so the children would know which was theirs, and thus, wear to put their outside clothes.
Max informed her which peg he would like, one near the door not surprisingly, and again I was happy to see he had not only understood, but that he had already made his mind up about it.
No messing about.
I did not ask him a lot about what he had got up to, as I do not want to bombard him with school based queries, and add to any pressure he may be feeling.
He did mumble something about what they had done, and it was clear he had enjoyed the morning.
So he trotted off for an afternoon back at nursery, and I trotted off home to write this.
And, to order his uniform.
In other news, with Father’s Day looming, I was asked to contribute to The Times’ Alpha Mummy blog, you can see the result here.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Scary, very scary.