I'd diarised to blog this afternoon, but common sense should have told me otherwise. Today is Roberts last day at school, matric exams commence in 2 weeks. The culmination of a long 10 days of one formal school event after another was a 2 hour long Valediction service at Uplands this morning.
I'd been warned to expect tears and heartache, so filled my elegant little bag (ditched the shoulder and posture wrecking Nine West weekender sized beauty!) with a lipice and packets of tissues.
Fully prepared, camera at the ready, I descended on the school hall. Thirty minutes early, entailing a lengthy stand on cripplingly beautiful, skyhigh red suede wedges. Lesson 1, read the invitation properly!
Finally sat down in in a carefully selected seat with a good view, surrounded by parents excusing themselves to their neighbours, in advance, for the tears they were going to shed - even the Dad's were at it! All this before the matric students or staff had even entered the hall.
Spent the bit of time on hand BBM'ing (is that a real word?) Keith, to ascertain why I couldn't remember his Valediction service, 4 years ago. More proof of increasingly worrying bouts of amnesia? He led me on for a bit, before admitting even HE didn't attend his one - GHS reserved it's Valediction for students receiving Honours. Not a situation we often face in this household!
The Head of Academics, in his speech at Honours Evening last night, admitted that the huge number of children receiving Academic Honours and Colours was largely due to the parental genes handed down. I'm not sure how I feel about that, looking at the paucity of awards for academia earned by my sons and myself. Luckily, I'm an old, wise dog, and have learned that school honours celebrate achievements earned at school, and bear very little relevance as to how the many remaining years are played out.
As parents, we proudly look at the school reports and marks, sports medals won, Eistedfodd certificates achieved, and measure our children by them.
But hang on, we were doing the same, 12 or 14 years ago, when those same kids started playschool.
Copies of those school reports were eagerly shown to all and sundry, who were delighted that Robert had learned to cut out, Keith could manage the pegboard, they both ate all their food, with a knife and fork, and were independent toilet users!!
I can't remember when I last looked through that file, or even the Primary school report files. Somehow, the latest achievements and results are the only ones we are interested in. So why will the high school reports and matric marks matter in 5 years or so? Once they've achieved the necessary to get into the tertiary facility of their choice, and begun passing those exams, these critically important, dreaded, cause of tears, anger, despair results achieved in matric will also be consigned to the past.
What will matter, is the inner strength, determination and moral fibre they have. Those values remain with them for life. And those values were instilled from the earliest years, by their family and teachers. There are no exams set to measure these qualities, instead, they are tested by life and living, daily, for the rest of their days.
So I'm delighted to report that my sons can eat in public, manage the toilet alone, drink from a proper cup, pass reasonably the required 7 subjects and while it is a little premature, I'm confident that Robert will soon join his older brother as a school leaver. OK, that sentence doesn't have the same "oooh" and awe factor that "my son got a full house of A's" or was awarded the "Sportsman of theYear" trophy do - but at one stage, telling my friends proudly that Keith could tie his own shoelaces at school, produced the same "ooooohs"!
And like Keith, who is discovering and growing into his own wonderful potential; Robert too will continue to grow and to excel, in ways that are yet to appear on the horizon. The final figures on his certificate, the number of awards on the wall will disappear into his rear view mirror, and be replaced by new and exciting achievements.
It's been a very long and emotional year; today twisted the razor blade embedded rock that's torn my insides apart one time too many. Enough - we need to get on with the exams, say our farewells, let him loose on his future, and continue with ours.
I'm the worse at goodbyes - sentimental and emotional -I hang on with a white knuckled death grip, to the bitter end. A few years ago, someone taught me the trick to saying adieu: a tight hug, fond kiss, turn and walk away, with nary a backward glance. Instead, look forward to meeting again, and saying hello. I've spent so much of 2012 dreading today, that it feels as though the entire year has been spent in mourning something which hasn't happened yet!
Onward and upward - survive the next month, and embrace a new chapter.
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