Making amends – and the last days of childhood

So that’s it. School’s out – for Jonah, forever – his primary education at least. And with it, we wave goodbye to his childhood in dribs and drabs. A calm, thoughtful, lean and handsome child has replaced the chubby-cheeked terror who first walked in those gates – a boy who’s transformation from throwing tantrums after two and a half hours of enforced nursery socialisation to being responsible enough to take his sister home on the bus, ready for his next steps into independence.

He is ready for it. I’m not sure I am, though, weeping uncontrollably as I sent him off for his last ever day; proud as he passed through his last ever assembly, Jonah only rolling his eyes at me slightly as I sniffed into a crumpled napkin while his teacher read a moving poem.

And, as he walks away, certificate of success in hand, he leaves with a perfect maths SATs score- and- dare to dream, friends who he’s sad to be leaving behind.

After terms of trauma, finding it hard to find his niche- and episodes of unkindness that leached out onto my own social circles, isolating us both in the playground, he has emerged popular – his leaver’s disco, in which he wore a suit and tie chosen by himself (our happiest shopping expedition to date) produced a montage of joyous photos with an eclectic mix of mates, some of whom I’ve never even met.

In fact, much like in school discos of yore, it’s only by the closing dance that we are suddenly compelled to override our shyness and come together. So it was with a certain bittersweetness that I ended up on the list- a group of parents whose children have seen each other day in, day out, for years. Some of them have maintained equally close friendships – a fact I’ve been aware of over the years through Facebook stati and playground fraternities I’ve had little success in infiltrating.

It’s made me sad, over the years, but what can you do? I buried myself in jobs I don’t enjoy, and sometimes don’t seem all that good at, and pretended not to care, though all too often, in the playground it felt like I’d gone back to school, and was no better at it than I’d ever been. Perhaps it was out of sight, out of mind, but sometimes, more often than not, I felt pointedly excluded for something I’d, perhaps once said with no particular agenda. In the end, I stopped saying anything to anyone lest I inadvertently offend. It’s so hard having no radar on which to gauge other’s reactions other than a horror of upsetting them, (or rather, one that’s so sensitive it feels horror everywhere, no matter what anyone else is thinking.)

Anyhow, somehow, I made the list- a WhatsApp thread planning a camping trip that had been opened up to everyone in year six and their families, and so we went, Tom being everyone’s friend and no one’s, providing a hale and hearty shield from the glare of social scrutiny. Besides everyone else was too busy pitching tents and cooking dinner on hot coals and wood smoke to pay me much heed. Which was a relief.

We arrived tetchy, having sat for an hour on the mile stretch down to the Blackwall Tunnel, before hitting the M20 to Kent, my kidneys and legs aching from too long crunched in the middle backseat between Ava who promptly fell asleep and a girl from Jonah’s class who arrived hungry and tired, while Jonah avoided interaction and the deep embarrassment of having his mum talk to a girl his age, in the front.

But the site itself, Bedgebury in Goudhurst, Kent, was pretty, and familiar faces were already there, and were friendly enough as we set up. It was a weekend where the kids ran wild, Jonah, in particular, getting involved in everything from football, swingball, campfire building, the interminable whittling (it’s s miracle no one lost a finger) and staying up late playing a version of Murder in the dark (now called Mafia, natch) while the grown ups drank too much and danced.

I was still too inhibited to get right involved- (and Ava spent a lot of time on her own in the tent reading Harry Potter- finally a book she’s got right into!). Yet I re-bonded over fags (and a sneaky spliff) with a couple of mums, but some were still standoffish- telling me I’d sat in someone’s chair (there were plenty), rather than making me feel welcome. But in all, I’m glad we went, even if to say goodbye to many of them, who’ve been the closest thing I’ve had to a community for the past seven years.

We caught up again on the last day of term, a picnic had been planned, which basically meant the mums got pissed on fizz while the kids rampaged round the park eating sweets. But it was nice to be included. After all, isn’t that what everyone wants?

So now begins the epic patchwork of the summer holidays, with relatives shirking much responsibility, we’ve roped in a teen to come for part of the day, and are hoping for the best. But next week sees a hiatus- we’re heading to Camo Bestival (Tom does love to camp) and then on to our Devon cottage to try and repair the damage from our Air BnB guest from hell.

I guess, in life, you can’t win them all, but as I’ve been trying to teach my children over the highs and sometimes crushing lows of the last 11 years, you can at least try, even if you don’t always succeed.