Endings

We just received our invitation to attend the youngest child's graduation ceremony. She is at the end of grade 6, which in Toronto, as in much of North America, marks the end of primary school. It is of course just what we expected, and at the same time, a complete shock. When we arrived in Canada, nearly five years ago, our daughter was seven years old, entering grade 2, and I approached her new school with interest, trepidation, and resignation. I knew I would be trudging to it and back for many years, many months, many weeks,  and many, many days of rushing to beat the morning bell (8:56), and charging hastily up Huron Street in time for afternoon dismissal (3:30), as well as attending music recitals and teacher meetings and drama performances and sporting events and field trips. And now here we are, with only two more weeks to go. That parenting thing again, where the days can stretch long but the years are so damn short.

I thought I'd scroll down to see what I'd posted on this blog, that first day of school:

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First impressions

...So important, aren't they? Thus imagine my chagrin when I realised I'd accidentally told the principal of the younger children's new school that I was my husband's paramour. I didn't mean to say it, and I certainly didn't mean to say it to him, but out it slipped, on the phone. He rang up and asked for my husband, who wasn't home at the time. I offered to take a message. 'So, you're his... his... his...' he said, leading me on. 'Yes, I'm the mistress,' I said flippantly. What was I thinking? What is wrong with me? When will I grow up? Then he introduced himself as the principal, graciously accepted my apologies, and when we met today, seemed to hold no grudges. However, I would like to get a look at his marginalia. I mean the notes he keeps on his pupils' families.

(3 September 2010)

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We had many more exchanges after that, most of them perfectly normal, and now Mr. S has become principal at a different school in the neighbourhood. I don't know what he thought of our initial conversation that September day, but frankly, I don't give a damn. I guess I still have not yet grown up.

Huron Hawks do Lunchtime Drama