Thursday, 14 July 2011


Today, my middle daughter “graduated” from Primary School. This was her Leaver’s Assembly finale song. As they played it, they showed pictures of the class; as babies, as they are now and as they want to be as adults, dressed up as footballers and vets and rockstars. The children sang, and then it seemed as one, they burst into tears. They have spent seven years together, and now they will be going their own ways, leaving behind friendships and forging new ones in new schools. Random parents jumped up, handing tissues to whichever child was nearest, as the entire hall choked up. Our babies are growing up, and leaving us behind.

Afterwards, we were walking up a street and Thing Two saw some bollards. She has, since toddlerhood, found any wall or raised structure irresistible and naturally she leaped up to stand on the bollard. She wobbled and her hand came out, backwards, reaching. I put my hand up and caught hers until she got her balance, and then she let go and stood confident and proud perched on the pedestal.

As a metaphor, this would stand alone perfectly. However, all my heart could sing, while she stood there, was “For a second there, she still needed me.”