If having a baby wasn’t enough to make me realise my first born, Oliver (nearly 3) was no longer a baby, then moving to pre-school imminently has truly cemented it. I looked around the pre-school last week as come January there’ll be no more nursery and he’ll begin a more formal education as he progresses up a year.
The school is truly heavenly and I feel very lucky he’ll be starting there, acres of open space overlooking the countryside, rabbits run around the playground, indoor and outdoor classrooms (really), a library, areas for more focused literary and numeracy study, free play areas (I saw excited children dressing up in various costumes while others beside them tapped away at computers)…
…I was in total awe and somewhat emotional and found myself fighting to hold back tears. A real mixture of emotion consumed me…that of pride and excitement that my son was soon to start at such an incredible school but also deep sadness of how quick this new rights of passage had come upon us…
Observing the teachers and witnessing their passion and dedication to the students as they spoke of how Oliver would be taught and nurtured made me miss my teaching days… I still lecture at universities as a visiting lecturer in screenwriting and director but there was a time in between filmmaking projects where I taught English GSCE for nearly a year.
The sheer sense of achievement in teaching kids and watching them grow (whiles maturing myself) was one of the most rewarding times of my life. Although I currently have TV screenwriting commitments, I want to pursue more teaching and lecturing opportunities in the new year too. There is an Acting on Screen course on the cards which I hope to teach in the summer and I love the way lecturing tests my own knowledge and techniques as a filmmaker.
…Once in the car park of the pre-school, I finally let the tears flow, the apron strings might not be cut but they feel like they’re loosening and it makes me sad.
I quickly phoned my Dad up, Papa G, who made everything better instantly. “Vicki, you’re Greek, those apron strings will never be cut. Those boys will live with you until they’re 30”. *Wipes brow. I’m sure they won’t, but it did make me chuckle! Thank you, Papa G!