Ben has gone away for 5 days on a PGL trip with the school. We
have no contact with them apart from sending letters. They can write to us too,
but knowing Ben’s lack of enthusiasm when it comes to putting pen to paper, I
am not holding out much hope that he will. It feels a little strange to be in
the position of writing to one’s child. I don’t think I have written to him
before, unless you count the instructional notes I sometimes pin to the door or
TV, which say, no screens until x,y,z has been completed.
The other thing that is odd is, knowing he won’t get the letter
for a couple of days, we are so used to everything being so instant with email
and text. In fact, when Mark and I were away recently we saw and spoke to the
kids over skype. It felt like being with them, I could see that they’d brushed
their hair, and could tell what they’d been eating by the stains down their
clothes, and there was no need to miss them.
As I write to Ben, I censor myself so I don’t come across as too
emotional and embarrassing. I probably end up sounding not quite caring enough.
I don’t write, ‘I miss you’, although I do, obviously, I write ‘I hope you are
not missing Minecraft too much.’ I expect not indulging his latest computer
craze any chance he gets leaves quite a hole in his life.
The first letter I wrote, I sent before he’d even left, so that it
would be there when he arrived. I think he is astute enough to spot this, so I
admitted to it in letter 2. I don’t think I won’t embarrass him, or that I will
particularly, but on the off chance a class mate should decide to poke fun at
my letter, I want to minimise the damage. All the children are in the same
position anyway, with possibly much more heartfelt letters, so this is not a
real concern. If I know boys, something as innocuous as signing ‘Mum x’ could
be enough to make them go ‘eurgghh.’
We all worry though, when they are away. I think I have cause to,
this is the child who when told at 8.30 at night to get ready for bed,
reappears in his school uniform and is half way down the stairs before he
realises that they are not his pyjamas. Another time he wore two pairs of pants all
day, it wasn’t even as if he forgot to take a pair off and just put another one
on, his mind was so elsewhere, he put on one, forgot he’d done it and put a
pair on again. (Maybe there is logic in his version of a pair of pants.)
Perhaps it is genetic, his great grandmother, once accused the
staff in her nursing home of stealing all her pants and on further
investigation she was wearing 8 pairs. She did have the excuse of senile dementia
though.
What is his excuse?
I am sure he will be fine and have a fantastic time with or
without appropriate clothing. In the meantime I’ll get back to my letter.
