As I write this blog, a kaleidoscope of emotions threaten to overwhelm me, the depth of which I’ve never felt before.
My heart aches with love, sadness, joy and great pride, all at the same time.
My big boy is a year six pupil and will walk out of his primary school for the very last time on Friday. He’s been on a journey of discovery with a mixture of learning, life-lessons, friendships and fun times all shaping the young man that I’ll wave goodbye to for one more time.
I’ll doubtless find a tissue in the glove box of my car, which has taken me and the little man to and from school a thousand times or more, encompassing enough miles to travel the world. The ‘metal box with wheels’ (as a friend always calls it) has always deserved a more affectionate description for me. I’ve always seen my car as a ‘carrier.’ A carrier of love. A carrier of chat. A carrier of singing and most of all, a carrier of so many precious memories of my son’s Wonder Years.
I’ve loved being able to drop him off each morning and pick him up at the end of each day. On many occasions I’ll have dropped him off, jumped on a train to London and back in time for school–run at 3.30pm. Like most working mums, this has been a treasured part of my life which I’ve never taken for granted.
I just can’t believe where the time has gone? Where did my four-year-old Acorn go?
The years have flown by and my ‘carrier’ has witnessed some of the most amazing, funny and poignant memories.
We’ve sung enough songs to make our primary school play list. The Killers’ ‘Mr Brightside’ will live with me forever, when we once rolled downed the windows and sang at the top of our voices as the traffic came to a standstill – right into the ears of a poor lollipop lady. She was not amused!
Or the time we had Lewis Hamilton in the front seat, perched on my son’s knee, only to crack the F1 champion’s head as I stopped the car a little too abruptly. (It was a Lewis Hamilton boiled egg for a project, don’t worry. The insurance might have prohibited the real one!
Then there was the time when he shed tears onto the upholstery when hearing his friends hadn’t made the high schools they wanted, the sensitive little soul.
Some of the conversations we’ve had have been memorable too, featuring Donald Trump impressions, Match Attax comparisons and mucky school uniform explanations, which still beggar belief!
I always knew this last day would come, but it doesn’t make it any easier now it’s finally here. I’ll still kiss his hand when he gets in (despite the cheese and onion fingers) and I’ll ask him what he’s been up too (even if it can take a few goes to get a coherent answer!)
We have been on such a journey together in the carrier, with dog on the backseat and the music in the front.
All week I’ve pulled up a bit further from the school to elongate our walk to the gates, holding his hand a bit tighter as we go – whether I’m cramping his style or not!
Friday will be the most difficult journey of all, but it will be one I will never forget. We’ll be rushing like usual and something will be forgotten, but I’ll gladly let it pass this once.
I’ll put the Killers on instead, turn up the volume and clear that lump in my throat.
Destiny is calling you, Mr Brightside xx