That’s it, school’s out, and not just for summer, but like the song says, forever. No more pencils, no more books, no more uniform or name tags, or term dates or parents’ evenings, or sick notes or permission slips, or volunteering on day trips, or forms about allergies and vaccinations. No more prizes or detentions, school plays or sports days; no more carol concerts, or lunches, or summer fetes or sponsored walks, or bake sales or coffee mornings. No more homework or testing or revision, or anything at all – because the youngest has sat his final A-level and all that’s left is to wait for the results in August. Then it ends, nearly 20 years of being a school parent, all finished and done.
At a leavers’ do the other night, one of the teachers asked me, “So how are you feeling? Sad that it’s all over?” and I brushed it off with a laugh, “No, no it feels right,” I said. “He’s ready to leave, we’re all ready to move on,” and I meant it. Yet still as I write this I am blinking back tears.
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