We said a silent goodbye to the little boy this week. Oh, heart in mouth, me not him.
On those lovely evenings when I can sleep cos the noise is ambient not industrial, I very often dream in vivid colour. The dreams are so very real, set in real places that I know well, and all too regularly I awake perhaps needing to pee, in real life as well as in the dream and I recall it all easily. Sometimes I try to go back to sleep so I can right any problems in the dream or just occasionally, enjoy the good times.
Very often, even though I am no longer teaching, I have dreams set in a school, quite regularly not one I taught in but where I actually went to school.
I dream that I am carrying a pile of books and I am looking for a classroom and a class and I am running all over the school. Panic rises as I can't find the room or the class and I am miles away from my staff room so I can't phone anyone or check on my paper timetable sticky taped to the wall above my desk - yes I am of that vintage.
Even though I am looking for my Drama class I know I am in the English Block or the Science Area, and I try to steer clear of the Admin Block for fear of getting into trouble.
Now I am not gonna pretend that I never made a late entry to class, but it was not the norm for me. I ran to time, had the required paper work complete and generally knew where each of the kids I was responsible for where, and mostly what they were doing. I was organised or super organised and very rarely I'll admit to having had no fucking clue what I was gonna do so just had to wing it, but all up I reckon I did a pretty good job.
So why would I be so very often having these dreams about being shit and lost and late?
Just occasionally it'd be cool to have a dream about being successful.
My darling Grandie started high school this week.
Yeh I know, it's a whole other conversation about why a government would settle on a return to school date in the week when there is a public holiday on a thursday, but let's leave that for another day.
The Darling boy is wonderfully tall and not surprisingly has quite the gobbie mouth, but he is still only11. He is still only a boy. He is still afraid of doing the wrong thing and he still wants to avoid trouble at all costs.
At the moment because there is no locker assigned, he carries his bag and his books and his lunch and his sport's clothes and sneakers and next week there will be a laptop and bag added to the mix. That's a lot! and it's a big step up from Primary school where it is all done for 'em. Big step, I reckon they need a long ladder and they need to scale it pronto - no safety rope or net.
He didn't have the right hat for sports - Mum wrote a note - Day 2 and the situation at the only uniform shop in the world where you can buy 'em is pretty dire, but he had a note. Whew! so no detention for uniform violation. He'd worn the only pair of thick white sports socks with the school letters printed on 'em in tiny font in a corner and there was no way they'd be washed and dry for use again the next day, so ordinary white socks were sorted, except again he feared detention so a note was taken.
He might be the note KING.
I am not sure if he is running around wondering where the hell he is meant to be, and very possibly there is safety in numbers and he can herd along with the others, but if he is spending so much nervous energy worrying about where he is meant to be as he is about getting into strife about stuff beyond his control, I can imagine that his dreams might be as panic driven as mine.
I sure fucking hope not.
We know not to ask too many questions and to wait for details to percolate up in his brain, but I so want to grill him about everything.
He seems to be enjoying himself.
I sooo hope so.
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