Dear future parent in the playground

I understand what you’re thinking, and I understand why you’re thinking it. I would have thought the same too – before I had my boy.

You see the Teaching Assistant handing him over to me at three-thirty, with her hand on his back. You cannot believe that I get such a personal service! She gives a complete rundown of his day. Every little detail. You think to yourself how much more your own able child would benefit from such one-on-one care by their side. You feel angry that your own clever, capable son is not given a fraction of what my son gets.

How much, you wonder, does my child’s presence in the classroom take away from your own child? How distracting is it? Is my boy hampering your boy’s progress? Is he taking an unfair amount of the teacher’s time? Your child who finds everything so easy, is on Stage 8 reading, and only has to look at something to learn it. Imagine what he could do if he had all this!

You hear the TA tell me that my son has had a “brilliant day.”
“He is starting to form the letters in his name,” the TA adds, and you can’t help but look over and see the spidery, illegible scrawl that she hands over. You’re very surprised: my son can’t even write his name.
I beam at the TA, and you soften. Your children have loped towards you, smiling, chatting, carrying art projects and maths homework, and you respect the brave face you believe I’m putting on.

As parents chat and children start opening snacks and taking themselves to the gate, you watch me follow my son around the playground, to make sure he is safe. Or that he doesn’t leave the playground on his own. Or take another child’s scooter without asking. Or go missing. You realise why I’m distant from the other families – I don’t have chance to connect with anyone as my focus has solely to be on my boy. I don’t take my eyes from him.

We pass each other on the way out, and you smile at me and say, “I really admire you. You must be exhausted.”

I stop, struck.
I get it. I really do get it – I get all of it. It’s exactly what I would have thought – before.

There is so much I want to tell you
So many of the things that came naturally to your lovely boy, my lovely boy had to fight to achieve, with grit and sweat. I can barely contain my pride as I watch him battle and win. And if your son falls, or feels sad, my son will be the first to comfort him. If your son is hungry, my son will give him his packet of crisps (and he LOVES crisps). If your son is cold, my son will give him his coat. Your son will get A*s, and my son won’t. But my son will teach your son about drive and determination, and how to work with all his heart in order to achieve. He will show him how to live in the moment, soak up his surroundings, how to be here and now and not dwell on yesterday or fret about tomorrow. He will congratulate your son on his tiniest achievements, celebrate his successes and be loyal to him no matter what. My son will give your son a purity of friendship and depth of compassion beyond his eleven years, and your son will count himself so very lucky to be the recipient of such love and strength.
I want to say to you: there is no reason to admire me. I’m just a mum, like you, planning dinners, drowning in admin, loving my child.
Instead, I return your smile. “Yes, I am exhausted!” I say. “I bet you are too…”

Yours,
Carly White
Marketing Executive and mum to Seb, Fred and Ging