Hunger games?

Listen, Boy is at the age now where we have to start thinking about senior schools. I know it’s mental. He was a baby just yesterday wasn’t he? I guess not. Anyway, it’s making me miserable. And I know what you’re thinking. Why is it making me miserable? I’m not the one who has to get into school. He does. Yes I know. And I thank my lucky stars that when I was his age, I didn’t have a clue. I went to the school that was closest to my house and nobody had to think about anything. I was free to be a child. I was a stupid, lazy but very content child. And I am sad that my son is not afforded this chance to be a child. That this system that we live in is such that children compete for school places. It’s like the Hunger Games for schools. It boils my blood that my kid and by extension me, have to stress about exams and results and extra curriculars and is he well rounded enough and showing enough potential, will he do well in interviews. It’s absurd. He can’t just be a kid. He can’t just enjoy his childhood. I try to shield him from the stress of it all and keep the stress inside me. But I don’t have a great poker face. When I get stressed, everyone knows it. I show it off like a new pair of shoes. I have never in my life checked this kid’s homework because I don’t believe that I should have to. I know when I was a kid, my parents never knew anything about what I was doing at school. They didn’t know what homework I had and when it was due. They just let me get on with it. And if I didn’t, I got into trouble with my teachers. And if I got into trouble enough with my teachers, then I got into trouble with my parents. And believe me, I did not enjoy getting into trouble with anyone, so I did my homework. And I did a good job at it too. I was a good student. Not because anybody was making me, but because I wanted to do well. And if you know about a meritocratic society and getting an education with a capital E, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. So I worked hard man. I worked like a dog to be the best. And I think our parents had it right. They had minimal involvement in my education. So why do I know when Boy has homework and when it’s due? Why am I checking his homework? Why do I feel like it’s a personal insult to me if he spells a word wrong, or doesn’t have perfect grammar? I should really let him get on with it and deal with whatever consequences there are. Because, it’s the hunger games that’s why. Children are competing for places at school. And if they don’t do well and are impressive enough then they don’t get into the school that we want them to get into. And then does our world come crashing in? I don’t know. I don’t even want to think about it. But I’m genuinely miserable. I’m genuinely worried about my kid. I check his homework. I’ve become one of those parents. I make him practice piano everyday. Even though he doesn’t want to. I make him practice trumpet. Why does he need to play two instruments? I’ve lost the plot. I ask him questions about senior choir. Did he make it in? Is he in band? Does he want to play football? Does he want to play cricket. How about tennis? Do you want to do drama? Do you want to sing? DO YOU KNOW THE QUADRATIC EQUATION? What you don’t know the quadratic equation? Why not? Because you are only 9? Oh my god, do I have to teach you the quadratic equation? How am I going to make you more interesting? Smarter? More palatable to schools? Chump tells me to relax. I know I need to. So when I need to relax, I turn on Doja Cat and jam out to Streets. I jam out to Sofi Tukker and Gorgon City. And Boy, being the legend that he is, jams out with me. And then I realize I don’t need to do anything to him or for him, because he is just uniquely Boy. He is just perfectly Boy. And then I breathe easier, knowing that whatever happens, somehow, God willing, he’ll be ok. Because he is just perfectly himself.