Give me your hands, if we be friends....

Nobody really tells you that the most exhausting bit of parenthood is not the sleepless nights, smelly nappies, taxi runs and constant tidying up job....oh, no - that's just the beginning.  The real hard work is in the emotional shaping and nurturing of a child and the way you feel every minute of it with them.  This week has been much like any other, with a few Mummery moments thrown in and my heart has been tested and squeezed by those ever growing boys of mine.

My family moved from Yorkshire to Sussex when I was 9 and I left behind  a lovely, sweet friend called Zoe.  I went through a really tough time in the next few school I was in as my family gradually settled into life "Down South".  I have a large "Port wine" birthmark on my left cheek which was significanly brighter when I was a child. Added to my very peculiar accent, this made me the perfect target for bullying.  I was thoroughly miserable for the 6 months I was at my first Southern school - being called all sorts of horrible names and spending most break times on my own, frantically writing down how I felt so that I could relay it to my mum when I got home; a kind of comfort blanket tactic.  I must have looked as odd as I sounded!  Things improved a little in my next school, but then the time came for "Big school" and after a family holiday booked in the first two weeks of term (NEVER do this to your children, please!) I found myself in a school where everybody seemed to have already made their friends and found their way round this terrifying complex of buildings.  I threw myself into working as hard as I could.

 

There is a reason I'm giving you this story of my life!  I've been having lots of conversations with my eldest boys recently about friendship and confidence and compassion and all those other things that go into growing up into a world worthy person.  I found myself telling number 2 son my story the other day - partly because I wanted him to know that others (even his mum) had been there before him on this well trodden path, but also because I wanted him to know that you do get through it and you are a better, more rounded, more compassionate and loving person.....not despite of it, but because of it.  I reckon a lot of the resilience I have now is thanks to the girls who pushed me over in the hall as I was waiting for lessons.  I think the empathy I can feel for others who are hurting is due to those boys who called me foul names.  I believe I am able to see things through to the end and work hard now, partly because I was branded the "school creep" and "Teacher's pet".  It was horribly tough at the time and I know I cried myself to sleep many Sunday nights.  I felt battered and bruised emotionally and remember feeling like I was someone very strange not to see the world the way these ever so confident people did.  Because they did seem ever so confident......

It's harder still when you are coaching your own child through the rigours of institutional education, which I have a definite love/hate relationship with at the best of times.  I would go through it all again rather than them if I could.  You just can't know as a child that these things are not only temporary, but are usually the product of someone else's unhappiness and self doubt.  I know in my heart though that they will be OK, because the message they get here is "You are loved, you are special, you are amazing and unique and you are watched over, every minute of the day." 

 

One of my deepest hopes for all my 5 boys is that they receive the precious gift I did when I was at school - a faithful friend.  A few weeks into this horror, I met two friends, one of whom is still my "soul mate" friend, who I don't have to talk to for months, but will know how I am feeling after the first "hello".  Knowing that you have one person who will know your heart - know who you are inside and who you can trust utterly is the most precious gift you could ever be given.

My other deep hope is that they take these experiences and absorb them into their personalities, like food for the soul, one day becoming fine young men who are confident enough in who they are not to stick up for themselves - because that's easy with a bit of bluster and attitude - but to stick up for others.  That's where the real bravery lies.

P.S. The photos have nothing to do with the post, I just thought I'd show you some of my pretty rain covered flowers and a few things I've been making.....because that would be better to look at than pictures of me as a 9 year old....