First day at school

'I went home and had a stiff brandy. For morning tea.'
'I just cried into a series of strong coffees.'

The first day of school. Small children in crisp new uniforms too long for them played unconcernedly on the monkey bars and slides. Nearby, a huddle of apprehensive mothers and a few quiet fathers gathered, watching their offspring worriedly as they talked.
'When my first one went off,' said a vibrant mother of five. 'I opened champagne!' Her twin sons, the last of her brood were swinging on the monkey bars, the shorts of the new school uniform so long they came over their knees.
'And now?' I asked, nodding towards them. 'They're all at school now. What will you do when you get home?'
The mother of many smiled too brightly, then her face became quiet. 'I'm not sure,' she said. 'Maybe it is a case for the brandy after all.....'
'I think it's worse when your last child starts.' Sue was a veteran of three first days. 'At least when you see the first one off, you have the others to come home to.'
'But the first one gone marks the end of an era,' said Mandy. 'From now on it will be 'My teacher says.....' and then, 'My best friend has.....' You're no longer the most important person in their lives any more.'
I recognised in me the same sadness, carefully hidden from my daughter, which had been growing steadily as the start of school approached. This new beginning for her was also an ending for me.
'They'll be teenagers before we know it,' Mandy said sadly. A shiver went through the group and several of the fathers turned pale.

'I wish Maddie wasn't so small.' June was eyeing her daughter and making comparisons.
'She'll be fine,' soothed a friend. 'She'd be bored if you kept her back. She's reading al-ready.'
'Are they supposed to be able to read?' Panic was in Jane's voice.
'Of course not!' Pamela snorted.
'Are you sure?' Jane was still uneasy.
'I believe it's more important that they cope socially,' murmured John.
'Sure. That they can make friends and aren't aggressive or anything.'
Feet shifted uneasily. Would casual habits like hitting a friend over the head with a plas-tic shovel mean their child would be a school outcast?
'They say,' said Pamela, an avid reader of child-rearing manuals, 'that by the time kids get to age five, their abilities and character have already been moulded.'
'So?' demanded Sue.
'So, what we've got now, we've got forever.'
'I don't believe it!' several voices wailed at once. Surely it was impossible for children to be formed and shaped and judged so early. And would their parents too be judged and found wanting?

It was our turn now. 'Christie!' I called, holding out my hand. Was my voice just the right shade of cheerful anticipation? 'Time to meet your teacher.' Busy blue-checked children seemed to fill the classroom, laughing and excited. Then a teacher was smiling, sharing welcoming words and leading our cherished daughter to a desk filled with bright textas and paper and busy children. A quick kiss and hug and suddenly, unbelievably, I was no longer needed.
The sunlight struck brightly into my eyes as I left.
'See you this afternoon,' I called to the group of parents, still huddling. Collection time seemed so long away.

The house was quiet, tidy and strangely empty. Time to relax and enjoy the peace, I told myself. But I was restless as I sipped the double-strength coffee and my shoulders drooped no matter how much I told myself this was freedom. And through a growing mist in the eyes I thought of my small daughter setting out into the world so bravely, and I eyed the brandy cabinet warily.