Reflections Upon the Horrors of Homework.

I was just flicking through an old notebook and came across the draft of a poem I wrote when my daughter was in Year 11.  Homework and assignments have always been a source of conflict in our house, especially in the primary school years.  For some reason my children viewed my input on any school work with deep distrust.  Later in High School they esteemed me more highly, but boarding school limited the input I could have (something for which I have always been grateful and which almost made the fees seem worthwhile).  I have never been a parent who slaved over the books doing the kids homework for them but I think it is important to be involved in a supportive, guiding hand sort of way.  Email and the internet make it comparatively easy to help out with editing and suggesting ideas.  Sadly, email and the internet will never change the tendency for your child to let you know they have an essay or assignment due the very next day.

I do know of parents who take more than a passing interest in their child's school work to the point of doing it for them but realistically this is a waste of time for all.  When in primary school myself, I , true to form, told my mum I had to write a poem for school, due the next day.  My mother retired to her room and emerged triumphant about 2 hours later with quite an epic poem. Well written and emotive, it rhymed beautifully and was quite a powerful rail against the soul destroying relentlessness of doing the dishes.  It was entitled "Dishes".  I knew then that my mother loved me.  I also knew deep in my waters that Mr Padfield would twig that I had not written this marvellous contribution to the body of English Literature. I sincerely thanked her for her efforts and knocked up a 4 line limerick-stlye ditty about something far less profound which satisfied Mr Padfield.  Sadly Mum's writings have since been lost.

Not so mine. My daughter had to write a poem about an issue.  We had a few cursory discussions via phone and email and she rejected all of my suggestions!  Not to be dissuaded I devoted a whole afternoon to composing not one but two poems concerning the issue of plastic surgery, beauty enhancement and augmentation.  I even practised my oral presentation and quite fancied myself delivering these lines in the style of Raymond J. Barthomew on Hey Hey It's Saturday.  

If you are not familiar with this great man's work then look here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AlmH5lCh8vs

Luckily there are no more school assignment for me.  In closing I leave here, for posterity my poetical offerings.

It's about writing what you know people.

The Turn Of the (Half) Century!

My good friend turns 50 tomorrow!  She is one chronological week younger than me but in attitude she is far more youthful. 

The image above has been popular on the internet recently and I love it.  My friend is definitely in the front row but I am pretty sure I am in the third.  Given a few champagnes, maybe the second.  Still I am so grateful for her friendship because it is probably through her influence that I even got on the rollercoaster at all.  Left to my own devices I would still be standing in front of the clowns dropping ping pong balls down their throats.

My friend is funny, generous, compassionate, talented, articulate, artistic and enthusiastic. She is blessed with a gritty determination and enduring decency.  She has a surprising sense of indecency as well which keeps us on our toes.  I shall keep my recollection vague but one of my most vivid memories is from the Bad Taste party she hosted in 2000 where the more alert revellers caught a glimpse of a fast moving creature dashing through the shrubbery.

In preparation for the big day yoga and fitness have been prioritised.  There are plans afoot for adventure and travel.  She is garnering all her resources to ensure that she does not just dwindle into pudgy, grumpy, frumpy obscurity.  The words Emily Dickinson wrote to her friend Louise Norcross in 1872 seem appropriate on this auspicious occasion:

"...How short it takes to go, dear, but afterward to come so many weary years - and yet 'tis done as cool as a general trifle.  Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.  We turn not older with the years but newer every day."

So Happy Birthday for tomorrow!  It's good to be with you on this stage of the journey.