I am astonished that we are moving to Cambridge in two weeks (during the Crush, too) and even more astonished that I myself arranged it, due to the every bit as astonishing circumstance that I have two children still in high school.
Of course it’s fairly common in this world for people who are not suited to things to find themselves doing them.
When I was a child, I naively thought I was only responsible for my own education. I knocked off 12 years in 10, I was so motivated; I was in university at the age of 16. Well, the joke was on me; I was clever, but I hadn’t twigged to some really obvious things, like how life really works.
This morning, having filled out an inch-high stack of repetitive, dated forms, in which I was asked to hand-write the same information over and over (I am amazed that these forms have not improved in my lifetime) I must now get on the bus and go to School.
Whatever they tell me to do, I must do. If they need a document, I must procure it. Clutching my papers, I am off to try to do the best for my boys, to try to stand in for Bill, who will soon enough be here to take over.
Bill has no qualms about School, like the noble people I must now go submit my paperwork to, he’s given his life to education. Me, I feel like a wolf, submissive, uncomfortable, hoping for the best.