It was DD’s summer concert today. I have to say, I dragged myself to it with about as much enthusiasm as I would, say, drive to the dentist: six classes worth of scratchy violin solos songs and poetry? Four or five songs per class? And a three-song finale by the choir?
There was a rumour it lasted two hours.
But, I’m pleased to say my doubts were proved wrong. The concert was excellent. The children did incredibly well, the music was catchy, and we were in and out within an hour.
The best bit, for me, though, was opportunity to play a game of classmate shopping. Next year, the children of DD’s year will mixed into new classes and, for the first time, I had a chance to critically evaluate her potential new friends – and their parents.
‘I’m just trying to imagine who might be in DD’s class next year,’ I whispered to my friend A as we applauded yet another piano solo. A little girl stood up and confidently announced what she’d be playing next.
‘Let me guess,’ said A. ‘You’d pick her.’
I looked around for the parents – you could tell who they were for, while ‘Angel’ was playing, they were the only ones with a rapt smile on their face and two iPads in the air.
And one thing I’ve learned in my five years at that school is this: if the kids in the class are important, it’s the parents who are even more important.
It’s them with whom you’ll have to do ‘class coffees’ for the next two years; it’s they whom you’re going to see at the classroom door every day; they with whom you’re going to have to go for end-of-term drinks; and, of course, they whose children you’re going to have to invite into your home for birthday parties and play dates.
In terms of class changes, the kids are supremely adaptable. It’s we mums who worry.
‘Yes,’ I said to A. ‘That girl (and her parents) look perfect.’
Now how to make it happen? If only the teachers accepted bribes…