TThat beautiful birthday party at my son’s school was, like everything else, unexpected. This is no one’s fault but mine. I have a tendency to be, in fact to be, the approach of being – the last person to know about whatever is going on in his school. It’s all my fault. There are leaflets and e-mails and reminders, it’s just that it never clicks and leaves me filling out paper forms at 6am on the morning of ‘Adopt a Panther Day,’ or cooking together a costume on a Sunday night before the rush. Dress like one of those Chilean miners who got caught in the 2010 Week to start another year in earnest.
It is tempting to say that I am blinded by this birthday, but unfortunately such a request does not stand in the way of conjecture. For one thing, I have been reminded several times by people in our school WhatsApp group, and my son has also mentioned it more than once. Neither of these, however, can strike me as opportune, because I had this opportunity around the corner; I agreed to put a sign outside my house advertising said event from the beginning of November. I walked past this board every time, every day, I entered or left my house, without once internalizing what happened. Today. In the middle of my life Directly across the street from my house.
It is agreed because it is good and right to support your school and because I always consider myself – my future person – what kind of person is better to remember such duties than I am. The kind of perfect, organized parent who is very involved in the things around them. The reason why the Christmas market is remembered is ‘I do something’.
Thank you for reminding me just in time to raid our kitchen for coppers, since many of the attractive events are easily just cash. The piggy bank space in our kitchen is duly emptied and my son is delighted, again especially the beneficiary of the generosity that kicks in only when I am forced to transfer the guilt and shame into cold, hard cash.
In the end, it’s a beautiful and delightful occasion, with huge tables of donated books and toys available for buffet prices and all kinds of pastries, whiskey, cookies and sweets. My son gets some pizza, an illustrated book about UFOs and wins a lucky dip chain. Jars are counted filled with lollies and various confections. You will get the opportunity to draw from a pool full of raffle tickets, which my son’s family member Luca calls a children’s lottery.
This also happens, gambling adults, while I find myself more occupied with something – something – that is being investigated by me, finally milking the bar in the fourth purchase of three £1 tickets.
It wasn’t until I put it into words that I realized the economics of that choice, but then I’m more of a parent and a student supporter of the school. So £4 is a small price to pay for a chocolate bar. You might say that’s the only thing I do.