Early Years

Schools don’t smell the same as they used to, I thought to myself as I sat outside my son’s primary school class. I was waiting to see his teacher, Mrs Honeycomb. This was my first parents evening. As I sat just outside room four, my gaze wandered to the wall opposite. The large clock at the end of the corridor told me that Mrs Honeycomb was running at least ten minutes behind her …

…would be our moms, waving and calling to attract our attention. “Had a good day?” they would ask. “Tell me what you did then,” they would add after the usual one word response. As if with a common signal, we would all move away in groups heading home, walking with our latest “best friend”, clutching our paper bags of sweets and chattering about what we were going to play when we got home. Word Count: 1011