I’m not breaking any rules of confidentiality by saying that the high schools in Lowestoft aren’t some of the most successful in the county. As a result, we have a busful of pupils coming over to our school every day, whose parents have opted out of their local school. These students are very motivated to do well and the ones I’ve met are delightful.
And a group of girls today, in conversation, discovered that I and Weeza share names with two of them. “Where does your daughter go to school?” another girl asked, which was so charming. I explained that my daughter is old enough to be her mother. “My mother’s 32, she said” (she’s 13). “Ah” I said, feeling very old. “My mother’s 52” said another girl of 13. Then someone asked my age. I hesitated for a minute. It’s not a usual thing to ask – but they weren’t being rude, they were being friendly, I’m not a teacher (that would have been inappropriate) and so I told them, 57. They were so sweet, they assured me they would have thought anything down to 40. “I didn’t think you were that old” said Ellie, knowing it was a two-edged remark, and laughingly friendly.
There’s no doubt about it. Different generations should mix together. It does us all good.