My youngest son started university this week. 18 years ago he was a bottom shuffler idolizing his two big brothers. 14 years ago he was a shy little boy who wouldn’t play in the playground if there were other children already there. He’d prefer to go away and come back when he could have the swings and climbing frame to himself. 13 years ago he’d lie on the floor of my parents’ house on a Tuesday afternoon after school and read the sports section of the Daily Telegraph (proud mum face). 12 years ago he wanted to play the guitar, like his wonderful year 2 teacher – if only all teachers had the same understanding of children. 11 years ago he joined a local Sunday Football League team – finally leaving last year at the age of 18.
He hasn’t ‘flown the nest’ however; his university is nearby and he’s still living at home – I can hear him downstairs now as I type. He has a group of friends in the living room and they’re playing Playstation and drinking beer. Yes, he outgrew his shyness and reluctance to play with other children. Now our house if full of young people at every opportunity, birthdays, end of exams, passing exams, passing the driving theory test, passing the driving test, buying a car, end of term, start of the new term, you name it he’ll celebrate it. However I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s the last of the brood and I hope he stays at home for a while yet.
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