Posts Tagged ‘Head Boy’

Chubby

    Robin

Spoken in American accent, with strong intonation

I’m chubby, my mummy’s chubby, my daddy’s chubby, even my goldfish is chubby. One day my daddy was driving to the shops and I said, “faster, daddy, faster” And he went faster and it ends there.

This is a performance piece, spoken at school by one of Robin’s classmates and repeated at home time and again, sometimes word-for-word, sometimes with adaptations and very often to gales of appreciative laughter.

    Gabe

Gabe finished junior school with a series of events: assemblies and a retirement party for the head teacher. The final day’s assembly lasted hours as each leaver was introduced and bade farewell. Gabe passed on the role of Head Boy, receiving a pile of Michael Morpurgo books for his year’s work. Many cried at the assembly, but not, he tells me, Gabe. He has brought with him the song ‘Goodbye my friends’, which is sung in any spare moment at home.

    Eliza

One of the delights of Eliza’s burgeoning personality is her teasing of me. Often it’s about my big nose or big ears. It can be about things – e.g. Ice cream – that she claims to love more than me. On holiday in Northumberland, she whipped Robin and cousin F into a 20 minute long chant of “Daddy’s naughty, Daddy’s naughty, Daddy’s naughty…”. It was caused by a beach football injury to Robin and lasted the length of our walk back across the beach.

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Head Boy

Gabe

At the leavers’ assembly on the last day of term, the ‘jobs’ were handed out to the year 5 pupils. Gabe had expressed a hope to be football captain, though what he really wanted I can’t be sure. It does seem as though he wasn’t expecting the top job, as the music teacher had to prod him from his place amongst the recorder players to go to the stage for the handover from this year’s Head Boy. Duties are a little vague, but do include a lot of public speaking at school events and assemblies.

Eliza

Immediately school broke up for the summer, L and the kids headed to London, joining me, to visit friends. There Eliza met up with S, our friends’ seven year old daughter. There ensued extreme, competitive, co-operative, demonstration monkey bars in Hampstead Heath playground. S matched Eliza swing for swing and the two girls revelled in their common ability to traverse the playground, hanging by their hands.

Robin

It’s the holidays and Gabe sleeps in and Eliza reads to herself in the mornings. Robin heads to me when he wakes up. He cuddles for a few minutes, but is too awake to settle. Sometimes he tries to start a conversation. One morning this week he asked, “Daddy, why don’t you put your shoes away? It makes Mummy very cross.” Another morning, my day began with the challenge of understanding what lay behind the question, “Daddy, how did ants live in the First World War?’