As parents we see every day just how resilient children are.
Their capacity to adapt to new situations outstrips ours by a considerable distance. In fact despite the gooey, soft reputation they have, kids can actually be icily pragmatic in ways most of us adults would need a stiff drink to replicate.
Despite all of this empirical data though it is our job, our duty it seems as parents to worry ourselves into a festering mass of stomach knots about how our little ones will cope when change comes their way.
Coming out the other end of a house and school move I can hold my hand up very high indeed to having burnt some serious wattage of emotional energy fretting about how our two would cope with the upheaval – upheaval we had caused.
Having managed to miss the start of term our eldest met his new classmates two weeks into term – DON’T PANIC DAD! But I did. What’s more two days in and my worst fears seemed to be coming true.
“Who did you play with at lunch time son?” I asked, trying desperately not to sound that interested in the answer.
“No one, I sat on the blue seat where you go if you are lonely and eventually someone came over to play.”
Daggers, clay mores, full length scaffold poles, the lot, all slam into the chest region as a brave face is attempted. By me of course.
He’s fine, and the next day he comes home with stories about Megan and Will, new friends made, old friends forgotten with indecent but very useful haste.
Of course what all this really means is that it’s us who are allergic to change not them. The lions share of our worries in this direction projected onto our children and away from their true home.
As we age we seem to be able to cope with disruption less and less, finally yearningfor the kind of routine that Gina Ford et al prescribe for babes in arms.
Often then, it’s our children’s time to start worrying about us.