Full Circle

When I was about seven my Dad gave me a copy of Ray Bradbury's "Dandelion Wine" to read, and I just devoured it. Before that I'd read nothing but the Famous Five and thought the world pretty much revolved around Dick and Fanny. But reading "Dandelion Wine" was like having someone draw back the curtain on the world. I still love that book now.

Since then I've loved to read. I don't always read a lot, I don't always read quickly, but I always read. That was what made me want to go into teaching when I was younger and in 1992 I went to university to train to be a teacher.

I will admit I went into this with eyes blinded by visions of taking the kids on "learning journeys", and watching their faces light up as they learned to read. What actually happened was they ignored me, or told me to me to stick my f***ing book up my f***ing arse. On one occasion, I was stabbed in the leg with a pair of plastic scissors. I still have the scar.

The culmination of my two years teacher training was when the parent of one of the kids in my class came in to complain that I'd told his son to ask him for help with his homework. His argument, made at high volume with liberal dose of swearing, was that I was getting paid to teach his son, not him. Dealing with the human equivalent of an unflushed toilet is not my strong suit, and I left teaching not long after this and took a job standing in a field for the next eight years (not an exaggeration).

The experience also put me off having children, being near children and pretty much everything to do with children other than avoiding them. It took some time to come round to the idea of having kids. Even when I had the Kids I wasn't always convinced. Once we went out for a meal at a well known Italian-American restaurant and the Kids both decided they needed the toilet. Since I had lost the battle to sit furthest away from the toilet, I got to take them. We went to the disabled loo because dealing with two frantic children full of wee in a cramped space isn't particularly relaxing. Everything went fairly swimmingly right up until I made the mistake of using the loo myself and - at the moment I was at my most vulnerable - the Boy threw the door wide open and wandered back out into the restaurant leaving me on display like a Tracey Emin installation.

But when the Girl tells me

"Grandma got eaten by a bat!"

Or the Boy draws me a picture of an alien that looks suspiciously like a penis, well I can't help but love them. In fact I can't understand those parents that don't want to spend their time with their kids.

And now I get to see the Boy learning to read - and I don't think there has been any greater joy in my life. As we were reading a book tonight I introduced him to a new word.

"Weary. It means tired."

*Gasp* "Cool! That's a 'wow word'! Can you write it down and I'll take it into school? I'll get the pen and paper!"

As he ran out of the room he said

"Query."

"Actually, it was 'weary.' A 'query' means something else. A query is like a question."

*VERY excited* "That's another wow word!"

At this point I clapped my hands on my cheeks in mock surprise and (unwisely) said

"I know! Joy-gasm!"

You can probably guess the next bit. Needless to say I'm going to have some explaining to do next parent's evening.