When life gives you lemons you obviously have been trained to make lemonade. Sometimes easier said than done. I mean their is really a lot of effort involved In making lemonade. What is wrong with lemons in the first place? Sometimes when life gives you lemons you just need to accept that.
Mummy always had a great way of dishing out the sage advice. She hopefully will be remembered as one of the great 21st century philosophers. In the same vane as Aristotle and Voltaire, Mummy will be known for her sage advice given to all across the land…. well Ballymena anyway. I mean lets me honest, a middle class Irish Mammy knows more than what is going on than the whole of Teresa Mays cabinet. She was a also a better dresser too!(just saying)
Let me take you back to the early years of the old boys school. Years before the introduction of the ‘ladies’, I was just a snip of a lad. I was apprehensive about attending secondary school as many I’m sure will relate. I had left the safety of my primary years and was embarking on the unknown. When you consider it, this is quite a lot for a young 11 year old kid to comprehend. Leaving a world you know for 7 years, going from the big kid to the small kid again is quite daunting. What was more worrying was the fact that none of my primary school friends were going to the same one as me, yeah It was just me.
I remember my first day like it was yesterday. We were sorted in our houses. I was Raphael whose house colours were red (not quite as sexy as Gryffindor I will admit but apparently it was the done thing for Grammar Schools to seem pretentious). My house dictated the majority of the classes I would be sorted into and also whom I would play sport with for the rest of my School career. We hadn’t been ranked into intellectual capability, that was a second year ritual used to stamp out any lingering self esteem one would have from our primary years. After the sorting exercise, which unfortunately did not involve a magical talking hat, we were ushered off into our form classes.
We all sat down assigned seating in Alphabetical Order, being a Mc, I sat with all the Mc’S ( those not familiar with the term It is Surnames that start with the letters MC common in Ireland, not amateur DJ’s, just for clarity). To say it was awkward would be an understatement. Unlike the fairer sex, a bunch of prepubescent boys in a room does not make for the most enlightened of conversations. After the lecture on ‘how gentleman should conduct themselves’ speech was over, and what a well oiled speech it was, we were commanded to attend our first lesson of the day.
The lessons all rolled into one and all followed the same basic format, “young gentleman will be seen and not heard”, I’m pretty sure the boys at Eaton or Harrow were having an altogether different speech however they were paying £12,000 per semester so I guess it would have dissimilarities. At break times It was probably the most awkward. Where do I stand? Who do I talk to? I wasn’t on my own in this regard as everyone had that nervous energy about them. Of course their was the occasional boy who was peacocking all over the place but fortunately they were very much in the minority. Most boys just wanted to find their little corner in this world, not piss all over it.
I got in the car at 3.20pm sharp. Mummy greeted me with a huge proud smile. She was either proud or hysterical that her baby boy was wearing a suit that looked like he would get the next three years out of, and incidentally did! The obligatory questions arose “well how was your first day?”. It was fucking amazing. I felt like a lemon the whole day and spoke to three people in a forced conversation. Bloody marvellous.
“Did you make any friends?”
Yeah of course I did. I socially navigated the political hierarchy and firmly established myself as Alpha male. Well Those are the words I would of loved to have said, however the reality wasn’t quite as astounding:
“Not yet but I’m sure I will”.
She looked at me smiled and said in the most reassuring way, “Well I have no doubt you will, who wouldn’t want to be your friend”. Every mother says these kind words to their sons and I’m sure most only say it to be kind. I firmly believe my mother was deluded enough to believe them. Maybe deluded is the wrong word. Optimistic.
As it is now 10pm on a Friday night I must depart to my glass of wine. Otherwise the next few paragraphs will devolve into nonsensical gibberish (well probably no more than previous installations). So I feel now is the appropriate time to end this section and will continue tomorrow.
Stay tuned tomorrow for such highlights as :
- Michael gains super powers
- Michael runs for political office
- The crazy case of Michael, the candlestick and the larder…..
All these and more in the exciting adventures of
Grieving, loving and living.
MichaeMMmivdaMicah*
A Grievers Guide to the Galaxy 