A problem shared is a problem halved. A very succinct and simple philosophy to live by. Over the years I found these words useful at times, both for myself and mummy. We shared all out problems, usually over a late night conversation and in her words, “talked it out”.
Lets return to the all boys school. Last seen I was just of my first day. Navigating the big school world was scary. Going from one teacher you spent your whole day with to having up to 9 different teachers in a day, who trying to stamp their authority early on, seemed like they were auditioning for a line up of Dragons Den. I wasn’t looking for a business investment I just wanted to figure out where all the classrooms where!! Every corridor looked the same. Every door looked unfamiliar. It was a labyrinth that was something I needed to adapt to quick.
On top of that we of course had the obligatory task of finding social companions. The people that would be our comrades for the next 7 years. A daunting task to an 11 year old who up to this point had the same set of friends all through primary school. The social groups started to form rather quickly. Their was the ‘lads’, mostly sporty types who were usually at a further advancement of adolescence than myself. The ‘geeks’ who would have a plethora of techy interests and spend many an afternoon watching the latest sci-fi television show. Then their was ‘Billy’.
Billy did not fit this mould at all.
I first met Billy in Art class. He was assigned the Chichester house in royal blue. To be honest I was rather envious to start at Billy as Royal blue made my eyes pop. I remember one of the first exchanges myself and billy would have. We were sat in art and the project was a rather predictable, draw something you are passionate about. I have no idea what I did for myself. I do know it would have been influenced by the rest of the room. I always like to order last in a restaurant as I like to hear the other options. In school it was the same. I would gleam the information from the other boys. Partly for inspiration and partly trying to decided what was the socially ‘safe’ option which would avoid ridicule. Billy either did not have this fear, or he didn’t care.
Billy drew a picture of a horse. He at the time was interested in horse riding and loved horses. This was an ‘unsafe’ option. Horses were not footballs, cars or any of the typical masculine approved pastimes. Horses were seen as, a bit girly. Billy was chatting away to me about horses and at that moment I remember thinking, here’s a potential friend. Sure he was a bit effeminate but I wasn’t winning any prizes in the butch department myself. So pens and pencils put down, projects submitted to the teacher. The bell rang and myself and Billy were onto separate classes. We said our goodbyes and off to the next class.
The first few weeks were a bit of a blur and everyday I was greeted by that warm face, always the same question, “How was your day son?”. These were not empty platitudes, she was always genuinely interested to hear how her baby boy was getting on in school. “did you make any friends today?”.
“I think so, I met a few people and talked with a boy called Billy who I got on with.” She would look at me with that warm smile and say, “Well isn’t he a lucky boy to have met you”. Mummy would and always be my biggest cheerleader. Don’t get me wrong we could have the most blazing of fights at times, and I will absolutely be sharing them but her default setting was always that of the proud, protective lioness.
“ok son lets get home and make a lovely dinner to celebrate”.
A Grievers Guide to the Galaxy 