By BERN MORLEY
They’re great aren’t they? Those special, one off art pieces your child brings home from school, seemingly on a daily basis. Or how about those things kids write in their journals, describing their weekend activities. The ones that often paint a completely different picture to their own reality.
I have found over time that my children are here as much to amuse me as fill my life with joy. I present Exhibit A…
Now this is my son’s interpretation of Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’. See what you’ve got to picture right now is Sam, my ten year old son, unfurling this to his captive audience (me) with his beaming little face peaking around the side asking me if I “like it?” Then imagine me nodding enthusiastically at the exact same time as his 6 year old brother wanders into the room and declares loudly that it “looks like a massive doodle”.
This is my all-time favourite Christmas picture. And you can’t tell me that the teachers weren’t having a giggle when they photocopied 50 copies of THIS for the children to colour in…
Not so long ago, I came across my daughter’s ‘weekend journal’ from year one. She is now 13.
Every Monday morning they would write about what they had gotten up to on their weekend or their thoughts in general. At first glance it seemed adorable and frankly, hilarious. Hilarious of course until I realised, after reading her somewhat stilted words properly, that she had the teacher convinced that my husband and I were divorced and more than likely teaching her to speak ghetto.
I vaguely remember some odd, concerned and at times, downright questioning looks when picking her up from school, but it never occurred to me she might be painting me as some kind of tainted woman.
These following (in bold) are her exact words…
“This afternnon I am going To ride my bike to the brothel and my mum and I am going to Sizzler” Because I don’t know about you, but a visit to the local brothel makes me particularly hungry for cheese toast.