SCHOOL PRIZE-GIVINGS AREN'T SO BAD

The final barrier between school and summer. Dun dun dah...

It was always the storm before the calm. The final challenge. The ultimate test. The one thing standing between you and freedom - the sweet, sweet freedom of the summer holidays. If you could just survive that last 2 excruciating hours of torture, Christmas would be your REAL prize.

The end-of-year prize-giving. So cruel. So unusual. Why so many speeches? Why so many categories? Why so many items from the orchestra/choir/rock band/drama department? These are just some of the questions I would find myself considering every year of my scholastic career.

And I was IN the orchestra/choir/rock band/drama department. God only knows what was running through the minds of those poor sods who just had to sit there and take it.

But that's all changed now. Now, 30 years later, I love prize-givings. Prize-givings rock. Prize-givings are better than an ice cream after a trip to the beach. Because my daughter is Performer of the Year.

Let's not get ahead of ourselves though. One of the coolest things about being an adult is not having to go to school. No exams. No P.E. No detention. No Mr. Menzies. (Sorry, Mr. Menzies, but you WERE a jerk, and we all know it) Best of all, no assemblies and no prize-givings.

As the years roll on, school becomes a mere memory. A darker time you can put behind you. Sure, now there are bills to pay and jobs to go to, but at least you don't have to wear shorts with long socks anymore.

However, if parenthood strikes, (and for those adults out there reading this, I should warn you, parenthood can strike at any time, so be ever watchful) school will eventually pull you back in, a bit like the Death Star's tractor beam snagging the Millenium Falcon.

Two quick questions: 1) Do you think I use too many Star Wars analogies? 2) Is "Millenium" supposed to have 2 L's? It looks wrong.

ANYWAY...

You can't escape it. School will eventually reclaim you. It may take 5 years, or 10, but sooner or later you'll find yourself back at that end-of-year prize-giving, only this time the chances of you personally winning anything are effectively nil. (I did claim a hamper from the local pharmacy on behalf of the Domestic Manager once, but that was just a raffle that happened to be drawn the same day)

HOWEVER...

Should your kid's name be called out to step forward, trip up the steps, then accidentally grab their certificate before shaking hands with the principal like they were supposed to, your whole world will suddenly grind to a halt, heavenly choirs will start to sing and your heart will literally burst with pride, so you'd better have a defibrillator handy, just in case.

Should that child then go on to claim 2 MORE awards, even though you didn't quite hear what they were for because you weren't expecting her to win anything else, your pride levels will be so out of control, paramedics may have to be called in.

And if that child, that golden child, that gifted, anointed, MIRACLE child should go on to take out the grand prize for her year, yes, an actual CUP... well, you'll probably just die on the spot. Splat. Dead from a parental pride overdose. What a way to go.

That's how my loathing of prize-givings turned to love. Still no excuse for a flute choir though. That kind of torture is against the Geneva Convention.

Pretty good haul for someone with a gimpy hand