Folk Week is over now – was it good for you? Did you throw yourself into the ambience of Morris dancers, bells, and sticks? I only dabbled, if I’m honest; Bryan and I went down to the procession Saturday last week, and popped down again this Friday just gone – more to have a wander, see what was going on, and have lunch at Ed’s Café.
I don’t dislike Folk Week – indeed, I’d quite like to volunteer one year, just to see what it’s like from the other side of the divide – but I’m probably in a funny “inbetween” stage; I worked for a large part of this week, so couldn’t get to visit a lot of it, and in the evenings, I just wanted to spend a bit of time with my son, after he’d been either with his grandparents or at holiday camp. Some years capture me more than others, and I know there’ll be many more years that will definitely pique my interest.
This week, of course, A-Level results came out. I was reminded of my own results day 24 years ago; I’d gone to the Sixth Form at Dane Court, as my high school didn’t have a sixth form at the time; it was a lovely school, with some brilliant teachers, but I struggled to make very many friends. I was rather socially awkward, which didn’t help, and there were some genuinely nice people there – thank heavens (one fellow student went on to have children of her own in adulthood, and our respective sons are in the same form at school – what are the chances?).
I’d studied sociology, English literature, and media studies, all of which I’d genuinely enjoyed; I remember being consistently estimated a C in sociology, as I sometimes struggled with working out how to structure essays … but something obviously clicked, as when I walked into the Sixth Form centre on results day, my sociology teacher walked past me with a broad smile on his face, which made me think I’d done a little better. It turned out I’d got an A in the subject, which is testament to the patient teaching I’d received.
I’d decided that I wanted to go to university after my A-Levels which, in retrospect, was a mistake. I wasn’t ready for it, jumping from a small-ish school of a few hundred students to a university of quite a few thousand; I was a small fish in a vast sea of learning, and I was quickly overwhelmed. I don’t know either why I chose Film Studies as my degree; it wasn’t the career I wanted afterwards. Nothing about it made much sense, I realise now, but you learn by doing, I guess.
People will have had their university choices confirmed or rejected this week (more of the former, I hope), and it makes me appreciate that I’ve not had to go through that process; my A-Levels from 20+ years ago, and my work experience since, secured me a place some time ago, and I’ve been acutely aware this week of the emotional highs and lows that people must be going through as they gain a place – and, in some cases, make a decision about where they’ll be living, often in unfamiliar parts of the country. All credit to them; I’m not sure I could do a big move like that without a lot of trepidation and nerves – and I’m two decades older than most of the students going this September.
Setting a good example to my own son is so important. Whether he goes to university or not is a decision for him in years to come, but I want him to see that learning doesn’t stop when you’re 18 or 21 – I want him to learn from my mistakes and see that adulthood is a journey, not a destination. There are a lot of opportunities ahead for both of us, and I’m excited for us.
