Starting school.

My eldest son has just started school, even though he has only just turned four. It seems a little premature. Indeed, it seems a little incongruous because when he wakes up he is a little boy with ruffled blond hair and a cherubic smile but once he puts his uniform on he looks like an archetypal schoolboy, complete with schoolbag, lunchbox and even homework (if you can call reading Little Red Riding Hood homework). I had to admit to the teacher that, due to a sick wife and two other children in the house, we had not done our homework; I thought she might spank me but unfortunately I was forgiven.

I have absolute respect for the teachers. "Manage the chaos to win the war" Napoleon is quoted as saying and there was a sense of that in my son's classroom this morning. The teachers, however, went about their business with a practiced routine that seemed to keep things moving in the right direction and all the children busied themselves with painting, jigsaws and books, and my son set to like an old pro.

He seems to have adapted well, having made some friends, and he comes home asking even more questions: He seems very enthused by it which I am grateful for since some other children seem to be struggling a little. One little girl this morning was devastated to be left by her Mom, another seemed to have been abandoned since her Mom left with embarrassing haste. As it was, my son showed me where to put his lunchbox, where to hang his jumper and which jigsaw was his favourite. When I left he gave me a manly hug and went to the window to wave me off. Now that he seems to have begun life's journey, I sense this will be the first of many farewells I will have to endure.