Today I experienced a strange moment, the first person for whom I definatively remember their first day of school had her last day of school.
I remember Eilidh because her sister Emma was one of my chess players, I knew her mother and father quite well. So I was interested in the arrival of her wee sister, so I remember Eilidh and her first day. Yesterday was her last day at Boroughmuir.
The sixth year were getting fractious and exams were going on so I was out-and-about doing crowd control when I saw her.
"So Eilidh, last day of school?" I could see that she had been crying.
"You won't remember it but I remember your first day at school."
She smiled, "Yeh, you were the janny at Craiglockhart, I remember you, my sister used to be in your chess club..."
We were swept apart by the swirling mess that is a sixth year's leaving.
The whole thing made me feel old and happy and sad at the same time. I watched someone's entire school journey. I don't suppose that it ever occured to Eilidh that I was watching, watching to see that she didn't fall. Like I do for them all.
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Amazing isn't it, seeing someone else's kid experience things from a different perspective from parents for a number of years.
The first kids I remember "teaching" when I was at preschool are now teenage 'orrid spotty 'erberts.
Just waiting for them to get old enough to buy me a pint in the pub whilst reminiscing to them how they were the one who got a tambourine stuck on their head during circle time.
Oh how we laughed.