*insert obligatory introductory sentence here making empty promises to do more knitting and talk about that some time*
I’ve got a nice little A level class. They’re the best. There’s only 2 kids and they’re both going to get excellent grades so it’s a nice, easy-going, low-pressure highlight of my week when I see them.
We’re about to study issues around the topic of young people’s relationships, bullying, peer pressure, and that kind of thing, so we had a little bit of a discussion today, and I thought their answers were interesting, so I’m going to share them.
I asked, “When you were a child, were you happy?”
The girl answered, “Yes, because my parents bought me lots of nice things.”
The boy answered, “No, because my parents worked abroad a lot so I was on my own with the maid or private tutors.”
I thought that was interesting. Neither of them wanted to go into the philosophical question of ‘what is happiness ….?’
I always think I was a happy child. My parents were (are) very loving and attentive. We had the best holidays. I got on well at school, I played a lot with my brothers and friends, or I was happy on my own with books and games. Sometimes though I remember certain things and wonder if they were early signs of inner turmoil … Such as frequent nightmares, the odd sleep paralysis episode, and how I never quite got around to phoning my primary school friends when I went to a different secondary school to them … Too late now I guess. Oh well. I’m gonna stop introspecting and go and do some work.