swinging

It was nearly a year ago that Ben (now ten) had his first brush with childhood romance.
Her name was Sandra and she’s in his class.

It lasted a few weeks, the summer holidays intervened and on their return to school it was all over.

“She can’t play football,” was Ben’s verdict.

Well she must have been practising her ball skills in the meantime, as he’s come over all Charlotte Harvey-faced again and every night at bedtime I get to hear how they sat next to each in Art class and drew the same grapefruit.

Or how they played on Club Penguin and kept popping hearts up to each other while sitting, Emperor-like, together on a sofa in the coffee bar.

He brushes his hair carefully each morning and is easily persuaded to wash.
With soap.

He is even being realistic about the whole relationship thing.

“She’ll probably dump me soon,” he says, smiling. “Last time I dumped her before she could dump me. But she might be first this time.”

I now have to listen to tales of giggly chats over the watercolours, while insisting he continues with Cycling Proficiency training and piano lessons when he’d rather be playing footie with Sandra after school.

And he’s starting to ask me awkward questions. Not of the much-missed “What’s behind the sky?” variety.
But more like the “When did you first snog a boy?” and “Have you ever been drunk?” type.

In case you’re interested my answers were “I was older than you are now” (with a bit of a harumph in my voice) and “Ye-es but not very”.

If I were being brutally honest I could have said “12″ and just plain “Yes.”

But all the experts say we should answer their questions honestly, with just enough information for their age. And I think that just about does it.
For now.