Lestrade reminded me the other day (when I was whinging about not knowing what to blog about) that I never said how it went when Sherlock took those biscuits to school. True! All right, I can do that.
Sherlock's school is near Lord's Cricket Ground. We generally take the tube and walk from the tube stop - not far - while Sherlock tells me everything that's going to happen in school that day. Not that day. That day he was all sulks and grim silence. Wouldn't hold my hand, would barely walk next to me. He preferred to stomp ahead or trail behind by turns. I was not allowed to help carry either his bag or the biscuits, and I was certainly not encouraged to actually speak to him. It was like a sneak preview of adolescence.
The school is two rooms on the ground floor of a building otherwise given over to expensive flats. You go in, and there's 4-6 year olds on the left and 7-10 year olds on the right. (The 7-10 room is superior, according to Sherlock, because it has a reading loft. With lots of pillows.) The school's a bit...what my mum would call progressive and my dad would call strange. Nice though. Bright colors, not many kids, cheerful teachers.
Anyway, in the 4-6 room, there's a couple of long tables pushed together to make one long table, and that's where everyone sits, on the rare occasions they're actually sitting. They start the day out like that, so I got Sherlock settled and told his teacher about the biscuits and headed out.
When I came to pick him up...well, at least he was speaking to me again. He seemed all right, just a bit thoughtful. On the way home, he asked if it was always that easy.
"What?" I said.
"Making people like you. They were nice all day. I didn't even make those. I didn't even want to bring them."
That one took a bit of thought, let me tell you.
"Doing things like that doesn't make people like you, but sometimes it makes them more open to getting to know you. And if you let them get to know you, they will like you."
I think my mum gave me that same speech when I went to cub scouts for the first time. I wonder if she felt like as much of an idiot as I did. Still, it's true. Mostly true. Not everyone likes everyone, but it's true enough to be going on with.
"Maybe I don't want them to like me," he said.
I consider the maybe at the beginning of that sentence a victory.
...And now it's time to pick him up and retrieve my mobile. And hope he hasn't texted anyone but Lestrade.
Sherlock's school is near Lord's Cricket Ground. We generally take the tube and walk from the tube stop - not far - while Sherlock tells me everything that's going to happen in school that day. Not that day. That day he was all sulks and grim silence. Wouldn't hold my hand, would barely walk next to me. He preferred to stomp ahead or trail behind by turns. I was not allowed to help carry either his bag or the biscuits, and I was certainly not encouraged to actually speak to him. It was like a sneak preview of adolescence.
The school is two rooms on the ground floor of a building otherwise given over to expensive flats. You go in, and there's 4-6 year olds on the left and 7-10 year olds on the right. (The 7-10 room is superior, according to Sherlock, because it has a reading loft. With lots of pillows.) The school's a bit...what my mum would call progressive and my dad would call strange. Nice though. Bright colors, not many kids, cheerful teachers.
Anyway, in the 4-6 room, there's a couple of long tables pushed together to make one long table, and that's where everyone sits, on the rare occasions they're actually sitting. They start the day out like that, so I got Sherlock settled and told his teacher about the biscuits and headed out.
When I came to pick him up...well, at least he was speaking to me again. He seemed all right, just a bit thoughtful. On the way home, he asked if it was always that easy.
"What?" I said.
"Making people like you. They were nice all day. I didn't even make those. I didn't even want to bring them."
That one took a bit of thought, let me tell you.
"Doing things like that doesn't make people like you, but sometimes it makes them more open to getting to know you. And if you let them get to know you, they will like you."
I think my mum gave me that same speech when I went to cub scouts for the first time. I wonder if she felt like as much of an idiot as I did. Still, it's true. Mostly true. Not everyone likes everyone, but it's true enough to be going on with.
"Maybe I don't want them to like me," he said.
I consider the maybe at the beginning of that sentence a victory.
...And now it's time to pick him up and retrieve my mobile. And hope he hasn't texted anyone but Lestrade.
3 comments:
I am so impressed with that answer - and yes, that "maybe" is definitely a win for you!
Awwww! Sherlock's adorable. I'm glad that they were nice to him, it was, after all, a big sacrifice for him to give them the biscuits, even if he didn't make them and didn't want to. Hopefully he'll start to make friends. :) that school sounds peculiar, heh, but if the teachers can handle Sherlock, I think they deserve a medal. ;)
Innie - Thanks, but the credit should go to my mum really. She always said I wouldn't appreciate half the stuff she said until I had kids to look after. Turns out she was right. :)
Lupe - His teacher's marvelous, and more patient with all her kids than I could've hoped for. Bright kids are more trouble, no lie, and while they're not all as smart as Sherlock, they are very smart. At the very least she deserves more biscuits.
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