passing years

We lived in Grenoble, France, for three years.  A mixed three years.  While I was there, I wrote many articles about the experience, the goods, the difficult and the downright impossibles.  An ongoing issue was how to educate our son, J, aged 11+ when we arrived.  For what seemed like good reasons at the time, we turned down the chance for him to attend the International School, opting instead for the local college where he was assured of language support, having only one year of school French and some private tuition under his tongue.

What happened then and after merits a full article in its own right.  A big concern was Js difficulty in communicating with his peers because despite their best efforts, the friendliness and continued attempts, J couldn't talk, and spent break times on his own.  As a parent, this broke my heart.  I received any signs of progress with further emotion.  The day J told me he'd shared his crisps with some classmates was cause for celebration.  And the day he told me that D had asked to be his gym partner, I blinked back tears.

J and D became firm friends.  D at that time was 10, tiny with spiky hair and lovely blue/grey eyes and an enthusiasm that made Js zest for life appear tame.  When D came round to play, I would listen to their conversation.  At first all J could say was 'Oui' to every comment D made.  Gradually this increased to lengthier replies.  By now we'd, with great difficulty, removed J from the French school and were homeschooling him ourselves.  This involved us teaching each other French, conjugating verbs, learning to match the correct form of adjectives with nouns.

We took D and J to adventure playgrounds where they scrambled up ropes and swung from tree to tree.  We took them to lakes where they could use our inflatable boat. We had meals with Ds family.  The boys did sleepovers at each other's homes. The friendship survived Js change to two more schools and after we left France, courtesy of social media.  D and J eventually left school and went on to study at university.

Last week D came over to the UK to practise his English, staying with J at his university flat.  Last night they came up to Edinburgh.  I geared myself up for not seeing this tiny shrimp of a boy - he'd been small for his age, and welcoming the young man.  When I opened our flat door, I saw the same face (+ some extra hair) and someone who had grown about four feet since I last saw him.  The charm was still there, but now there were the social skills of an adult.  The comments about our flat, his questions about what I was doing with my life.  The little boy had grown to be a delightful adult.

Jane