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John was just one of those boys who loved being bright, but who hated being bright, who loved being bright.  John was a boy of contrasts.  John was a hard boy; one you did not mess with.  He had his gang and you did not mess with them either.  There is always a hierarchy in schools.  This can be based on strength, on popularity, on attraction even.  John had all these things but he was different from his contemporaries – John was bright.  John was super bright and, despite his misgivings, he could not help himself in showing it.

 

John’s friends were not bright.  Maybe that was why he picked them.  Because, despite what they thought, he had selected them and not the other way round.  John was always in control.  John’s friends did not understand much, so his life was a balancing act. 

 

It also meant that he could be leader of the pack.

 

In his heart he knew, at one point, he would have to make a choice.  In his heart he already had.  His friends were a temporary stage in his life, just what was needed at the time.  They would be soon forgotten.  Stepping stones.  John walked on water – he knew where he was going because John was competitive as bright children are.

 

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When the school changed the rules, John was mortified.  It was not that he could not talk to his teachers.  He was articulate.  John had achieved the balancing act – popular with the lads that followed him round, puppy like, popular with the teachers who awarded him top marks for his achievements.  He laughed with his friends about how well he did academically, saying it was a piece of piss.  At home, alone in his bedroom he worked meticulously on his homework, spent laborious hours over essays.  If truth be known, he wasn’t even vaguely interested in any of the subject matter.  John just wanted to have the highest marks.

 

John just wanted to win.

 

But the school changed the rules, pupils were encouraged to attend parent’s evenings with their parents.  Now they would see.

 

Now they would all see his mother.  Before she had passed through the system, none of his contemporaries had even seen them together.  John had seen to that.  Now it was a formality.  Now, his peers would witness his shame.

 

John was ashamed of his mother.

 

*

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Finnegan was as Irish a name as you could get and Mrs Finnegan was the quintessential Irish lady.  You could see her coming a mile off.  Her red hair was like a beacon.  She strode like a man, maybe because there had not been a man in her life since the life had left Bill.  Mrs Finnegan had to step up to the plate, being mother and father and most of all being responsible.  She invariably wore green, not because she was Irish but because Bill had once told her that it suited her colouring and, not being used to compliments, had embraced his words.  Bill had never said much and rarely issued compliments so she knew he meant it.

 

This evening, this parent’s evening, Mrs Finnegan wore a suit of lime green – the jacket stretching over her ample bosom, her skirt a little too tight over her mid-rift.  She walked forcefully and when it came to discussions with the teachers, she was a force to be reckoned with.

 

Usually, children overplay their scholarly achievements with their parents but John was the opposite.  Mrs Finnegan was a defensive mother, as mothers often are.  She was not articulate or intelligent but she had mustered all her confidence to defend her own.  They would not put her child down in her presence

 

It took every effort for Mrs Finnegan to be brave.  It was against her nature.

 

We gather courage most when we are protecting the ones we love.  We do not always know where this courage comes from.

 

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It comes from within.

 

*

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Mrs Finnegan left the school bemused.  Instead of the confrontations she had expected, each teacher had given a glowing account of John’s work ethic and progress.

 

Her son had lied to her.  John had reported that he was rubbish at school and that all the teachers were against him.  During the evening John did not know where to look but he certainly did not want to look at his mother. 

 

He was ashamed.

 

He was ashamed of her, and ashamed that the persona that the person he had invented had been discovered.

 

John was ashamed most of all by his mother and now everyone would have seen him alongside her.

 

*

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If truth be known, none of his friends even noticed.  They were too ashamed of their appalling progress at school.  Their eyes were turned towards the floor.

 

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