Results

Much of my 16-year-old summer was spent on a beach down at the tail end of England, where I recall waiting for weeks for nine little letters on a piece of paper.
I collected my O-Level results from the local telephone box in a hedge on the road near our cottage in Cornwall (the cottage is still there, full of Dad, but the phone box is no longer).
Actually, I think I got my results posted to Cornwall, but either way I know I ended up squawking down the phone at a bunch of friends who’d arranged to hang out together at someone’s house, accepting a reverse-charge call from me so we could compare notes. Thrilled, I was.
Delighted, actually. I’d scraped just enough to get into my sixth form. Of course, happiness is subjective, and I’ve spent the rest of my life lamenting how badly I scored, then patting myself on the back for pulling it out of the bag at A-Level stage. Phew. At the time, when I got those five pass marks, I remember thinking that whatever happened next I’d made it this far. Of course ’next’ proved to be several long sessions of waiting.
Waiting for A-level results. Waiting for art foundation results. Waiting for art degree results. Waiting for journo school results. Waiting to see if I’d got that job, then that one, then that one, then that one, then that one (repeat to fade). Never mind the waiting that comes with relationships, house-buying, pregnancy, motherhood, expatriate life, repatriation, and now the waiting that comes with school assessments. Plus ca change and all that.
I’m full of admiration for the nine figures my son has just scored, which far overshadowed my lamentable collection. Actually, who am I kidding? I’m collecting my things from the floor where they landed when I ran around the room whooping. They are genuinely, corkingly good.
Of course, being a member of a much more competitive educational generation, he’s a bit more subdued than I expected; I do wish he could see how proud I am. When I think of all the times I’ve hovered outside his door this year, waiting to check on his mood and wellbeing, waiting to see if his day was starting on an up – or another big down. What I’d love to convey to him, more than admiration for gradings, is that life is one long waiting room, but it’s the playlist that happens in between that’s so important.
Hang on though, I’m not trolling out the ‘School of Life’ cliche. And I’m not absolving us, as a family, from the hard work that’s about to occur over the next two years of sixth form, and subsequent years of further education, should that be his chosen route. I’m just saying that now I have been witness to my own creation getting a set of results, having had no idea how he’d do, I’m surprised to find that I’m simply at peace with him being here on earth. That'll do.
As summer draws to a close there is much to celebrate: a three-day trek with friends, our quick flit to the cottage to reconnect with folk after waiting two long years; a fun five-day summer camp for J, which won’t be repeated next year, I know, but helped take his mind off all the waiting. He’s had a blast, having had the total opposite for a long while.
We’ve also had several happy events to celebrate, like my Aunty’s 80th birthday tea where the only bit of waiting was for 10 minutes while the train got ready to chug to Kent. The delight in seeing her happiness at being surrounded by family and friends scored a straight nine result from me.
Let’s not talk about what’s around the corner. I think we’ve all learned, over the last two years, that if we keep our eye on the horizon and don’t look down, life can yield favourable results.
Earlier this year I did actually find the envelope containing my results. I was really surprised to find I’d scored even lower in French than I thought – who knew? – but I’m chalking it up as a win. As the only member of my immediate family who even attempts to order a beer in the local language, I think blind confidence has done me a service. I’ve never actually needed the real results, have I?
Onwards and upwards, as my old school motto went (rather unfortunately, I always thought).