I was going to pack all this blog nonsense in. I was worried that I'd dried up a bit, so I was going to nip myself in the bud. I had just been putting off my final masterpiece post (masterpost?), not because I couldn't face the end, if I'm honest, but because I wasn't sufficiently confident that it would be masterful.
But hallelujahs and jubilations: I can defer this dilemma for a bit longer, because there has been a development! Like many parents of four year-olds across the land last week, we were informed by the council which school was to be graced by the presence of our child (the other parents were informed about their own children, you understand; not ours). This revelation - as well as its obvious implications for my eldest daughter - has taught me more about myself than I could have imagined.
A few months ago we conducted a logistically quite challenging tour of local primary schools in a diligent attempt to find the perfect place of learning for our firstborn. While we value intelligence, our main concern was always for the environment in which it is nurtured. Would our daughter be comfortable and happy there? Eventually, and not without some fierce debate, we settled upon our three preferences. Our third choice was a charming little village school, with classrooms inventively fashioned from old Victorian offices and a playing field down an inappropriately steep slope. It had its romantic merits, but was a bit rough around the edges.
Our second preference was another small, village affair. Small classes and clearly passionate teachers, shepherded by a refreshingly personable headteacher whose love of the outdoors served only to complement an impressively open-plan, modern building whose quality of light would leave even George Clarke at a loss for which walls to knock through. But it was very religious. I am very much not very religious. Neither is my wife.
Our number one educational establishment was a larger school, most similar of the three to the one I went to, many moons hence. Its academic record was very impressive but, more importantly, it seemed to foster a culture centred around children's all-round development. Despite the potentially overwhelming size of its population, this was a school which really cared about each pupil fulfilling their potential, in whatever direction that took. I felt at home there, and was confident that my daughter would. The parking provision was bloody awful though.
Although we live just outside the standard catchment area of our first choice school, it is still comfortably the closest of the three to our house. So I relaxed my way through the lengthy wait to discover our daughter's educational fate, confident that we would get our way.
The wait ended a few days ago, and it seems my confidence was somewhat misplaced. Our daughter has been offered a place at the religious school. It was only at the moment of discovery that I realised how much my complacency had screened my fear of this outcome. I was struck by profound disappointment. Why couldn't she go to the closest school? We almost certainly did more research than parents who had got their way, I arbitrarily decided; we should be rewarded for our efforts. Could I live with sending my child each day to a place which works on an assumption I believe to be wrong?
After 24 hours or so of this outraged pomposity, a wave of acceptance washed unexpectedly over me. My parents are religious and I love them; I even have regular and rational conversations with them, on a variety of subjects. I have friends and colleagues whose beliefs span a wide range of deities, all without jeopardising my respect or affection for them. I was brought up in a religious household, attended Sunday school once a week and dutifully sang hymns in school assembly every day, yet I have successfully made up my own mind about all this business.
And that's the crux of it: my issue with religion is that it perpetuates itself through the assumed inheritance by children of their parents' beliefs. Well, I'm proof that this is by no means always the case. Besides which, I'd be a hypocrite to enforce atheism upon my own offspring. This is why I want them to draw their own conclusions as I have mine. And I can hardly claim to be encouraging this if I start censoring their influences. So I'm focussing on the lovely, open-plan building with its big windows and the open-minded headteacher and the obvious, friendly enthusiasm of the staff.
And I'm kind of looking forward to it.
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