I run a couple of businesses with my husband and over the last few days have been astounded by the number of people who won’t talk to me - not even trusting me with a name, number and brief message.
I can only assume they think we’re a bigger operation than we and that I’m just the receptionist (hired for her ability to take a message, normally).
In this day and age when women are doing anything and everything why is it that these men don’t accept that I might actually be able to help?
Kings College in Otahuhu, New Zealand has lost 3 of its pupils this year. The first through a silent but deadly virus, the second through alcohol poisoning and the third, it appears, from an “incident”.
My connection to the school relates to a single year as a student in the ’80s. My children won’t go there (well, maybe my daughter, later on) as its too far away and I wouldn’t want them to board and there are more local, quality alternatives.
I flick through the Kings Courier with vague interest when it arrives but mostly to see what my peers are up to and there is scant information.
I’ve attended one or two of the reunions but I don’t attend the other KCOBA Old Boys events.
I took the kids to the Glee Club’s performance of “The Wiz” a few years ago and showed them around the school. Went to show them my study in the Library building only to find its now toilets! My son was so impressed to be able to visit he insisted on wearing a bow tie much to the mortification of his sister and me.
I find it interesting, then, that my reaction to the current “troubles” is so strong. I want to somehow wrap the school in cotton wool the way you do a child who is suffering. I obviously feel for all the family and friends involved - that’s normal. But to be so distressed for a school I haven’t attended for 25 years?
I can only assume it means that deep down, even though I don’t wear a school pin or attend every fundraiser, I really am an “Old Boy”.
