Diary of a House: End of an Era

I visit IT in the morning. Our IT staff are stalwarts at Pap High. Now that we are so technology-based we can't live without them and they are often dealing with our frustration as we try to keep thirty kids in order, and connect to the projector. I'm there reasonably often trying to sort my pc out so TC is proud that I'm able to navigate the blog site so nimbly. I don't tell him there's been a lot of swearing at the kitchen table.
I do house stuff in the afternoon- decking and roofing. At the One Stop Deck Shop I encounter a nice young man and a lot of wood choice. I'm thinking Purple Heart but wondering if it really is harvested sustainably. I don't get very far with roofing because the roofing business has moved.
A quick change and I head across town to Christchurch Boys' High and the leavers' dinner. I'm one of the PTA waitress squad. I've done it before but this time it's Kahu's cohort and I find myself missing him. I wish he was here to help with some of the house choices but most of all I feel nostalgic that his school days are over. The little boy who used to save worms from the rain and find sticks on the walk to Waimairi Primary School is heading into the world. As I check names off at the door I see boys, now young men, Kahu has gone through school with: Oscar, Ollie, Jack. Jack stops and I have to fight back tears. They're such "fine young men." The village has done its job.
I've also made good PTA friends; the monthly meetings where we planned, plotted and pondered our roles as mothers. Not forgetting Malcolm, our resident grandfather. We've sat through some boring meetings but had a lot of fun doing fund raisers and debating how to spend money. Being involved has meant we learned how Christchurch Boys' High works, as well as having the opportunity to give feedback on the changing interface between adolescents and education.
I reflect on parenthood, how fleeting those growing up years are and how important a stable home is. Our kids are earthquake kids. They have lived through the disruption of the quakes with stressed parents doing their best to sort out houses and family futures. It's been a tough road for many as financial pressure exacted a toll on marriages and mental health. We've had to stick together. We lost our city and a whole lot more. Boys' High had a long fight to rebuild their hall, insisting on replacing what they had- a space where the whole school could assemble. They stuck to their guns and the boys tonight have the benefit of a magnificently designed space which feels good to sit in and works well for all sorts of gatherings. Just one thing- in spite of our best efforts, there's no kitchen.
Parents, teachers and boys alike, we have much to celebrate and the night ends with a rousing haka in another new space, the Old Boys' quad. It's the end of this era. But my nostalgia gets forgotten as I help clean up and it's nearly 11 before I leave to feed Pierre.
Standing at the back of my section in the warmth of a nor wester night, I realise how fortunate I am. My son is in Arkansas, well cared for in another family home while I re-establish family roots on land he learned to love as he took his first steps. Tūrangawaewae.