'A 'we' speech

A perfectly formed chip of guilt rests perpetually and snugly on many parents' shoulders. It nudges and torments relentlessly as 'the child' eats Mac Donald's two days in a row or coughs as the parent pushes him through the school gates. Sometimes a glass of two of wine can dislodge the little chip, but it always finds its way back.

As 'the child' crawls through the early years and then trudges into school, you'd expect that the chip would lose a little of its grip as 'the teacher' can be apportioned blame. Afterall, 'the child' spends a great deal of time with 'the teacher'.

But the chip grows faster than 'the child'.

Homework fuels its growth. But as any good parent would know, it is 'the child' who should be doing the homework but what if it's not done? Who is held responsible? Even if 'the child' is sitting in homework detention it is 'the parent' lamenting his fate. So to ensure that 'the child' does not enter the detention pit, the parent offers a little help. It might be colouring in ballooning letters one day or carefully decorating the borders of the story the next. Just a little help.

The worse type of homework is the dreaded 'speech'. Parents react differently to this task. Some applaud its potential usefulness in the corporate world, others cross their fingers that their child doesn't make the cut because that will mean at least two hours out of a day in which to hear speeches being delivered by other gifted children and one is only interested in the child oneself has spawned (if the parent is honest).

One parent, was intent on helping 7 out just a little with his speech. A visit to the library was planned and books on the Titanic were accrued. The internet was surfed and the parent soon came to learn the meaning of downthrust and starboard and all about poor old Captain Smith. The speech was preened and polished as the 'two' worked tirelessly on it. Words cut out, perfect timings, chartings and laminations.

One afternoon, as the parent prepared the little cards explaining the tragic sinking of the unsinkable, she looked over to 7.

'Pop these in your bag darling.' She handed him the speech cards. Each one printed in her neatest scrawl. Some she'd had to do several times to make sure they were readable on the small cards as they needed to fit snugly into the seven-year old's palm. 'You'll need these for your speech tomorrow.'

7 took the cards, then gave them back.

'Mummy, I don't need them,' he said. 'I said my speech today. Mrs Hally said I spoke very clearly.'

The parent's heart sank faster than the ship.

'Oh,' said Mummy. 'Did anyone ask how the Titanic sank?"

'No,' said 7. 'Why would they? I was talking about soccer'

Smiling tightly, she took the cards and put them in a drawer. A little keepsake to her stupidity.