So you went to the school meeting back in October and listened intently to the man from the CAO office. You made notes and you have diligently filled up the CAO form and you have the certificate of posting in your fist. You feel you have entered another stage of parenthood. Maybe you could have a career change yourself - the CAO handbook makes everything sound so exciting and interesting.
Well, sorry to tell you, but the best laid plans of mice and men, as they say.
Life is so unfair. After all, you have coaxed and cajoled him through the Leaving Cert. You agonised with him over the CAO form. And finally he is in college. First year is got through and the exam results come and you feel like bursting with pride. Parenting is wonderful. Life is wonderful. Children are wonderful.
"You are what?" Expletives abound. "Yes, yes I am deferring for a year."
I don't understand. "I'm taking a year out."
"Well, at least he is maturing," said my friend, as I explained that son number one had just announced he was deferring college for one year, staying on in the job that I thought was for the summer only and moving into a flat - all in one breath. "I mean, if he had told you all that last month you would have spent endless time persuading him to do otherwise. He presented it to you as a fait accompli. That's maturity."
But I don't think it is very mature to go for the quick buck and not think of the future.
"You have no qualification other than your Leaving Cert, so the chance of a well paid job and a comfortable lifestyle is negligible in your middle years," I lectured. "You'll be talking about a pension next," he moaned.
"I just want you educated and equipped for life and off my hands," I moaned back.
The college itself was very accommodating. "What kind of reasons merit taking a year off?" I asked. The registrar's office was quite nonchalant. "Ah sure, if he makes a good case then it will be looked at favourably," the young woman replied. So that CAO form doesn't mean a thing. Your days of wine and roses are no nearer and you have no satisfaction of a job well done.
Does parenting go on forever? God forbid, but could I be like the 80-yearold parent who contacted Parentline about her 60year-old son?
