Secret story

‘It a secret, no-one must know my daughter tells me – but it’s a nice story for your blog.’

My granddaughter is back at school, year four, and there’s a realisation that she has more responsibilities now she is in an upper class.

Apparently she felt a bit sick yesterday, Mummy got a call almost at the end of school, but it wasn’t a physical sickness more a deep disappointment, and bubbling anger she’s isn’t accustomed to feeling. Obviously the new teacher hasn’t worked her out yet.

She wanted to stand for the school council again but her teacher adamantly refused her request.

She was a school councillor in year one, so was denied the opportunity to have the role again despite her understanding you can apply again after two consecutive years have passed.

She had her canvassing speech already worked out, (to be honest I was rather surprised that she even put herself forward), only to be crushed without even having a chance to represent herself.

But that wasn’t the only blow.

The class were ask what charity they wanted to support this year.

There were lots of suggestions pertaining to dogs and cats, and that is probably what the teacher might expect. However this young lady has lived all her life with the shadows of Grandpa’s dementia and she wanted to help dementia charities.

When it came to the class vote she didn’t get a single one.

Apparently the teacher didn’t give her the opportunity to help the her classmates understand what dementia is. Her friend said later (with an air of guilt at not being supportive), that the teacher skipped over the suggestion. She knew exactly why her friend felt sick.

Perhaps the teacher thought it was too tough a topic for the class to discuss?

Anyway the dogs trust was the winner, puppies are a much softer option after all.

My granddaughter is eight, with more knowledge than most of the devastating disease her Grandpa lived with. She saw an opportunity to do good. It was that that upset her, nobody else cared.

Mummy gently explained that most of the class wouldn’t even know what dementia was.

Perhaps she could think of a way to raise funds by herself to help people like Grandpa in his memory instead?

I’m not supposed to know, but had tears in my eyes when my daughter relayed this story this morning.

I felt so proud but so sad.

I think a coffee morning may be on the cards.