I remember between the ages of 7 and 11,
being obsessed with finding out the first names of all of the teachers that worked in my primary school.
In the school dining hall
(trust me, that sounds a lot more fancy than it was)
there would be a little board with all of the teacher's initials that would be rotated depending of whose turn it was to have lunch first that week.
(As a little side note, I absolutely hated when my class was the last in for lunch, because I was such a slow eater that I would literally end up sat entirely alone whilst I finished up.
Sad, huh?)
I have no idea how I would find them out, but I was so happy when the day came that I could sit in the dining hall, look up at that little board and full name all of the teachers.
Now, I can only remember a few.
June Dunkley.
Malcolm Richardson.
Mark Abbott.
Jennifer Butler.
It blows my mind that in less than a year, my first name will be the subject of so much young fascination and intrigue.
Am I ready for that -
To be on the opposite side of my own childhood memory?
It scares me a bit, but I think that I might be.
