Jonny McCambridge: I make a surprise visit to the school…will there be a warm welcome?

​I am driving towards home. I check the time and the location and know that I can make it to the school gates comfortably before the final bell sounds. I feel a little tingle of excitement as I change direction. What a wonderful surprise this will be.

Throughout eight years of nursery and primary education, I picked my son up on most days. The routine is different since he has started big school and I have not done it once.

While I don’t miss the restrictive duty of having to be at the school gates at the same time every afternoon, I do miss the opportunity of being able to do it when I want.

When he was very little, my son would run towards me when I arrived, his bottom lip trembling. Later, he played it cooler and I would be restricted to a friendly ruffle of his hair.

But he always smiled when he spotted me, he was always pleased that I was there. That’s the bit that I miss.

My excitement grows as I get closer to the secondary school that he now attends. I have to get there in good time and make my presence known so that he doesn’t jump on the bus.

I find myself wondering how he will react. Perhaps the surprise will overcome him, and he’ll come running towards me for a hug, like he used to do in nursery.

Perhaps he’ll be so pleased that he’ll want to introduce his daddy to all of new friends that he has made.

Perhaps.

There are scores of cars close to the school. Most are parked on the street outside or in the car park of a nearby shop. Almost all of the parents remain in their vehicles.

I’m not quite sure of the right approach so I drive into the school grounds and park close to the building. Then I get out and wait beside the main gates where I can see a few other grown-ups congregating.

Soon, children start to leave; a trickle at first before there is a swell. There are so many pupils here that I’m concerned that I’ll miss my boy in the scrum, and he’ll board the bus, unaware of my presence. I need to be more conspicuous to spring my surprise.

There is a small brick wall below the main metal fence at the front of the school building.

I grab the railings and haul myself onto the ledge of the masonry, elevating me above the other parents.

My hope is that it will make it easier for me to spot my son, and more importantly, for him to spot me.

A few minutes later I see him coming out the door across the yard. He is with a group of other boys that I don’t know.

They are in animated conversation and I can see my boy laughing several times.

My excitement is even greater now as it becomes entwined with paternal pride. I haul myself a bit higher up the fence.

‘Cooeee!’, I bellow while waving my free arm animatedly. ‘Coooeeeee!’

Several children look in my direction. My son is among them. It is hard to fathom, but he does not seem to see me because he looks back down towards the ground.

If anything, he seems to be walking in the opposite direction.

I have to redouble my efforts.

‘Wee son!, I continue. ‘Wee son! It’s me, Daddy, I’ve come to pick you up!”

This seems to have the desired effect because I see him exchanging some words with the other boys before he walks slowly in my direction.

I climb down from the fence and stand there beaming. I am preparing for a hug, but instead it is the briefest of nods as he walks past me. I have to scramble to keep up.

“Where are you parked?" he mumbles.

“It’s not far; in the car park.”

He seems not to be as excited by this revelation as I had imagined.

We walk through the gates and into the school yard.

There are hundreds of kids about us, girls with hockey sticks and boys with the beginnings of beards.

There are teachers there also. I want to make a good impression, so I stop to exchange some brief pleasantries with them.

It all seems so much more impersonal than the primary school pick-up and I’d like someone there to know who I am, to leave some sort of impression. My son is standing a few steps away as I natter.

We find the car. I have to nudge slowly out of the space because of the throng of kids. I’m feeling slightly deflated, not having received the welcome I had anticipated.

I try to ask my son about his day, the way I always used to.

I ask him if he has any homework, if he made any new friends, if he was surprised to see me. I ask him to show me where he usually gets the bus.

The response is brief and curt. "Just drive”.

As we pull out onto the road, I notice the group of boys that my son was talking with. They are waiting close to the gates, presumably for a bus to arrive.

“Look, there’s your friends!” I exclaim with renewed vigour.

My son does not respond.

I take this lack of communication to be down to shyness. Perhaps I can help to ease his social awkwardness.

As we drive past, I lower the window on my side and start to blare the horn. I am both waving and shouting.

“Hi boys! We’ll catch you laters!"

I look towards my son, but it is hard to get a read of his expression as he has sunk very, very low in the chair.