Facing my mortality

 The children know.

In the last few years I’ve aged. I can tell by the way the children I teach look at me and the things they say.

“You’ve got TikTok?”

“You won’t know about PewDiPie…..Oh….YouTube….yeah…how?….oh….the news….right.”

“My grandma knows this song.”

When we started the youth orchestra the children saw me as a contemporary, which was a bit weird but it was because I played my flute and sat with them, doing the paperwork in the week and my dad stood at the front waving his arms and pretending to be in charge. When I started working in a Primary school I was one of the mums and now I’m definitely in grandmother territory.

I don’t mind that. However, yesterday I slipped even further and seem to have one foot firmly wedged in my grave.

We were singing a traditional song and, as I always do, I showed them a jazzed-up version. This was a Seventies singer with fiddles and drums as backing. They liked it. It was cool. Apparently the Seventies are a big hit with six year olds. They heard the original song in it and were excited. I like to encourage them to think that they might grow up to be pop stars with their own YouTube/TikTok/WSTR channel. (I’m ahead of my time. )

I said, “So, when you grow up and become famous maybe you’ll use a song you leant in primary school.”

There were mumblings of agreement. They were mentally counting their millions, deducting the amount they spent on ring lights and thinking what it would be like if everyone loved them.

Then I said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing you on the telly, when you are famous, singing your own version of a song I taught you.”

There was a sharp intake of breath.

I wondered what I had said. Was it one step too far for them to imagine being on the telly?

Luckily there was a six year old boy who wasn’t too frightened to ask.

“Errrrm. How old are you?”

I suddenly realised what he was saying and laughed.

“Not so old that I won’t be alive when you become a pop star.”

I’m glad to say  most of the class there were relieved but not the questioner.

“Are you, though?”

He squinted at me.

“Because I’m not so sure.”

It was brutal and the worst thing was that I could see the kid who is good at maths trying to add 12 years to what he thought my current age might be and shaking his head.

Although, I am wondering, if I I’ve only got 12 years in me is there a better way of spending that time?