Today Felix got an honour award at school for reading. This is, in the land they call school, a big deal. Each class, two kids, once a term for a different area of learning. Then, in front of an entire school assembly, national anthem and all, they are called up to receive their award.

My boy. He is so big.

I was so proud he may well have designed a fool-proof plan for world peace.

What is it about little kids in school uniform? The tie, the shiny shoes, their obvious nervousness coupled with the knowledge something big and special was happening and it was about them.

The thing that caught most in my throat – seeing him stand, line up with the other kinder kids, and then walk straight and tall to the principal, look him in the eye while shaking his hand, accept his award and walk across to join the others. Looking so comfortable, so… ok with it all.

This can’t be maternal pride, those words don’t convey enough. They don’t convey the breadth of the emotion at seeing this person you created, this person who sets their day so much by yours and what you do and say to them every single minute you are there. They don’t convey the nervy exilerated wonderment as you see them, up there, on their own and doing whatever it is they are doing with confidence and commitment and without you – that bizarre joy of being so proud and yet so scared one day they won’t set their day by you, that you won’t be the centrifugal force of their world, that you may be the butt of their nasty ungratefulness on a blog for all to read. Bah, that I can live with. But man it felt good.

You know what made it even better? That on his award, it says “…for showing a love of language, reading and the wonder of books.”