When I was five years old, I started primary school. I can remember that day vividly ; being herded into the classroom with the other kids by our teacher; the smell of plasticine; some kids crying for their Mums and two others punching lumps out of each other as they fought over their preferred desks.

I remember also, Mrs Smith, the teacher, looking SO old. (She probably was a fair age, as I also had her in my P7 year, after which she retired.)

What I don’t remember, however, is what hopes an aspirations I held for the future. Where would all this education malarky lead? What did I want to gain from this enforced indoctrination? I had no idea. Ambitions as such would have been so far outwith my mental process when my head was filled with the pressures of learning not only addition and subtraction, but spelling and painting. (Good luck with teaching me that last one, Mrs Smith. 😀 )

I was a small kid; one of the shortest in class. Crikey – there were even girls taller than me! (At five years old, rather ironically, that’s a big deal.) And perhaps that was the limit of my ambition – to be a little bit taller.

It was a modest dream, but it would do until such time as I figured out what to do when I grew up.

But with hindsight, it was an ill-conceived dream.

You see, if you ‘believe,’ then dreams can come true.

So did grow up.

And I did grow a little bit taller.

I should have wished to be a lot taller. Now, at the age of sixty-five, I actually have one more year than I have inches.

Dream big, my friend. Dream big.

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