Alexander goes missing

I thought I was running out of stories, but then I remembered this one.

It was in the days of Alexander at high school.

His junior school years were spent at SACS, a traditional all boys school that prided itself in being the oldest school in the country. Its ethos was based on old school traditions, good manners, pride, respect, honour. The boys were kitted out in a full gentleman’s uniform right from Grade 1. White shirt, grey shorts, belt, grey socks, black shoes, SACS tie, SACS blazer. A short back and sides haircut to match.

Sport played an important role in the school from rugby to hockey to cricket to athletics to waterpolo and swimming. These little junior school boys gave it their all, they wore their hearts on their sleeve, playing for their school meant the world to them. It was a delight to see.

Alexander spent his breaks playing hand tennis and having fun running around with his close circle of friends.

I embraced my parent’s role at the school with enthusiasm, we were encouraged to be involved in all areas of the boys’ school life. I decided to volunteer at the tuck shop. A perfect way to meet the parents and show my commitment, also a chance to check out Alexander and see how he was integrating into school life. Make sure he had FRIENDS.

Alexander was easy to spot in amongst a sea of boys in uniform. A mop of white blond hair and boundless amounts of energy.

He was in the midst of a fun game of catch, I was surrounded by a group of moms taking orders at the tuck shop.

I would call out to him. This was my time to show the fellow tuck shop moms what a lovely, well behaved son I had. I was hoping for a smile, a hello.

Instead there was no response, infact I was well and truly ignored.

Alexander, come here, I’d try again, this time raising my voice a bit louder.

Oh the mortification, the embarrassment (on both sides). Who was this mom? Who was this disobedient child?

Alexander looked like he’d died a thousand deaths. The disappointment was clear for all to see. You’d think I’d asked him to take the rubbish out. His face would crumple, a cross frown would ensue, his entire body would slump and head down, he’d march off in the opposite direction.

Was I that embarrassing? I couldn’t and wouldn’t let it go.

We both saw red. Our reactions were equally as intense.

How dare he be so rude infront of everyone, I thought. Why does my mom embarrass me infront of my friends, was Alexander’s.

All of this lost in translation. We misunderstood each other time and time again.

Alexander was hoping for some discretion, a typical middle child, he was happiest flying underneath the radar. His demands were simple, to live his life in peace without his mother’s interference and demands.  He was fiercely protective of his choices and independence.

Sorry I’m diverting, so from the junior school Alexander moved up to the high school. Both the high school and junior school were on the same campus. Starting off with a bang, Alexander threw himself into his rugby. He attended all rugby practices and through hard work and determination he was chosen to play for the U14As. Just like that he was in the spotlight. Not his natural state of being.

There was no mistaking him. In those days he wore a scrum cap, his white blond hair poking out the sides, a gum guard half hanging out his mouth. He played in the forwards and spent most of the time tackling the opposition. Grabbing hold of the player’s legs in a tight embrace he would bring them down in one full swoop, like a lion to its prey. He was never intimidated by size, some boys could be double his weight although this didn’t deter him, he relentlessly came back for more.

But an injury to his thumb during practice and some hard knocks playing a couple of tough Afrikaans schools made him lose his confidence. As quickly as he arrived, he left after one season, happy to go down to the Bs and then the Cs.

I questioned his decision time and time again. We loved watching him play, he was so good. He stood his ground. His A team season was over. He wanted to have fun playing rugby, he didn’t love the game enough to sustain injuries. A wise choice as I look back.

Alexander carried on with his high school career, l can’t say it was smooth running. He battled with some of the rules the school set, particularly the school boy haircut. He was determined to experiment with hairstyles as a way to express himself, like most youngsters do at this age. Alexander unfortunately was easy to spot and easy to read, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. The same teachers would call him out and demand a proper haircut. Another battle of wills. He would not conform, it made life exhausting for me and for him.

His father’s child. Say one thing, I’ll do another.

Then one day Alexander went missing. He was in Grade 9, I was due to pick him up from school. Not entirely loving school, Alexander was always one of the first boys to come out of class, but this day was different.

Here’s how it went.

The school bell rings, the boys trickle out. More and more boys appear, all in uniform, books in hand, bags flung over their shoulder, happy to see the end of the school day. As time goes by I spot some of his friends and ask them if they’ve seen Alexander. No they say.

Hmmm, strange.

I sit for a while longer, as the boys get into cars and are driven away, the school empties. Still no sign of him.

Anxiety rising and imagination rocketing from zero to a hundred I get out the car. I am now on a mission. My son is missing in action. I go directly to the high school reception to voice my concerns.

As I walk through the door I look to my right. Heading down the passageway is Mr Ball the headmaster. He is not renowned for his open manner, he is stern and authoritarian. I have not formally introduced myself, but now is my time.

Striding down the passage toward him, arm outstretched I give him no option but to shake my hand.

Hello Mr Ball, we haven’t met, I’m Sally Walton. I have a son in Grade 9, Alexander Walton and he’s missing.

(There are approximately 120 boys per grade from Grades 8 to 12)

Looking a little stunned, he shakes my hand says hello Mrs Walton and then a pause, yes that’s strange he says.

Well it is, I say.

He looks at me and I look at him. We are in the middle of a long passageway. There’s silence, he stands and looks up and down the corridor.

You’ve looked outside in the school grounds? He’s not there?

No, but maybe he’s in the toilets? Or the changing rooms?

Would you like me to check, he says.

Yes, I say, thank you, I’ll wait here.

Off Mr Ball goes in search of Alexander Walton. I stand outside the high school entrance, thinking of all possibilities. Mr Ball comes back shaking his head, no he’s not in the bathrooms. And you’ve checked all the cubicles, you’ve looked under all the doors?

Yes he says he has.

Not convinced I send him upstairs to check the classrooms, he might’ve accidentally got locked in.

Now he’s looking at me strangely.

I send him on a wild goose chase scouring the school from top to bottom. He reports back to me every time. No, no sign of him. You’ve checked everywhere? He nods his head, the boy is nowhere to be seen. He has literally disappeared into thin air. I am still imagining the worst case scenario, Alexander has slipped knocked himself out and is lying unconcious on the floor somewhere. I’m about to send Mr Ball on another turn of the school when like a bolt out of the blue something occurs to me.

Wasn’t today the day that Shaynee takes Alexander home from school?

I grab hold of Mr Ball's arm. He has remained composed and helpful throughout, but his patience is now wearing a bit thin.

Oh my gosh Mr Ball, is it Tuesday today?

Yes he says, it’s Tuesday.

I am backtracking, I’m blabbering because now I realise what I’ve done.

I think he’s got a lift home today with Shaynee van der Heever, I say.

Like he knows our lift club. Of course he doesn’t, but he’s nodding his head, at the same time he’s relieved as hell.

Slowly Mr Ball guides me to my car, he’s already opening the door, he can’t get me in the car quick enough. Apologising profusely I’m now elated that Alexander is no longer dead but alive and well. Thank you Mr Ball, I’m so sorry.

Mr Ball stands by my car, he’s just about waving me off.

I drive away, over the speed bumps, up the road and out the school gates, all the time thinking Alexander is going to never live this one down. His mother has inadvertently put him on centre stage again.

Oli pleased as punch, spot the mild irritation on Alexander's face