WHENEVER I OPEN the blinds in the mornings and see rain, my heart sinks. Rain means that the commute is going to take eight times as long, and if you have to pass a school on your way? God help you.
There isn’t an ounce of sense to be found in this country when it’s raining. It’s as if people think that all driving regulations are suspended for the duration of the shower. Cars screech to a halt outside the schools, without any regard for the people around them, before hitting a sharp U-turn (often without any indicators) and then speeding off in the opposite direction. It is chaos out there. Wet, dark and impatient chaos.
As a parent of two secondary school children, I feel the school’s frustration as they send out yet another reminder email to parents asking them to please not drive their children to school. To please, instead, encourage them to be the first child in Ireland to ever use an umbrella. I understand why schools send these emails — the congestion is real, the safety concerns are real — but understanding the problem doesn’t magically create an alternative. And I have to admit, just like all the other parents, I ignore the emails and continue on my merry way because there is just no other way for us to get the kids there and back.
Our school is a ten-minute drive, or a 50-minute walk (for an adult, my younger daughter would take around three days door-to-door). So, on dry mornings, I drive them halfway, pull in at a petrol station, and they walk the rest.
We do this for several reasons. Firstly, my younger daughter has inevitably forgotten something that needs to be replaced in the shop. Secondly, the fresh air and (occasional) sunlight work wonders to wake them up. Thirdly, and most importantly, it is because their school, like every other school in Ireland, was clearly built at the same time as the pyramids, long before any human had ever even conceptualised a car. Or their need for one in modern society.
Gridlock at the gates
And you have to admire the sheer determination of those who planned and developed every school in Ireland to refuse to acknowledge the existence of cars, or the fact that parents might need to use them on occasion. Our school was built on the assumption that everyone who would ever attend would live no more than five minutes walk away, and would also have a parent available each day at 9 am and 3 pm.
Now listen, I admire the vision. It’s a lovely idea to think of all the kids living within a safe walking distance, and that no one has to be anywhere before or after school hours. It’s just not how most families’ lives actually work anymore.
But I’ve lived this during my own secondary school days, and it was definitely not ideal. I can still remember the smell of rain and sweat mixed into 30+ wet woollen jumpers in every room for the day, and I still have scars (both physical and emotional) from hailstones that hit bare legs (because, obviously, girls can only do long division if they are wearing skirts).
It was genuinely impossible to go into school with wet socks and a soaking jumper and have a good day. Comfort isn’t a luxury when you’re a child — it affects how you function for the entire day.
This is why, on the mornings when it is lashing, I drive my kids up closer to the school, and I am not sorry about it. I do it as calmly and safely as possible. We have perfected a manoeuvre called the ‘parachute roll’ where a car up ahead (someone far braver than me) will stop for a few seconds to let their kids hop out. Then a chain reaction comes down along the cars as we all do the same. When it’s done properly, it’s quick, predictable and over in seconds. We are all back on our journey straight away, and everyone goes about their day. Society continues to function, and the world does not end.
But, it has to be said, none of this happens without it happening safely. No swift, erratic reversals, stops, nothing. It is possible to move slowly and deliberately in wet weather. You just stay calm. The problem isn’t parents driving — it’s parents driving badly.
The email of shame
The issue then is that this gathering of larger numbers of cars than usual in the rain means that the schools are forced to send reminder emails. These messages have been known across the country to heavily imply that driving your kids to school is some sort of moral failing, instead of a standard and unavoidable aspect of modern life.
Herein lies the problem. Opposing forces. It’s tough for schools, I know, as many of them have allocated what little parking they do have for staff and children who may have additional needs. Absolutely understandable. It’s also tough for parents stuck in traffic and trying to get to the office in torrential rain, doing their best to get their kids to school in one piece and in some sort of dry condition for the day. But it’s also tough for parents trying to juggle work, weather, distance and safety — all at the same time. Remember flu season?
The school emails gently remind parents that “we are not a car-friendly school” which is inspiring, to be fair, and simultaneously solves all my issues. It assumes a level of choice and flexibility that simply doesn’t exist for many families. I’m always dumbfounded at how our society continues to operate as if there weren’t a housing crisis, that we all got to choose to live and work exactly where and how we liked.
“Have you tried simply living closer to the school, not having a job to get to, and also owning several layers of waterproof clothing that won’t need to be stored anywhere in school during the day?”
Actually, my dear, do you know that I have spent most of my adult life planning ways to live closer to the kids’ school? It is virtually impossible to decide where you want to live or send your kids to school anymore.
So where does that leave us all?
As both of my kids are in secondary school, I can assure you that we have gone through a variety of different morning routines. When they were very little, I was at home with them. We lived close by, and we walked to school every morning. I was unbearably smug about it. Then came the years when both my partner and I worked in the city centre and had to drop the kids off at my parents’ house at the crack of dawn. They lived much too far away to walk, so driving was the only option.
We also lived with my parents for a few years while saving for our house. We moved again a year or so before we bought, to help secure a secondary school place for my older daughter. Although we were within walking distance, I had to go straight to work after the commute, which meant we were again driving. Whenever walking has been an option for us, we have always chosen to do so. Driving has never been the preference — only the fallback.
Now listen, you might be reading this and thinking that I support other parents who drive their kids to school, or that I have empathy for other families and what their situation might be. But that would be incorrect. You would be mistaken because I am a massive hypocrite. As soon as my two leave my car, all compassion leaves my body. I am no longer a parent; I am an employee who really, and absolutely, cannot be late for work again. And if we’re all honest about it, that’s pretty much how it goes for us all. We switch roles instantly, and the system offers very little grace for that transition. The pressure of modern life is just constant.
We are all the heroes of our own stories, and slaves to our own schedules. After the drop off, I pass two primary schools on my way to work. To be fair, these are smaller kids who can’t really be expected to exit a moving vehicle in under six seconds; they need a parent to accompany them. Fine. I never roll my eyes.
But another morning, the car in front of me just abruptly comes to a stop. Without warning. On a main road at rush hour. Everyone gets out of the car and leaves. I make eye contact with the driver as they walk away. Rage blurs my vision, but I still see their little one-handed wave as if that could possibly negate their behaviour. This is the behaviour that fuels the anger — not the parent who plans ahead and moves safely. Can I still complain about it when I clearly do this myself? Probably.
Regardless, it doesn’t matter how annoyed I get, or how many emails the schools send out. The issue isn’t going anywhere. As the rental market continues to become increasingly unstable, and school places are more difficult than ever to secure, the school runs are only going to get more complicated, not less. I don’t know how my kids will face into the housing market, or if they’ll even bother trying to build a life in this country. That’s a worry for another day.
But for today, at least, I have the comfort of knowing they got through the school gates with dry socks.
Margaret Lynch is a mother of two and a parenting columnist with The Journal.
