It might be at school drop-off. The sweet little boy, with a mop of wild hair, runs excitedly along. His legs are moving too fast for his body, then comes that awful moment when you know he’s about to fall.
The sound of knees hitting concrete. The pause. Then the scream. Every parent steps towards him, hands out, gasps of sympathy, longing to fix it, wipe the tears and take away the pain.
Or just before bed. Your ten-year-old daughter is tired. You’re tired. She says these words with moist sad eyes fixed on you: ‘I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.’ There is a long pause. You’re the parent: you’re meant to be able to stop the tears. You know the cause. You’ve had this conversation so many times before. The tears still come.
