I caught up with an old mate on Wednesday who was passing through town, and it was mentioned that it was 40 years ago that we were finishing our spell as Head and Deputy Head boy of our school.

Coincidentally, that night I had the privilege of attending a senior school prizegiving.  

It is one of the great perks of being mayor to get to go to these events and share time with these brilliant young people. I haven’t been to one for two years now due to Covid restrictions and I have really missed the experience.

 It is always a time of mixed emotions for me. 

On the one hand, it is impossible not to be lifted by the hope, the promise, the time-in-hand that these young ones have. Listening to their achievements and the way many of them have seized the incredible opportunities that the modern world offers them is inspiring, and imagining what these young ones will do from the launching pad that their school, their whānau and their community has given them is exciting.

On the other hand, there are reminders of just how bloody tough it must be to be young in today’s world, with the weight of expectation, fear for the future of the planet and the nightmare of negotiating a teenage on-line world all adding up to incredible pressure.

 Then there are the personal thoughts, the pathos that comes from being reminded how long ago it was that you yourself took the shaky steps up to get a prize, to when your life stretched in front of you, not behind you; back to when anything seemed possible.

There is a saying us oldies sometimes roll out when feeling sorry for ourselves: “youth is wasted on the young”.  

I do not believe that for a second and watching these kids on Wednesday night was proof that many of them have not wasted a moment.