At the airport en route home from the States, I found myself behind a dance troupe checking in for the same flight. There were fifty of them: forty or so young women, accompanied by the group’s leaders. And, of course, waiting to see them off were innumerable parents and siblings. There were hugs. That was laughter. There were tears.
Tears? The fear of the unknown – a fortnight in a foreign land for the first time? The longest they’d been away from home?
Or was it the form that had to be signed (or so I hoped) for each girl before she would be allowed through to the departure gate? The in loco parentis form:
“I hereby authorise the organisers of the trip to take whatever measures they deem necessary to ensure my daughter’s good behaviour, including where appropriate the use of corporal punishment.”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” one father commented as he signed the form. “You’re going to be a good girl after all. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, father, of course.”
“And I’m writing a note at the foot of the page, asking them to let me know if you let yourself down in any way so we could discuss that on your return…”