An Ode to Six Seven

When I was six-seven,

Four-five years from eleven,

Every time I’d say my age,

I’d feel I’d jumped onto a stage.

“Six seven!” they’d shout,

Waving hands up and about.

The grown-ups would groan,

“Not again!” they’d moan.

But now I am eight,

People just say, “Oh, that’s great.”

And while I’m sure being nine,

When it comes, will be fine -

I’ll always remember six-seven

Being heaven.

-          Cat Heffernan

About An Ode to Six Seven

On the approach to my son’s birthday there were many, many discussions about the party, what presents he wanted and what his new age was going to be—six! Thankfully a number we can, for the most part now, say without too much chaos ensuing.

It did make me reflect on what it must have been like for all those turning six or seven last year in the height of the six-seven craze. I penned the little Ode above as a tribute to something that absolutely took over and will always remind me of my son’s first semester of primary school.