The website where we have been told we can purchase the school uniform surprises me. Not just the usual shirts and jumpers that I suspected would be there but also ski hats, backpacks, reversible jackets and other items, all with perfectly embroidered replicas of the school logo.

It strikes me that this could be a waste of money if the school decides that pupils must have a set of fresh clothes every day and that they should just wear something comfortable. Who knows, he might not even be allowed to take a backpack?

News: ‘Full time’ Scottish schools return planned for August

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My son is due to start school in August - he’s a big five-year-old after all. But Covid-19 has made a predictable rite of passage into something quite different, and I think he senses it. After all, we’ve been laying the groundwork in preparation for his starting P1 since Christmas and now we’ve gone a bit coy about it all.

Coronavirus: What will it be like for my boy starting primary school?

You’d think we would know better. My wife is a P1 teacher and I’ve only just left education after 28 years. This will be a breeze for us, surely? We could sit him down and talk him through all the things he could look forward to in the coming months - getting to know his new teacher and his P1 buddies, trying a school lunch, finding out where to line up. We could wax lyrical about what his day will look like, and all the exciting things he could do in the classroom with his friends. This was going to be the beginning of a great adventure.

But, instead, we now sit in the evening and talk about how many days he could be in school, how safe he will actually be, the constant washing of hands that will leave his skin irritated and sore, the scaling back of resources in the classroom to comply with infection control.

What excitement and wonder will he be able to engage with when things are locked away? No shared resources will make it difficult to practice sharing; if only half the class is in that means the other half will be strangers to him.

Social distancing is a concept his body refuses to adhere to and I’ve never met a primary teacher that can watch a child struggling with their backpack or knife and fork and not help.

There are endless scenarios to pore over. When he falls and hurts himself, will someone give him a hug? How will he learn that these people are his trusted adults if, when he needs care, they don’t come to his aid?

It’s me being melodramatic, I know. He’ll likely remain blissfully unaware of what should have been. He’ll be just as excited to start. Every teacher I know is desperate to make it as rich and as safe an experience as they can. Like most of them, though, I can’t help feeling a little bit sad. He’s my first and only child. I was excited to be part of this well-established next stage for him.

On reflection, I need to accept the truth - my son starting school was a rite of passage for me, too.

Michael Conlon is a digital learning consultant and lives with his wife and five-year-old son in Perth and Kinross