When there's one kid in class who's good at everything.

Did you have a Harry?

At my son’s school there is a Harry.

Did you have a Harry too?

I remember the first time I laid eyes on Harry. He was in the pool at the school swimming carnival, competing against other children who had just learned to keep their heads above water.

While one child swam diagonally across the pool and another stopped to tread water and wave at his mum, a boy in a blue swimming cap streaked through the pool like a seven-year-old Ian Thorpe. He glided, slid dolphin-like, metres ahead of the other kids, breaking all sorts of public school records kept on a cork-backed flipboard by a very dedicated official in a straw hat.

“Who’s that?” I asked, incredulous.

“Oh”, replied my son, “that’s Harry.”

Six months later, I have come to realise that quite often the question is asked of Harry and on most occasions the answer is the same.

“Oh, that’s Harry.”

Harry is the kid who is good at everything. He wins everything. First in swimming. Won cross-country. Beat the other kids by a mile at athletics.

Harry kicks a ball like Tim Cahill and wrecks havoc on the year-two handball court with his jump shot that makes him king every time.

“Who’s that?” I often hear other mums ask, as he commands bands of ruffle-headed boys in the playground hanging on his every word.

“That’s Harry.”

Harry’s not just good at sport; he’s also smart. Top of the class, won the public speaking competition for years two AND three, voted to the SRC — twice.

And he is, of course, highly decorated in school badges.

Harry was reading, I imagine, by pre-school and now devours novels in minutes, only to spin around and regale you with a charming synopsis of its comedic highs.

And here’s the problem.

Harry is nice. And good looking too. He’s fun to be around, quick witted and kind. He even lets the kindy kids in the playground have a turn. He’s like an eight-year-old George Clooney, ready to grow up and claim his Amal Alamuddin.

My first instinct was to hate Harry.

(Terrible isn’t it to feel that about an eight-year old boy? Hatred.)

I think I was jealous really.

But it was all I heard – at least once a day, can you blame me?

“Why can’t I play football like Harry? Why can’t I run as fast as Harry? Oh I will never be as good as Harry.”

“Harry is so good at maths. You should have seen him in drama. Why can’t I play tennis like Harry?”

“Who came first?” “Harry.”

Always Harry.

There were days I wanted to groan hearing the very mention of the name. Not Harry again. Christ is there anything that kid can’t do?

Did you have a Harry at school?

Maybe for you, like me, it was the popular girl? The one who was not just smart and funny AND had the nice boyfriend (who was hot, of course) but actually interesting and fun too.

You always felt just a little bit jealous as well as secretly aspiring to be a bit like her.

Remember the feeling when she asked you to her 12th birthday party? Like winning Sale of the Century, having Delvene Delaney invite you to the gift shop.

Do you still think about her? Comparing yourself? Wondering where she is now, what she’s doing? If she’s still successful?

There is a temptation to make negative comparisons when you feel like you don’t measure up and never will.

But what if you re-framed this? What if instead of measuring yourself against her, she has actually made you try just a little bit harder in life.

What if Harry is actually good for my kids?

What if instead of being jealous of Harry, they are, in fact, in awe?

I’ve realised that Harry was making my sons aspire to try harder, to be nicer. They weren’t intimidated by Harry they were striving to be him. They weren’t threatened by Harry they were learning from him.

They might not be as good at soccer as Harry, but he was making them want to be. Harry was giving them ambition and drive – and showing them its okay to be nice to the kindy kids.

So I have come to realise that a Harry is a good thing.

He will define my kids. While they strive to be him they are also realising in some ways that while they may not be good at what Harry is, they have their own strengths.

In this formative time in my sons’ lives one of their own peers is a role model, and how could anyone be anything but pleased with that?

Harry has been good for me too; he has taught me too. What Harry has taught me — is that everyone needs a Harry.

Did you have a Harry at school? How did they make you feel?