divinewrites

This past weekend I got to do something that I have wanted to do my entire life.  I got to be in BAND!

I am not kidding, from the moment my classmates went to the band room in 5th grade, leaving a hand full of us in random study halls, I have yearned for the chance.  Then as classes advanced and I went to their concerts, the desire only grew.  When I was high school, I sat, in rapt attention as I watched field show after field show take center stage.  I came from a school with a long and solid reputation in marching…I wanted to be part of that legacy.  Going to college at SDSU ( NOT San Diego), the PRIDE has had a long and successful tradition.  I was friends with many of them–but I never fit in their world.  I didn’t know or understand the inner workings of the programs and shows they put together.

I know a bit more today. And, I want more.

My oldest son is a drummer-he has never taken a piano lesson, but has an understanding of rhythm and music that comes so naturally to him.  It is truly remarkable to watch him sit down at his trap set and improvise or to listen to him re-create music he’s only heard.  The other day I heard him on his bells practicing away to the tune of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”  

I sat there with a goofy grin on my face, knowing that some of my love for music and theatre has transferred to at least one of my sons.  (the verdict is still out on the other one.)  I knew the song he was playing and then I listened as he maneuvered from the chorus to his own improv of the verses.  He didn’t sing-he just stood there, almost trance-like, fully present to what he was creating.  I fought back tears of my own in that moment.  I could see his love-I could feel how much music means to him, I could sense his connection.  And, because I have that connection to music (and words), I understood him on another level.  “I set him on that path,” I breathed to myself.  YES!!!

So, I decided that since he was entering high school and the instances of my connecting with him will lessen as the years speed past, I would volunteer with the band-and marching band as much as I could.  What began as simply assembling, transporting, and moving set pieces for the field show, gave way to chaperoning.  Now that is a whole new reality.

On a bus, among multiple high school students, all in various stages of morning to NON morning person attitude welcomed me.  After the grunt work of loading coolers and instruments, we took our seats.  I chose a seat up front-“cause parents don’t sit with the kids mom” and waited for us to leave.  Suddenly, my seat was inhabited by a gangly, orange and black braces wearing drummer who could barely contain himself.  “I’m coming to sit with you, mom.  Is that OK?”  OK?  Of course it was OK!  Didn’t he want to sit with the drum line though?  Nope.

Armed with my phone, my Spotify playlist, and a pair of earbuds, I was ready to tune out for a bit.  Toothy grin boy next to me grabbed one of my earbuds, stuck it in his ear, and offered me his earnest face.  “Let’s sing, mom!”  Okey dokey.  Song after song, we thumbs up or thumbs downed our selections and smiled at each other once in a while.  This is what it feels like to relate to your kiddo as an almost adult!!!

The parade is typical of any line em up and move em out parade.  Other than warm ups and the quiet marching before you take the parade route, it’s pretty uneventful.  The field show is where it’s at.

The unloading, assembling, tuning, prepping, and executing a field show is some of the most intricate and detailed work I’ve seen high school students do. Every step, timed.  Every movement has a motivation, each note tells the story.  And, each member is integral.  If a member is out of step, the whole thing looks sloppy-it is a lesson in communication, teamwork, and listening.  It’s also a lesson in ego.  Like you have to set down your own ego and work for the good of the whole.  It’s not the snare that grabs the spot light to win percussion awards-it’s the work of the whole percussion section that lands an honor.  For the artist ,setting aside that ego is sometimes the toughest ask of the whole show.

I loaded, unloaded, gobble-gobbled at students who wanted turkey sandwiches, I taped, tied, untied, and stood behind banners on the field.  I saw behind the scenes what no one watching the show sees.  I saw the counting, the looking down at feet to make sure laces were tied, the nervous grins of good luck, and the extreme concentration of all involved.  It left me speechless.

From behind a large fabric banner, I watched the percussion pit-I am beginning to know these kids-some I have watched for years now (well at least since 5th grade).  Others I am just coming to know.  They are a riot!  Their goofy humor and hacky-sack playing speaks to me and reminds me of games of “spoons” and “Egyptian Rock Kill” that we played waiting for results at debate and interp tournaments.  But standing there, watching them engaged in the show, I was transfixed.

A couple of times I had to choke back tears.  “That’s my BUG out there.  Oh, hit that transition….YES!  Watch your step on the backward march and cross step with that big ole bass strapped to you…..Sweet-he made it!” This was more than watching my son come into his own and realizing a group of people who may turn out to be some of his best friends who have his back play.  ( with his adhd and anxiety struggles-having friends who accept unconditionally have been hard to come by)  I was living a dream.

True, I did not have an instrument in my hand- (boy did I wish I had), but I was watching and listening to something come alive—and I was a tiny, tiny part of it.  Walking back with the students, I could feel their excitement.  They had nailed this show-they knew it, I knew it, anyone who had seen it knew it.  Gathering back to dismantle and load, I looked for my son.  Spotting him, I opened my arms for a big hug-he flew into them!  And, he attempted on 2 different bear hugs to lift me off the ground-  He just needed more arm strength.  I blinked back tears, blamed them on the cold, and hugged him tighter yet.  This!  This is what pride in your child feels like.  This!  This is what having a tight and loving bond with your child feels like–blissful and a myriad of emotions all at once.  I stood quiet some time later and my son ambled over to ask what was wrong-“nothing, it’s just this is my first ever band experience.  I had wanted this my whole life and never got to be part.”  “Well, what did you want to play?”  “Trumpet” I said without a moment’s hesitation-“but the middle of my top lip is not strong enough for that mouth piece-I can only play out the side of my mouth on a trumpet-and forget about the french horn!”  He yells for a fellow bander-she hurries over and my son says to her. “Hey, let my mom try your baritone-(mellophone)!  She’s always wanted to play, but was never allowed to.  See if she can play that one!”  Happily the student hands it over-I nervously wipe off the mouth piece, position my lips and fingers in what I think is the right way and blow.  High baritone notes flowed forth–up the higher end of the scale! “Ok, that’s good!” he said  “Quick before Mr.______hears you playing and thinks it’s one of the kids and we get in trouble!”  Sheepishly I hand the horn back-an impressed look forces a smile–“You did that pretty well-those high notes are not easy.”  “Well, I was a soprano vocalist-we learned to develop good breath support.  With more air, you have the chance for higher notes sounding clearer-or something like that.”  Aaaahhhh.

A long and busy day gave way to standing in sleet and waiting and more waiting.  The ride home was quiet.  The same drummer came and sat with me, sharing earbuds and a smile.  This time though, instead the of the excitement I felt buzzing around him, I sensed peace.  I purposely chose quieter songs on the way home.  A contented sigh escaped from him and I glanced down to see his head resting  heavily on my shoulder….eyes closed, relaxed, damp, and more than a bit tired.

Silently I whispered a “thank you Bug…thank you for allowing me to come along on this journey with you.  I may not ever get to march or learn an instrument, but this is a moment I will remember for a lifetime.”

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