It was an exciting evening in our family. Our oldest played with the marching band in her first football game. She was so nervous, she kept saying she might throw up. Her mother felt the same way. The hub dropped her off at school and sent her on a school bus with a bunch of high schoolers. Blurg. B took the two youngers to soccer practice and I drove, along with my brother, sister in law and friend(and percussionist) to Jefferson County to watch them march. We found friends and basically followed them since it was our first time at a high school football game in cough cough, grumble...years. Even though we sat in enemy school territory, we were on the best side to see the band. Everybody has a first performance, I know I did, and they are never all the way perfect. I have been in singing groups and bands and various and sundry entertainment type groups...and we all sounded a bit different from our first gig to our last. It didn't matter. They could have accidently turned their music upside down and played the notes that way with their mallets and horns up their noses and I would have wanted to stand up, point my finger and say, "THAT"S MY BABY!!! RIGHT THERE!!!". My seating companions would have probably scooted away from me in fear of what might come next. So I cheered inside for that blonde little sprite down there playing things like a champ. I know it sounds overly dramatic, but it was a pretty emotionally moving thing to see your first born participating in something that brings her such joy and brings back such joyful memories for me. Band was the way I knew I would be okay. The place I found MY people. We all found ourselves walking in step with each other...we had our own inside jokes...we found refuge in the music and crowd and the cheers and the pride we felt from working as hard as the football players to keep the fans entertained. It was a sweet time that I treasure still today. Now my oldest gets it. She really gets it...and my heart swells with that knowledge.
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