My oldest child, my beautiful sweet sixteen, will be a junior in high school. This at once takes my breath away and makes my heart race. She's lovely, through and through, and if I were to wax poetic (or at least metaphorical), I'd tell you that she's like the peonies that are bobbing their heads outside my window. One day, tightly compressed around themselves, layer after layer of miracles building, hidden, and then exploding with life and fragrance and powerful delicate pink the next. Mind you, she's of a stronger constitution, I think, and doesn't bend after one strong rain, and, well, she isn't covered with ants. She does, however, want to play the tuba.
Amazingly, my daughter with a bend for all things athletic (in this way, she veers sharply from her mama), based on her mom's cajoling, pleading, tearful repetition of "Try it, TRY it", played in the marching band last year as a first year sophomore. And, she fell in love. Head over heels, labels herself a band geek, thinking about a music major in love... I couldn't be more pleased. Not that I'll let her know this right away.
Sitting in the parent meeting last fall, where all things marching were carefully laid out in front of us sweating, dedicated, to-practice-on-time deliverers, I was caught up in a swirl of memories. The band directors, for whom I have developed an INTENSE fondness and gratitude, have their acts together. They love these kids. Are realistic about these kids. Are straightforward, passionate and untiring in their dedication to these kids. And I was blown away with anticipation for my child to experience what was in store for her. The parent handbook spelled out details, but my heart beat out experience after experience...
The new uniform smell. Fresh out of the dry cleaner bag, carefully put together and as closely sized as the anonymity of the overcoat and stirruped pants would allow by other dedicated, sweating parents. The look of the hat. (I had worn a beanie. Drummers rocked.) Shiny buttons. A white shoe requirement. (I wore spats. Haven't said or thought of that word in years.) The feeling of belonging to something BIG. LOUD. ATTENTION, PLEASE.
Cold bleachers. Muddy fields. Marching the wrong way because my parka was blinding me, but letting everyone think it was Mary Kay Campbell since no one could tell us apart anyways. The fear of getting cocoa on the overlay during third quarter. Bleacher creatures (my director's pet name for the students that wanted to absorb a bit of our ONENESS, without the practice, uniform, or band camp sweat.)
Band camp. Being a MUN. The silence of a stadium before the drum roll of the National Anthem. Drum rolls. Rolling on my drum (this memory was a painful one).
The pulse of music. How it was life blood for me. How I had, in the process of kids and careers and laundry, forgotten it.
Memory after mental movie after a million exploding rememberings... but there I was, in the midst of reverie, in the midst of a parent meeting that I probably needed to listen to for my daughter. Who had suddenly bloomed and was going to fall in love with this face, this soul, this friend Music who I knew so well.
She had a blast, and I wonder about the million rememberings she started to collect. Wish I could watch her mental movies, at least a few--maybe lightly edited for my poor heart's sake. She became a permanent fixture in the band room. And allowed herself to be persuaded to switch from clarinet to TUBA, in the name of all things BIG and BLATTY.
I tease her that she'll look like Larry the Cucumber from Veggie Tales. That I can envision her snapping to attention and then slowly tipping backward like a fallen cedar. But really, I know she'll have a blast (no onomatopoeiac pun intended). The comradie of the section rivals (but won't compare with) the percussion section. Her big blue eyes will sparkle. She might even wear a beanie--but I'm not sure.
What I am sure of is how much I love her. And that if I could freeze frame this stage of her bloom, suspend it time for us to turn around, examine, cherish it, I would. Because it is so breathakingly lovely, and heart-pounding awesome.