Proud Tears

Band is the one thing my two kids will get to share. Because of the four year age difference, Hillary will be out of high school before Parker gets there, and (dare I hope) leaving college by the time he enters. So I was thrilled to be able to go to ONE parade competition and watch BOTH my kids performing. Hillary as drum major and Parker as banner carrier.

I sat with friends on the side of the road and watched as the other bands came by, small and squeaky and arrayed in various colors. Then finally, they came. The Wildcat Marching Band. Compared to the others they looked like a small army. They descended upon us in ruler straight lines, playing loud and strong. Parker marched tall and precise, knees high...toes pointed, just as Hillary had shown him at home as she made him prance around the living room to practice. His face was stone and I knew better than to yell. The drill team danced along behind.

My willowy Hillary led the band with head held high and arms making sharp directive motions. And marching backwards in high heeled boots, I might add.

I couldn't help it...tears sprang to my eyes.

I blinked quickly and bit my tongue and blamed it on the wind blowing in my face.

And then a grandmother of one of the band members leaned over and said to me, "Every time I see them perform, it always makes me cry!"

A perfect reminder that there is no shame in proud tears.