I’ll warn you that I’m in a sentimental mood.
I haven’t blogged for more than two weeks, for two reasons,
1.) I’ve been writing a lot for school which makes for less motivation to write for fun. (My first term is going very well, thanks for asking.)
2.)Politics has me down, and I am really not motivated to write about that. Between the commercials, and telephone calls I’m already getting, I wish I could wake up in December and skip this whole election season.
Saturday, I took a break from studying and news watching to volunteer for my daughter’s high school band‘s annual march-a-thon. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to volunteer very much during the school year, I consented to the job they have the hardest time filling, marching alongside the band for the whole route. Everyone told me I was crazy for doing it, but hey, someone’s got to.
First of all let me fill you in on the high school marching band in my town. The Allen Escadrille is the largest marching band in the country with over 800 (yes, 800) members including the color guard and drill team. Every year they hold a march-a-thon to raise funds for their spring trip, and march 10 miles in August in Texas. Yee haw, and God bless America.
I LOVED every minute of it.
For as little personal musical experience and talent as I have, I still consider myself a band geek, so I thoroughly enjoyed marching alongside the kids, listening to them play and living a bit vicariously through them. 10 miles, and they spent every bit of it playing music and performing these little marching chants and laughing and being silly. People from town line the parade route to cheer them on and spray them down with hoses to cool them off. It’s an event with a lot of joy and great energy. (It didn’t hurt that it was only in the 80s and overcast. The joy probably wears off around mile 4 when it’s 110 degrees out.)
I’m really kind of a jerk when it comes to my tolerance of teenaged shenanigans. I’d rather have peace and quiet, which tend to be in short supply when a group of teenagers get together. I feel badly that I feel that way, but I do.
Today was a different story. Maybe because the march-a-thon is all about them. Maybe I was in band geek heaven so I was feeling in a particularly generous mood. Who knows? I just marched alongside them and soaked in the fun and free spirited vibe they were giving off.
Midway through the march-a-thon the kids get loaded up onto buses (23 of them) and travel across town to do the second half of the march. I happened to be the only adult aside from the bus driver on my bus, and I did my best to be inconspicuous.
The music was turned up and the kids were dancing in their seats and singing. I smiled to myself as I watched, remembering my own high school days (mostly) fondly. Remembering when I could be silly with my friends and sing at the top of my lungs in public without anyone looking at me like I was crazy (or at least not caring if they thought I was crazy). Watching the looks on their faces as they sang the un-edited versions of the song on the radio, that tiny bit of rebellion giving them an extra twinkle in their eyes…especially when Enrique Ingelsias’s “Tonight I’m Loving You” came on. (If you don’t know the real lyrics, I’ll let you discover them on YouTube or Google.)
Next up was the song “We Are Young” by the band fun., and the whole bus erupted into singing. Just unrestrained, unselfconscious singing. The girls and the boys both singing that anthem to youth and wild behavior, and I couldn’t help but sit there and think about how little they understand the freedom they have being the age they are. Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young.
But, as I’m writing this, I surely do hope that every one of those kids on the bus carry the sentiment of the refrain of that song with them tonight, and every day and night for as long as they can.
And I hope that just a little bit of that rubbed off on me.
As a post script to this story, let me say that while I felt fantastic for the whole 10 mile march and from basking in youthful exuberance, I got home and dutifully sat down for about an hour to study. After which time I got up, or should I say, tried to get up from the couch. Every muscle was sore and tight…ah well, forty is a far cry from sixteen I guess, at least physically. All I can say is, thank goodness for Advil and warm soaks…but I’ll be back to volunteer next year, you can count on it.