Last Friday night as I sat on my comfy sofa in my air conditioned house, I turned to my Darling Beloved and said, “Do you know where we would have been at this exact time four years ago?”
“In a football stadium somewhere sweating to death?”
“Something like that.”
August is the worst climatological point in the year to put teenagers in football equipment and wool marching band uniforms and turn them loose on a field, not to mention the hours or practice in the sweltering, mid-day heat. But that’s a topic for another time.
With the heat and humidity each August comes Facebook serving me a flood of memories that we used to band parents. Each day from about mid-August through mid-December, there’s some sort of marching-band-related memory on my Facebook account. In hindsight I have come to understand that I posted about marching band a lot in eight years of being a band parent.
Whether it was mellophone, trumpet, trombone, band captain or drum major in the Parkview High School Marching Band or trumpet and drum major in the Kennesaw State University Marching Owls or trumpet in the University of Georgia Redcoat Marching Band, the odds are very good that the content of a Facebook post from me from 2015 to 2023 was about marching band. Our oldest, Barron, started us on the band parent journey, and our middle, Harris, saw us through to retirement.
The passage of time has sweetened the reminiscence but no amount of nostalgia can temper the vagaries of the August humidity. But between August’s sauna and December’s ice box, there are many pleasant Friday evenings under a gentle breeze and a painted sunset. There are smiles and laughter as your children do something they love with their friends and peers. The community of high school band is one of the sweetest fellowships on earth, and even though by the time our middle son’s marching career came to end, we were fatigued of volunteering, those eight years were enriched by the experience.
It’s not just Facebook conspiring to take me back to those halcyon days at Parkview. Mid-way through a day of video shoots at the Capitol, I walked to lunch in Atlanta’s Summerhill neighborhood last week and heard Georgia State’s drumline practicing in Center Parc Stadium. The stirring beat of the drumline quickens the pulse and inspires young athletes to higher levels of performance.
I love a good drumline. I can see why Lumon Industries chose to celebrate Mark S’s achievement with choreography and merriment. A full marching band, or at least a drumline, is what every office needs about 2 p.m. each day to help us reach our full potential.
The Parkview High School Marching Band inspired us to work the pit crew (moving stuff onto the field), manage the spirit wear sale and flip burgers in the concession stand. We said it was because we wanted to support our boys, but, come on, we could have just sat in the stands on our savvy band parent stadium seats and clapped politely.
No, we were truly motivated by the drums and the horns, the flag waving and tootling woodwinds to join the team effort and support the band.
It wasn’t just about football games either. Some of the most fun were the competition Saturdays. Those were long days and nights, without a doubt, but when Barron and his mates were declared grand champions at East Jackson his sophomore year, it felt like we had won something, when in reality, all we did was sell them their undershirts and pull a xylophone on wheels onto the field.
There was lots of drama, too. And not just among the kids. Band parent drama is definitely one of the least appreciated dramas in the world, ranking up there with Rectify. In lieu of actual problems, band parents love to second guess the band director’s every decision from who to name to leadership positions to what time to send the kids home on a Friday night before a Saturday competition.
Our Friday nights are considerably cooler/warmer, more restful and definitely more comfortable. They are also more boring. I miss our friends Jared and Heather. I miss “Hail to the Victor” and “Choker.” I miss standing in the kitchen as our boys recount their highlights of the night. I miss those cheeseburgers with the Parkview band secret ingredient.
The Book of Ecclesiastes teaches us that there is a season for everything under the sun. We have had our season of being band parents, and now we are in our season of being retired band parents.
From our sofa and comfy chair on Friday nights, know that we are cheering on all you band parents still in the fray. I honestly don’t know where we found the energy to do it on a weekly basis for eight consecutive autumns. Maybe we were fueled by the prayers and well wishes of generations of band parents who came before us now sitting on their sofas and remembering the swells of the trombones and drum majors’ whistles.
I can’t say that I miss all aspects of band parenting, but I can say without hesitation, I am glad we did it.
New South Essays 