After today, I have way more respect for the kids who march in the band.
Why?
Because I stood, for almost two hours, refilling water jugs and, in general, just being an “extra” hand if the kids needed something.
I am, as I type this, sitting on the couch bemoaning how sore my feet are.
Either I’m too old for this, or I’m out of shape.
I suspect it’s the latter.
Honestly, I don’t know how kids do it. I would not have been strong enough, even at their tender ages.
I watched as the kids marched out the same 16 steps twenty or thirty times…over and over and over again.
I watched kids get called out for scratching their noses when they were supposed to be standing at attention.
I got tickled as I heard the band director demand that the players holler “Uh,” not “Up,” until they got it right.
He has a good ear, that one, for he was even able to discern the one boy, out of over 100, who dragged out his “Uh” too long (hey, we speak Redneck…it’s hard to overcome this accent).
We had a couple of minor issues. One girl had ripped the skin from her wrist, and she needed a bandaid.
Another gentleman wanted a band aid to cover up a hole of some sort in his instrument.
Although I didn’t have the medical box on the field, I did have something better.
My purse.
The black hole.
The bottomless pit that contains anything and everything a mom could possibly need.
Band aids?
Not a problem!
Scissors to trim the rectangular band aid into the round one needed for the instrument?
Not a problem.
The gal who had met me at the field to show me the ropes could scarcely believe the stuff I was pulling out of my purse.
Finally, the director gathered the students together.
I took it as my cue to leave…another title etched into the ole resume…
Water Girl.
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