Thursday, May 9, 2013

the one where I think about endings as I type directly into the window

Tonight
is my daughter's last high school
band
concert
ever.

For four years,
she's played percussion
in marching band,
percussion and piano
in wind ensemble,
this year and her first year
piano in jazz band.

For four years,
band has owned us,
not just her,
us.

Camps
and after school rehearsals.
Wednesday evening rehearsals
on the field
away games and contests.

I've chaperoned
the kids to every contest,
most away games.

I've pinned up hair,
bandaged cuts,
hemmed pants,
taped up flags with electrical tape,
safety pinned jackets,
sold white gloves,
hauled percussion equipment,
baked cookies, served cookies,
fed judges,
handed out tissues,
hugged, comforted, shushed,
accompanied girls to the restroom

My tiny girl has played
marimba and bells, cymbals,
a ratchett, bass drum
tenor quads,
snare.

She's marched and marched,
stood in icy rain
in uniforms that could never
keep her warm enough.

The band has been
her family, dysfunctional
at times, but family.

Tonight, I will cry,
probably harder than I'll cry
at graduation June 1.

I'll cry because it's not just my girl
who is leaving me, it's all
the seniors,
and I know she/they
isn't/aren't
leaving me,
they are growing away,
evolving, maturing,
becoming.

Endings are always beginnings.
Is that right?

Sure, sure.


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