The football season is eight or nine weeks in, and Laura has missed nothing. She and Uncle Tom have attended every game, home and away. Together with the other band festivals, the two of them are as busy as Emily and the band. They have acquired their own group to sit with, and Laura is trying to whistle between her hands like a friend of hers does. As if that almighty whistle from behind her teeth she has already demonstrated for me isn’t loud enough.
Laura bristled the first time one of those adults she lives with suggested the night would be too cold for her to sit through the game; apparently if it’s good for Uncle Tom, it’s good for Laura. She layers up and cheers her team to eight victories in nine games. And goes to every band show, too.
Yesterday was the holy grail of high school band performances, the Buckeye Invitational. Held at Ohio State, on the field of Woody Hayes, featuring enough noise to make any band aficionado happy, and concluding with the Ohio State University Marching Band. Tom and Laura dropped Emily off at her high school to ride the band bus, and the two of them high tailed it for Columbus. I sent Laura with the camera.
The fifty yard line
Emily's blue and white at 2:30
There they are on the score board
And on the field
One of their marching formations
I am humbled
The Pride of the Buckeyes
The other band Laura came to see
The “i” is dotted
More than thirty bands played, a new one every fifteen minutes. Home at midnight, and one sleepy little girl went up to bed, while Uncle Tom went back to the high school to meet Emily’s bus. Laura filled the card and consumed the battery with her pictures. And she saw what she went to see—the Buck i dotted.