What goes to band camp must come home

Last Sunday

Yesterday, marching in from the buses in the parking lot.

Our trumpeter:

middle row, third from the field.

We can still see her!

Third row, sixth from left!

There are some old friends here, too.

Joe, first row, fourth from left.

Liam, first row, 13th from left.

And today, two ibuprofen and a heating pad for a sore back.

Emily took all the pictures on her phone. These kids move too fast for me.

Another Friday, another football game

Hudson is three for three in the sudden death playoff games. Unlike last year, with a lot of snow on the ground, this fall was unseasonably warm. Unlike last year, when the football team surely would be defeated in this fourth game, and was, mercifully ending the marching band season for a jaded old grandma, there seems little chance of a defeat tonight.

Unlike last year in the snow, tonight it is cold and raining. Somehow snow falling in the stadium lights is more bearable than rain beating relentlessly on a game where the band’s chief job is to help maintain momentum for the team, especially when they never truly were invested in the outcome of any football game. 

Adding insult to injury, the knowledge that a good number of fellow marching band members have been “called off” by their parents in order to keep the Thanksgiving holiday. I believe I am safe in saying Emily believes as I do, she signed on for the bad times as well as the good, and Liam and Joe’s parents are of the same opinion. 

So, another Friday, another football game.

But, there was no joy in my car when I loaded on my two complete opposite brothers. Joe, the pessimist, was wallowing in angst, while Liam, the optimist, would not cut his brother a millimeter of slack or sympathy. They remind me of my own two brothers, one of whom considered himself superior to the other, and shot tiny, ill disguised barbs frequently. The major difference, my brother who took the abuse was a pacifist who seldom retaliated.

Before we left the curb, Joe began a litany of worries. I thought his father’s back looked discouraged as he walked back into the house, and I soon saw why.  Liam started in on Joe at once for his negativity. Joe responded. Liam responded. Joe yelled to just shut up, he didn’t want to fight. Liam yelled to Joe to shut up first. 

I figured they still were sugared up from yesterday, so I asked Joe if he had a nice day. Yes, the best Thanksgiving on record. Liam at once asked why Joe was so negative today. Joe yelled he didn’t want to fight. Liam needled again. Blows were exchanged, an interesting phenomena with one as front passenger and the other in the back seat driver corner, and both strapped in. I pulled to the curb and informed them they would be returned to their father forthwith, if unable to restrain themselves.

We drove on, with silence from Joe, needling from Liam,  Joe bellowing for Liam to shut up. I told Liam to shut up a couple of times, myself, but he was as unable to lay off Joe as Joe is to not verbalize anxiety. Suddenly Joe asked I not tell his mother. I assured him she would only know if a police report must be filed.

If there is a God in heaven, this team must lose tonight. If you agree, clap your hands.

Last Wednesday night band practice!

Since last August there has been Wednesday night marching band practice. Tonight was my last trip to practice with Emily, Joe and his brother, Liam. Who knew, three years ago, that my traffic defying chase of Joe’s mother to the high school, so I could park behind her, put my face in her window and ask if she would car pool would turn into a dynasty.

The first two years I had Emily, Hamilton and Joe, with Hamilton the big guy in the front seat. Last year Emily claimed front seat, but this year Joe definitely is the big guy in the front seat, with Emily and Liam back. Next year it will be Joe, Liam and Laura. Then Liam and Laura. Then….

I love Joe in the front seat. Joe is on the Asberger spectrum. He has a high anxiety level and a photographic memory. I hear book pages turning in our discussions. He mercilessly cuts me off at the knees when he can no longer wait to disagree with me, makes his point and then tells me to go ahead and make my point.

If I’m not involved, there are great free ranging discussions among the three of them. I enjoy teen age give and take. Joe’s high anxiety level often breaks through; he cannot stop himself from worrying if the band will perform up to the expectation of the director, if the opposing school’s band will diss them after the game, and so on. Emily and I used to march him in lockstep through the reasons to be positive; Liam, in true little brother fashion, tells him to knock it off.

Joe learned to drive last year and has his license. His mother would not let him drive to school until this year, and though he drives himself and Liam to school and back, he cannot drive them to band practice on Wednesday or for a game on Friday because Ohio has a wonderful law banning teenagers from driving in the dark with a passenger.

I can feel Joe driving my car for me, from his seat. Sometimes our feet press the brake pedal simultaneously; sometimes he is a fraction ahead of me. Tonight, for the second time in three years, I took a different route, right out of his street because I would be ten minutes turning left against all the traffic. I had an immediate “Where are you going?”  I told him we were taking the freeway. “Oh, OK,” and he relaxed into the seat.

Traffic was unusually heavy tonight, however. Suddenly, “Oh, this traffic makes me car sick,” and his voice meant it. I had cold air blasting on him a second later, and he picked up where he left off, on the merits of military marching bands compared to show and corps style. I had nothing to contribute to that discussion, so kept on inching and driving, until I delivered them and turned off the air.

I did hear one small “Sto….” thrown into a sentence when I may not have noticed the car ahead of me stopping. I will miss that boy. But, I’ll still have Liam, who is another inimitable person, whip smart and beautifully opinionated.    

And if Hudson is defeated in its first playoff game on Friday, my marching band season is over until next August. Here’s hoping.