What do you do on Saturdays? Do you sleep in? Do you go to work? Or one of a zillion other things that we humans do to define our lives? Me? Well, for nearly the past three months, I've spent my time with about twenty high-school kids.
Now before you get the wrong impression, I'm not a teacher. At least not a High School teacher. I've certainly taught my share of computer classes. No, this wasn't as a teacher. More of a guardian, a mentor, a role model, and mostly a "roadie." You see, I was with the band.
Our son is a sophomore in High School and for the past several years he has been really excited about music. First it was playing the saxophone. Then, lead guitar. But recently it's been percussion. Drums, cymbals and pretty much anything else you can bang on.
That doesn't explain my reference to Saturday's though, so let me explain. Most Saturdays, in February and March, the Westlake High School Winter Percussion Ensemble (a.k.a. "The Drumline") takes part in competitions at various schools in Southern California and elsewhere. Some of the other locations this season were San Francisco and Las Vegas. And for all but one of those days, my wife and I were there.
We were there to make sure they all got on the bus. We made sure that they had water and snacks. After we saw how bad the food was at some of these "comps" we even bought food and fed them. We watched as they practiced marching through their show, complete with props, professional choreography and a giant plastic mat to cover the gym floor. Then, at the appointed moment, we hurriedly helped them drag it all into a gym. We watched, proudly, for about 7 minutes and then we frantically helped them drag it all out (there are penalties for going over the allotted time!)
It was a lot of work and no small expense. To be sure, we weren't the only parents there. Each week there would be six or so other volunteers out of the thirty or forty parents that these children have. But, somehow, none of the others made it every time. Sometimes, I wondered why WE WERE. And then one of the kids would thank us for our help or say something like "you guys are always here. My parents never come." And then I would think about the fact that in only two years our son will graduate and change our lives. These are the last Saturdays that he will be our dependent. Of course, he will always be our son and we will go on to spend many years with him. But never again in this way. And I am thankful for the chance to be with him. To see my son grow and mature. To see him with his friends (and know all of his friends). Despite the efforts, I know that we gained more than we gave.
And then there are the other children. Young men and women really. Each of them was influenced, to some small extent, by our presence. We weren't overbearing or nagging. We didn't try to force our religion on them. But we demonstrated in the very best way (by example) what a family does for each other. We were there as a team. My wife, our daughter and I. When you get one of us, you get all of us.
Now it's over. No more drumline comps. No long days (usually from 8:00am to midnight). No carting equipment or setting up the props. No mad dashes up to the top-row of bleachers to videotape and then back to the floor to clear out. No more ... Well... No more until this fall. When the Marching Band season starts! Oh man, I'd better enjoy my Saturdays while I can!