For years, I have patiently and attentively sat on the sidelines at games and meets and matches, and now finally – finally! – one of our kids has stumbled on my game. After spending seven years in band and four years in color guard myself, I always dreamed of being in the stands as a marching band parent one day. That day has come, as the tween has joined the junior color guard. And I could not be more excited!
But I’m also very cautious.
I have amazing memories of my own years in marching band. All those times at band camp. Day-long rehearsals with my best friends. The thrill of competition. Bus rides home with games and naps and whispered conversations. Even 20 years later, I look back on my marching band days fondly. I still remember the inside jokes. I still have souvenirs from trips and competitions. And of all the high school classmates I’m friends with on Facebook, it’s my fellow band geeks I gravitate towards.
I want those memories for her, I just want it to be her idea.
This is the kid who will sign up for anything, but I worry this one is more about me. She’s seen the photos. She knows about the awards. She has even been to band contests to see my younger siblings perform. Earlier this year, she found our old flags. My sisters and I showed off a bit (we’ve still got it!) and taught her a few spins and simple tosses. I hope it was as much fun for her as it was for us.
I’m trying to find the balance of encouraging this new activity without cajoling her. I don’t want my enthusiasm to push her into something she doesn’t want to do. It’s always been important to me that my kids learn who they want to be and figure out what they like for themselves, though I admit I get a little more excited about things I already know and love.
So, I throw myself more into the things I don’t. I can’t shoot a basket to save my life, but I happily stepped up as an assistant coach (aka, kid wrangler) when they needed someone. I never stepped foot on a volleyball court as a kid or teen, but I learned the game and coached two seasons in a row with my husband. I don’t run, but I learned about distance and breathing and pacing so I could cheer at the finish line for every cross country meet.
I won’t be one of those parents who lives through her children. I had my turn. I made my decisions. It’s their turn to do the same thing. I’m happy to be a part of it, but I’ll always be content to cheer from the sidelines at whatever activity they choose. I’ll wear the school colors. I’ll drive the carpool. I’ll carry the flag – or tuba, or dance shoes, or sports bag.
And then I’ll step back and let them do their thing.
I desperately want her to be a part of this, but I’ve talked to her a lot about how it’s okay if she isn’t into it. I must be driving her crazy with all the check-ins. “Are you having fun?” “Do you like it?” “Are you sure?”
I’m definitely more excited for this one than usual, but I will completely understand if color guard ends up not being the right fit for her. I worry she’ll stick it out longer than she wants for fear of disappointing me. And that’s the last thing I want.
But at the winter guard call-out at the end of her fest fall season, we watched videos of last year’s performance. I nearly teared up seeing what she could be a part of. When the segment ended, the grin on her face made my heart soar. She loves it so far, but if she eventually decides color guard is not for her, we will walk away.
Even as I look wistfully at the flags behind us.