Land of Make Believe

Sometimes when I write here, I feel like a Johnny come lately. My children are teenagers. I've been there, did that, folded the paper, pasted the project.

I am a "mommy blogger" (despite my aversion the label)... I write about my offspring and the skills required to parent them. I resist the pull to grab all my younger blog friends and say...'Get over it, do your best and rely on me to confirm that". I want to be the "senior parent". Except for the part where I confess I don't know squat.

At a certain point, we are required to throw up our hands to the winds. Or maybe the gods of parenting. Or someting  We just accept that we've hit that place. We have done our best and at this point, our job is to observe. 

Last Friday was my firstborn's last halftime performance ever. Greatness, as defined by high school is finite. That doesn't mean I won't take it. I am beaming. They were glorious.

But I want to focus more on their song choices and the reason this year was a touching season beyond my personal bias. Barely. The day our marching band performed at the local fair, I was able to visit the fair before the performance. We had a decadent lunch of fried food with a table of folks from a local retirement village. I told them during lunch that our HS band would be performing soon, that was why we were there. 

We went to the show in the grandstand... and on the track, were our friends from lunch ready to watch the show. 

Within moments of the show starting, one of their aides encouraged one of the residents to get up and dance. I watched them trip the light fantastic and enjoy the bands while I sat in the stands. Humbly, but tearfully, watching a show that bridged young and old, strong and weak, worker and employer.

I watched them dance with joy. 

It was no Land of Make Believe. 

It exists. 

Join me. You're always welcome.