An Unexpected Addition to My Thankful List

If I were to write up a list of all that I'm thankful for, it would stretch to Mexico City. And this year there's something new on the list. Band. Yep, that band: tuba players, flag twirlers, and funny plumed hats.

In fact, I would like to take back every ugly thing I ever said or thought about the band kids at my high school. I was wrong! I was immature and short-sighted! I couldn't get past the unflattering pants to see that band was one of the coolest things ever. The culture in my home didn't help. My dad was a football coach. Despite my mom's flute playing and my brother's dabbling in the trombone, my dad wore the pants in our family, and band pants they were not. I'm not sure anything irked him more than the quarterback running out on the field at halftime to play his trumpet. Football fields were for football games, and anything happening outside the 48 minutes of football play was irrelevant.

I'm sorry, band kids! Here's what I've learned about you in 2016.

Band kids work harder than just about anyone else. They run laps and bleachers. They stand for long minutes holding up their instruments to develop their arm muscles. They have six-hour practices in the blistering heat of summer, playing the same songs a hundred times a day. They learn an entirely new way to run, on their toes, while wearing shiny, patent-leather shoes.

Band kids know team work like no one else. They work together with the discipline and precision of a team of Navy seals. Attention to detail, focus, cooperation, pursuing excellence--all skills learned by band kids. And the amazing part is that no one's paying attention to that clarinet player in the fourth row. There is no spotlight on a marching band. No one's a star; no one's even noticed individually. They succeed or fail as a group. Band kids are selfless.

Band kids are a family. They take care of each other. There is no "JV" or "C Squad" band. Freshmen march right alongside seniors. My little freshman melophone player showed up at band camp a little overwhelmed and intimidated. Her section leader, a senior girl, noticed, cared, and became fast friends with my daughter. She sat with her on the five-hour bus ride to state, helped her with her homework, and made sure she had a group to sit with at dinner. Band kids eat together at lunch. They go out together after games. Band parties are a thing, and they're the kind of thing mothers feel good about. Band can provide a socially awkward kid with a sense of belonging and an introvert with a way to beautifully express herself.

I even have new respect for the band uniform. Yes, the bib overall thing is an odd choice, but I appreciate that the band uniform gets kids out of basketball shorts and into something classy, even regal.

I repent for harshly judging band kids. I regret my years of fast-forwarding through all the marching bands in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. My esteem for you is sky high, and if you've made it as far as Macy's on Thanksgiving, you deserve my full attention, even at the risk of burning my gravy. Tomorrow, I will watch and marvel.

Specks and planks

I  had every intention of keeping my mouth shut about the election. There are 300 million voices out there clamoring to be heard, and mine doesn't need to be among them. But as the protests continue, I take pause from my fierce tongue-biting to offer this thought.

This quote came from a protester yesterday: "We have to keep coming and making sure [Trump's] hatred and his fear and the anger that he's stirring up . . .  doesn't manifest itself in our country."

At the event in which this man spoke, people were hurling a bat at a Donald Trump pinata, knocking off his legs and bashing in his head. Children jumped in, squealing with delight as they pounded the effigy to smithereens. Others lit little Trumps on fire.

Does anyone else find this ironic?

No one has a monopoly on hate. Middle-aged, blue-collar white men can be hated and vilified every bit as much as a transgendered teenager. Definition of a bigot: a person who is intolerant toward those holding different opinions.

God, keep me always mindful of the plank in my own eye.

"How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" Matthew 7:4.