Can't Take Her Anywhere!

I was concerned at first because of the long sleeved show shirts we have this year are black…and the sun was shining…and it was hot…and the shirts were b-l-a-c-k, and it was h-o-t…but I was determined to wear the show shirt and demonstrate solidarity for the Lafayette Nation regardless of how hot it was going to be. Plus, the shirts this year look so freakin’ awesome!!

Big Daddy and I went to Madison Central for the Tournament of Bands on Saturday, and it was a great time, great day. Yes, the sun shone brightly and the temperatures were high, but wouldn’t you know it? God fixed it so that the spectators were sitting on the bleachers…in the shade. How awesome is He??? We watched the first performances by marching bands all over Kentucky and then we headed to dinner while we waited for the evening performances to begin.

We had a lovely dinner with two teenagers whom we love, Jay & Ali. The conversation was light and fun and we enjoyed each other’s company immensely. The time went quickly and we headed back to the stadium for the beginning of the final performances. Since finals have more attendance than preliminaries, the place was packed. I literally felt badly for sardines. Our group had found some seats near the top of the bleachers. It’s easy to tell who’s with whom by their show shirts, of course, if people are not sporting the show shirt, it’s basically a guessing game. This piece of information will come into significant play later in my story.

County by county they came…and played…and marched. It was wonderful. If anyone would have told me twenty-five years ago that for four months out of the year, every year, would revolve around marching band, I would have laughed hysterically at them. Big Daddy & I did not grow up with marching band or even the idea of it. We grew up in a very rural area of Virginia. Football mattered. Basketball counted. Marching band? Did we even have a band?

There’s always one. Always one person who wants to ruin any good experience others may have. Well, she was easy to pick out because she was sitting directly behind me. I could tell which band she was with because she was wearing her show shirt. Band after band they came…band after band she talked. She talked throughout everyone’s performance. She bad-mouthed costumes. She commented about anything and everything you could imagine or even make up. I sat still. I said nothing. I was trying to be good…be a grown up…trying to show how mature I could be as I turned around from time to time and gave her “the look”, but said nothing. Big Daddy has had “the talk” with me before about not allowing other people to dictate my mood. It’s a good talk.

The Talk actually originated during the State Competition last year when we were trying to exit the parking lot at Papa John’s Stadium in Louisville. You would think that people would have enough sense to know that all 3,000 of us can’t get out at the same time and taking turns will be order for exiting. No. People are stupid and impatient and stupid, Stupid, STUPID. Anyway, things were going along fine until it was our turn to merge into the last portion of the exit lane. This woman would NOT let us in front of her for love or money. This was fine, as Big Daddy was willing to wait patiently for someone kind enough TO let us out. Now, it may be because we had several people with us in the Suburban and he did not want any of them to think less of him if he reacted by ramming his way into the lane, as he wanted to. I was so proud of him for remaining calm, as this is not his normal behavior when it comes to traffic.

It should probably be noted that one of the people in our truck was someone whom I have adored since Precious Son was in elementary school…his band teacher. She is smart, funny, poised, refined, well-educated and so incredibly talented and I have just always wanted her to like me. You know how you have these people from time to time and you just like them so much you are sure they will never like you? Well, that was my perception of my relationship with Mrs. Sparrows.

I had always tried to appear smarter than I am, more well-versed in music than the average band parent, and chockfull of goodness from head to toe when I was around her. Finally, after years of cultivating this please-be-my-friend-because-I-like-you-enough-that-you-don’t-even-have-to-like-me relationship, Mrs. Sparrows was in my truck, with me, heading to dinner, with me, even after having other offers thrown at her.

*Honesty Check* Mrs. Sparrows may have agreed to come with me, oh, “us”, because of the other people who were in our group…Mrs. B and Jack, whom I have mentioned before. Fine. Now you know. Moving on…

So, as we are trying to exit the parking lot, this woman decides that not only is she NOT going to let us out, but she is going to rage against Big Daddy for his “inching up” because it was his turn. IF she knew the rules and how “taking turns works”, which she obviously did not, this would not have created a problem. So, with windows down, this woman becomes irate and starts to yell at my husband for trying to exit the parking in front of her.

Ok. Bring it.

Something snapped…although I think it my seat buckle unbuckling, as I threw off my seatbelt and propped myself up on the center console. Sure enough, the ghetto neck appeared along with the index finger of rage as I wagged in front of my face and dared her to speak to my husband like that EVER again.

Interesting side note…Big Daddy remained calm the entire time and said n-o-t-h-i-n-g to this woman. Again, very unusual behavior for him in a traffic situation, but alas, he kept in mind who was in our third row seat…Mrs. Sparrows.

I, however, did not.

“Do not raise your voice to him!!! Who do you think you are?!?!? There are 3,000 people trying to get out of here and EVERYONE minus YOU are being courteous to one another and everyone is taking turns. You think you are so much more important than the rest of us sitting in this parking lot??? Do you honestly think ONE VEHICLE is going to make THAT much of a difference??? What is WRONG with you?!?!?!?!? We ALL are on the same schedule as YOU are!!! We ALL have to be back here at the SAME time as YOU do!!! Don’t you dare yell at him!!!”

Aw, geez.

Crazy, huh?

Well, yeah. Pretty much. LOL.

Big Daddy decided he WAS going to go in front of her despite her thinking we were not. (Do not play chicken with him…you will lose every time.) Anyway, we pull in front of her and I move back into my seat, still never hearing a word from Big Daddy…or anyone else for that matter. You recall, our truck was pretty full. Then it hit me…

OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Mrs. Sparrows!!!!!!

She will never like me, now. Obviously, I had just come across as some uneducated, ill-mannered, belligerent pugilist and she would never like me…never, never, never.

I sunk down into my seat. We headed on into the downtown area of Louisville and ate at The Spaghetti Factory. I was sad. I had ruined my one chance (while I had Mrs. Sparrows as a veritable hostage) to get to know me, like me, or dare I think it…tell people we had dinner together (like FRIENDS do!!!!). No. It was over. All those years gone to pot. All those cue cards made so I could sound like I had some sense, wasted. The woman whose friendship I had coveted for years, had just watched me practically throw myself out of a truck window in order to accost some woman who yelled at my husband. I was relatively sure she would never see me as a grown up now…

*sigh*

Hence, The Talk.

Back in Madison County, the people to the left of us, across the stairs, were from Lafayette Nation. The people to the right of us were from everywhere, but not a lot of them were wearing show shirts. You just never know who you are sitting by in a competition without that show shirt. Our group, all in black show shirts, included, get this, Mrs. Sparrows!!!! Ok, fine. She was sitting in front of me, um, us, with her husband and her oldest son’s girlfriend, but still. If you didn’t know she wasn’t with me, us, then just by looking at the seats, one would think we were together, which is good enough for me. *cheesy grin*

There was a guy, his wife and their two elementary-aged daughters next to me. I think the guy was a biker-dude because he was huge, like 6’4 and weighed around 350 pounds, had a bald head and goatee. There was a petite redhead a few seats over sitting next to her boyfriend. There was a husband and wife team making notes on the show program. No one showing affiliation to any particular band…and then our group…in our jet black, long-sleeved, really cool show shirts.

This was not a day of competition for us as much as a day to get some “on the field” experience for our freshmen who had never marched and to receive a “Distinguished” rating, moving us on toward State finals in November. We were classified as “Exhibition Only”. We were not competition for anyone. I tell you this because, honestly, if Lafayette is not competing, why would you say something about them?

Ah. Because there’s always one…

Lafayette took the field. The color guard instructors had made their way up to the top of the bleachers and were watching their girls get into position. The instructors ended up standing behind our group of blackened tee’s and, as fate would have it, directly behind the woman without anything nice to say. Now, I would like you to know that Lafayette played at 9:15pm in this program which began at 6:00pm. It was not as if I was just looking for a fight. I had listened to this woman for over three hours. I had been quiet for over three hours. I had remembered Big Daddy’s “talk” for over three hours.

My limit? Just over three hours.

The four colorguard instructors counted off… “One, two, three” and yelled in unison as loud as they could: “Go colorguard!!!”, to which the mean woman turned around and said, “Well, NOW I’m deaf!”

One of the instructors said, “Oh, well we are their instructors so we are really proud,” and the mean woman said, “So?”

Believe it not, I still said nothing. I did, however, look at Big Daddy to see if maybe THAT was the final straw for him. It wasn’t. He was holding firm. He was being a great example of how to NOT let someone else dictate his mood.

Then it happened.

That hateful bi….um, woman, turns her back to the instructors thereby putting her voice right in my direct path and says…

“I always liked *Name of Rival School Here* better, anyway.”

I apparently can summon the haste of Mercury, Greek god of speed, for it seemed I donned sandals with wings on the heel-straps that let me fly with arrow-like precision wherever I willed myself for I turned around and said…

“Well, now it is Lafayette’s turn and we WILL be respectful of their time on the field.”


And that was it. She never said a word to me, nor I to her. We watched the performance and the kids gave another stellar performance. As the band left the field, we cheered, clapped, and waved our Lafayette Nation flags with pride.


We gathered our composure and all took our seats…and then she said it…


“God, they are so rude.”


Oh, no, she di’nt.


It was on. Again, with the speed of Mercury and his flying sandals, I flashed around and had my ghetto-neck action going immediately and wagging index finger at the ready!


“You have GOT to be kidding! WE are rude??? Are you serious??? You have sat up here for the past three hours griping and complaining about anything and everything!!! You have bad-mouthed band members, costumes, directors, and schools in general!!! You have been negative and rude to every single person that has taken the field!!! Do you honestly think that how you feel about YOUR children is NOT how we feel about OURS?!?!?!?!? How can you be so incredibly disrespectful to the hard work of every child out there????”

The woman didn’t miss a beat. “Why don’t you shut up and turn around?”


At this point, it was on…


“I will gladly turn around and shut up just as soon as you exhibit at least a miniscule amount of competition etiquette!”


The woman went on to say, “You all are so rude!”


Now, I am sure she had more to say, but so did I, so I went on before she could…


“We are rude???? Perhaps you have not noticed but Lafayette parents stand, cheer, and support EVERY single band that takes the field. We do NOT carry on personal conversations during ANY performance and we sure as heck do not bad-mouth the hard work and dedication of every child on the field. And if it’s about the flags, honey, we only wave the flags when OUR kids are on the field, no one else…BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE RUDE!!!!!”


Clearly, the woman was ready to fire back something tremendous to me…



“Why don’t you shut up and turn around?”



“Absolutely. Glad to. Not a problem, but let me tell you one more thing. When you disrespect anyone from another band, you are asking for a fight. These kids work harder than you can imagine and they ALL deserve your silence as they perform. You need to be respectful or stay home.”



I turned back around and took my seat. I was trying to see if I was about to get whaled on by all those people in their non-affiliation shirts. I tried desperately to look unaffected and fully composed. I carried on conversations with the other people in my group, wondering if the biker dude was waiting to cold-cock me or if the petite redhead was going to suddenly go off on me. (You know, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for...). I leaned forward and asked Mrs. Sparrows if she had, indeed, heard any of that. With a big smile she turned around and said, “Yes! Yes, I did!” Well, of course, she did.


I asked Mrs. Sparrows if she remembered the stadium incident from last year and, you got it, of course she did.


This placed me in a precarious spot, so I just called it like I saw it…


“Well, honestly, I don’t act like this at all. It’s really only when you are around…so, I think it’s you.”


She laughed. We laughed. All was well. I guess we, Mrs. Sparrows and I, have come to the realization that some people will never act like a grown up. You know what they say, “you can take the girl out of the country…”


Conversations carried on until the host of the event, Madison Central, took the field and presented their show. Mean Woman never said another word. I never turned around and didn’t sit there talking about what had just happened. (I was trying to be cognizant of the possible incoming Pepsi cans and chewed up hotdogs flying at my head, which fortunately did not ever happen.)


After Madison Central presented their show, which was awesome by the way, the Marching Colonels from EKU took the field and sent the entire crowd into a happy frenzy as they played some of their best songs. People kind of filed out of the bleachers at this point and we were far less cramped. I went ahead and visited with my friend, Margaret, as the spectators regrouped.


The announcer came across the speaker system stating the results were about to be announced so I headed back to my seat…


And there he was…


The biker dude…


In my seat…


Now, I could have bolted for Big Daddy, but like I said, I am trying to be a grown up, so I went on over and took my seat…you know, beside of my seat because Biker Dude was in my seat. Oh, and his wife was sitting behind him…and then their girls…and the petite redhead…and her boyfriend…and all the people that had not worn their school-specific show shirts.


Ahhh, nice.


I sat down and before you knew it, Biker Dude’s wife said, “Hey. Can I tell you something?”


“Suuuuuuuuure, you can!” (thinking along the lines of her telling me as soon as they have a clear shot, I am toast…)


“We just wanted to thank you for saying what you did to that woman. Even our girls couldn’t understand why she kept talking and being so mean about everything. You did the right thing and we just wanted to thank you.”


Wow.


Then, before I could say thank you to them, Biker Dude chimes in…


“Yeah. I thought it might come to some physical altercation, but I want you to know that if it had, I had your back.”

Double wow.


Then, Petite Redhead poked her little face over and said, “I wanted to thank you, too. I had wanted to say something but I was too scared. Thank you for not being intimidated by her. I wish I had your courage. Thank you so much.”


Seriously? Me, courageous? Nope.


A few more people came up to me as the evening wound down. Hateful Woman slinked away like some snake and went back into her sad, lonely, dark hole where marching band is not revered but is merely fodder for those who can’t do it themselves. (I, by the way, would not be able to do it…I have enough trouble walking and talking, much less marching and playing an instrument!)


I was taken aback. I was so happy that well, one, they weren’t going to wait for me and kill me, but also for being sought out and thanked for doing something that I literally did without thinking. Mama Bear Syndrome had kicked in and I reacted as the Mama Bear of 200 kids. That’s how it is with our marching band, all those kids…all 200+ plus of them, we consider them ours. Most of the Lafayette parents feel the same way. It’s a great school because of the wonderful families who attend and participate within the school system. Selfless, gracious, kind, and involved. That is how most families treat each other in the Lafayette Marching Band community. I am honored to be part of this institution.


I had wondered if I would be given “The Talk” on the way home, as Big Daddy hates when I engage in any type of confrontation. He worries that I will “step in something that won’t come off my shoes”, and I appreciate his concern. Sometimes, however, it’s worth the risk. Tonight was one of those times. We left Madison Central and headed home. We wouldn’t be able to pick up the kids until around 1am, so we just kind of went the long way home. Big Daddy drove…


“You know, when you engage with someone being argumentative, that is precisely what they want you to do, so they basically win”, he said.


“Yes, I know. You are right. Something came over me. She was rude to every kid out there and they just work so hard. The last straw was the *Rival School Name Here* comment. That was uncalled for and it was meant to hurt our kids. Something snapped and then that lady took over my body and started making me talk and I couldn’t stop her. I could see her as I floated above myself, like an out-of-body experience, but…”


Big Daddy interrupted, “No. It was you. And I love you for it.”


I snuggled down under his arm and we drove on home. About a minute or two later he said…


“You are never going to act like a grown up, are you?”


Eh…probably not. *smile*