Hi Mom. Hi Dad.
I’d like to take this moment to apologize for some of the stuff I put you two through when I was younger. They didn’t call them ‘play-dates’ back then, but I’m sure I went on my share. I know I ate a lot as I grew up, sometimes it must have seemed like I was actively trying to eat you out of house and home. Middle-of-the night sickness, finicky eating, misbehaving in both school and the home. But that’s stuff every parent, especially parents of a growing boy, kind of come to expect. It just goes with the territory.
But that’s not why I’m here today.
I’m here to apologize for something more specific than that, something not every parent has to go through. Those who do, however, probably earn themselves a special place in Heaven for their patience and perseverance. I’m talking about being the parent of a kid in the school band.
I played the trumpet. Eventually. First, I had to practice the trumpet. Scales, fingering exercises, hours spent searching for notes and just not finding them. Learning to read music, playing haltingly until I learned the piece, and even once I’d memorized it I’d play it again and again.
So let me just say I appreciate the patience you showed me when I was in the school band, and I apologize for all the noise. You are two special people who I’d nominate for Sainthood if I could.
I love you both.
…and in Family News, Handsome brought some drums home from school last week… how wonderful…
Talk to you later!