Hey. Mine is the kid in line looking back. He did that in every semi-close photo. |
I was there for the one of the same reasons that most other 5.6 % of the population who have lived in Texas and have never seen a high school football game were there: my kid is a freshman in high school and is in ________________.
In my case, my kid is 15 and a freshman and in the band. And he’s a different. In fact, my latest daydream was that he write about his experience on a blog. But, Colin, my son, has better things to do. Like watching wrestling on youtube and chortling loudly. Like watching stop motion Marvel action figures battle--again, on youtube. Like downloading songs by a bands using itunes onto his ipod and walking around the yard or a nearby church channeling the voices of his latest favorite heroes while throwing sticks or pieces of roadside flotsam and gesticulating.
Obviously, a 5'9," 15-year-old kid with a near-unibrow and thickening manstache who talks to himself might threaten the neighbors and the church rector. So we've had to run a little parental interference for him, to "out" him so that folks won't call the cops because they think a teenager with schizophrenia or some other "dangerous" disorder is walking near and through their yards and churchyards (though I've talked with him about curtailing this).
But so far they've been nice or at least less cautious when I've told them he has High Functioning Autism.
Back to the Marching Band on Friday Night Lights night in Texas. His being there on the field, marching in an orderly hive of blue was an Ironic Victory for his parents and, we hope, a Victory for him. This is because Colin was a kid who couldn’t sit through the parade when he was three, four, and five because everytime the band walked by the brass section would park in front of us and toot and honk loudly to the spheres. And Colin would melt into to tears or burst into screams and we would have to look shrinkingly at those next to us and weasel our ways around the throngs of folks lining the streets. Then we'd mince with or distraught toddle behind the back of the band where the percussion section banged away and our child cried louder and in front of a Mustang or other sparkling sportscar or brutish Hummer bearing one of the fair parade queens or a line of well trained or placid rodeo performer’s horses or over their poop to the other side of the street and trudge up the hill home.
HERE in my daydream of a blog by Colin is where he would insert his own picture of being in the band at his own first football game to go to ever but won’t, until I can trust him with a camera or at the least a disposable camera and bring myself to have the time and energy to show him how to post the photo onto the blog.
So, since he isn’t yet interested in posting a photo, I’ll post one of us taken by a friend after the game (bless your soul, Johnny):
Me, Colin, Roger (my husband and Colin's dad), Chloe (Beloved Daughter, Despicable Sister!) |
"It was very exciting to sit out in front of thousands of people as well as my friends. Even people I didnt know high fived me which was very shocking. For the 1st half we sat out on the bleachers and played the school song every time the football team scored a point. then at the half time we came down and did a little bit of the chorale and went out on the field to play shout and then part of the group went back in while the other part played the opener. then we came back to play more and cheer the unicorns."
And HERE, I'll ask him to post a drawing: [Uh. The Drawing didn't happen.]
So, HERE'S another photo:
The whole band. Colin's with the woodwinds. Clarinets, remember. You can see him, right? |
That's some mascot! (My favorite shot.) |
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