It’s been a long while since we had to get up early to go to a marching festival. Heck, it’s been a long while since we actually had to set an alarm! But H is an adjudicator for a marching festival today so we are on the road again.
I had to pay to get in. Gone are the times I could walk in as a chaperone, slipping through the gate, sporting the bands logo. I don’t mind though. Those band parents work hard for money to support their school’s music program.
I’ve forgotten how hot it can be at marching festivals. My memory is clearing. There is no breeze what-so-ever. Of course it can be cold too. I can remember the times we had to have hand warmers in our pockets to keep from freezing and hot coffee and hot chocolate could be purchased at the concession.
The restrooms – or lack of in this case – were disappointing. There were three stalls of which one was not in working order, no ventilation, not even a small window, and no mirror. The latter was not a problem. At this point I didn’t really want to see what I looked like, and any lipstick applied would melt off quickly in this heat. Sharing these facilities with seventeen marching bands and spectators was not pleasant.
When Amie was in band and Jessie was little I would bring a supply of coloring books, crayons, and pencils to keep her entertained. She was happy as a clam sitting under my legs on those nasty cement bleachers doing artwork and eating popcorn.
Fried Oreo’s must have been the featured sweet of the day because they were constantly plugging them. I don’t know about you, but Oreo’s fried in hot grease does not sound appetizing.
After the long hot day, and a two hour drive home, I’ve come to the conclusion that watching marching bands compete is not nearly exciting as when you have one of your own in the ranks…