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An open letter to my son, and all the age outs


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Six years ago we sat high up in Atlanta. You were a high school sophomore. I said to you, “You know, you could do this next year.”

Since then and tonight there have been tens of thousands of miles, hundreds of rehearsals, football fields from California, to Minnesota to Boston to San Antonio. You played finals your first year two blocks from your house in Bloomington.

Tonight, after kissing your head and telling you how proud I am and how much I love you, I want to say that you have already done so much more than lots of those kids sitting through their senior years with you this fall at Auburn have done. You know how to keep your mouth shut and do what is necessary, not what you want to do all the time. You know how to work and work to get better when you knew from the first camp there was no chance of even being a finalist. You know how to finish a show at midnight, catch a few hours of bad sleep on a bus, and greet another morning and a 40 pound contra with a smile. Heat sirens in San Antonio. Crackers and pudding for supper. Rehearsal in pouring rain. The humidity of Monroe, Louisiana. You learned that sometimes it’s not the leaders of an organization that you kill yourself for, it’s the kid in the next bus seat.

Finally, tonight, you know excellence and being within touching distance of perfection. You know what it is to rise to the highest levels of an activity and be humble. And talk about getting better tomorrow. You know how to be in first place at semi-finals after an undefeated season and say to me, “Wow, that was a rough run tonight. Gotta get better tomorrow.”

Your first year at Spirit it was 110 degrees with the heat index. You were 16 and away from home for the first time. The lights in the gym would not turn off at night. The air conditioning in the school worked sporadically. You hurt your back. You had every reason to quit, but you didn’t. Every one of those beautiful tan faces of all the kids in all the corps tonight could tell a similar story. As you said, at sixteen, “There comes a time when some people stand up and some people quit. I didn’t quit.”

Many, many people never learn that lesson in a lifetime.

Please remember on the blue days to come (we all have them) that you are a champion, that you not only know what excellence is, you have achieved it. That you made yourself the incredible person you are because you tried to make each run through better, each performance the best.

I love you Thomas.

Will you be my dad?

Mine could care less and this is amazing.

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Six years ago we sat high up in Atlanta. You were a high school sophomore. I said to you, “You know, you could do this next year.”

Since then and tonight there have been tens of thousands of miles, hundreds of rehearsals, football fields from California, to Minnesota to Boston to San Antonio. You played finals your first year two blocks from your house in Bloomington.

Tonight, after kissing your head and telling you how proud I am and how much I love you, I want to say that you have already done so much more than lots of those kids sitting through their senior years with you this fall at Auburn have done. You know how to keep your mouth shut and do what is necessary, not what you want to do all the time. You know how to work and work to get better when you knew from the first camp there was no chance of even being a finalist. You know how to finish a show at midnight, catch a few hours of bad sleep on a bus, and greet another morning and a 40 pound contra with a smile. Heat sirens in San Antonio. Crackers and pudding for supper. Rehearsal in pouring rain. The humidity of Monroe, Louisiana. You learned that sometimes it’s not the leaders of an organization that you kill yourself for, it’s the kid in the next bus seat.

Finally, tonight, you know excellence and being within touching distance of perfection. You know what it is to rise to the highest levels of an activity and be humble. And talk about getting better tomorrow. You know how to be in first place at semi-finals after an undefeated season and say to me, “Wow, that was a rough run tonight. Gotta get better tomorrow.”

Your first year at Spirit it was 110 degrees with the heat index. You were 16 and away from home for the first time. The lights in the gym would not turn off at night. The air conditioning in the school worked sporadically. You hurt your back. You had every reason to quit, but you didn’t. Every one of those beautiful tan faces of all the kids in all the corps tonight could tell a similar story. As you said, at sixteen, “There comes a time when some people stand up and some people quit. I didn’t quit.”

Many, many people never learn that lesson in a lifetime.

Please remember on the blue days to come (we all have them) that you are a champion, that you not only know what excellence is, you have achieved it. That you made yourself the incredible person you are because you tried to make each run through better, each performance the best.

I love you Thomas.

I'm also a dad. My 3 year old daughter and I sat a friends house all day and colored, played with their pooch, and watch pretty much every drum corps. She loved it! My hope is that one day I can say something similar to her.

This is beautiful and your child is so fortunate to have a parent that cares deeply about what they do with their time.

Also, this made me cry.

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What a blessing to read this letter. Thank you for sharing these precious words.

I am crying too... happy tears.

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As a parent, I feel your pride in your son's achievements. I have witnessed that in both of my daughters and although I don't think I ever expressed it as eloquently as you have I have always let them know how much I love and support them. We should never, ever pass up an opportunity to tell our children when they've made us proud.

Thank you for sharing this with us and congratulations to you and your son.

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What a blessing to read this letter. Thank you for sharing these precious words.

I am crying too... happy tears.

Also crying.

I'm sitting in my hotel down the street from the stadium where one of my boys just performed his last show this season. My first thoughts are - I'm proud of what he did this year. Second - I have 3 more years left!!

Enjoy tomorrow!!!!!

Thank you for sharing your memories!!

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Six years ago we sat high up in Atlanta. You were a high school sophomore. I said to you, “You know, you could do this next year.”

Since then and tonight there have been tens of thousands of miles, hundreds of rehearsals, football fields from California, to Minnesota to Boston to San Antonio. You played finals your first year two blocks from your house in Bloomington.

Tonight, after kissing your head and telling you how proud I am and how much I love you, I want to say that you have already done so much more than lots of those kids sitting through their senior years with you this fall at Auburn have done. You know how to keep your mouth shut and do what is necessary, not what you want to do all the time. You know how to work and work to get better when you knew from the first camp there was no chance of even being a finalist. You know how to finish a show at midnight, catch a few hours of bad sleep on a bus, and greet another morning and a 40 pound contra with a smile. Heat sirens in San Antonio. Crackers and pudding for supper. Rehearsal in pouring rain. The humidity of Monroe, Louisiana. You learned that sometimes it’s not the leaders of an organization that you kill yourself for, it’s the kid in the next bus seat.

Finally, tonight, you know excellence and being within touching distance of perfection. You know what it is to rise to the highest levels of an activity and be humble. And talk about getting better tomorrow. You know how to be in first place at semi-finals after an undefeated season and say to me, “Wow, that was a rough run tonight. Gotta get better tomorrow.”

Your first year at Spirit it was 110 degrees with the heat index. You were 16 and away from home for the first time. The lights in the gym would not turn off at night. The air conditioning in the school worked sporadically. You hurt your back. You had every reason to quit, but you didn’t. Every one of those beautiful tan faces of all the kids in all the corps tonight could tell a similar story. As you said, at sixteen, “There comes a time when some people stand up and some people quit. I didn’t quit.”

Many, many people never learn that lesson in a lifetime.

Please remember on the blue days to come (we all have them) that you are a champion, that you not only know what excellence is, you have achieved it. That you made yourself the incredible person you are because you tried to make each run through better, each performance the best.

I love you Thomas.

Makes me wish I was a parent.

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Dapperpoet - I watched both of my daughters march too, as their mother and I marched many years ago. I know your pride and love for your son.

A beautiful letter. You are lucky to have the son you have, and I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you for a Dad.

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Will you be my dad?

Mine could care less and this is amazing.

I feel bad for you but worse for your Dad. Someday he will realize what he missed and have many regrets for missing out on the fantastic stuff his kid is doing.

Meantime - I'll be happy to adopt you and be your drum corps Dad....

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Absolutely beautiful! I am crying and I know your pride. I'm proud of my kids and sometimes I think I talk about them too much on here, what can I say, they introduced me to this sport and for that I will always be grateful. :inlove:

Makes me wish I was a parent.

2000Cadet, you just wait when you become a parent it is a love you never thought possible, it knows no boundaries. Now you realize, of course, upon your child entering drum corps there will be a mandatory name change for you. Hum, 2000Cadet-Dad. Since you've been on this board and drum corps so long you could be 2000Cadet-Dad-whoop-bu##, that way no one will talk trash about any corps your child is in. I don't know you have time to think of a catchy new Dad name. :bigsmile:

Will you be my dad?

Mine could care less and this is amazing.

MotorCityMusician, I can’t be your Dad but I’d be proud be your Mom. :lle:

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