A Teenage Boy's Take on Things

I went with my 15-year-old son last night to the high school, where there was a meeting about marching band camp. I decided to be a chaperone again. Next Thursday the 230 or so kids in the symphonic band, wind ensemble, and kick line will head to Greeley, PA to the Pine Forest Camp for four days of intense practice and workout, to learn and perfect their walking, marching, dancing, singing, and whatever else they are going to do on the field during the performance of the four musical numbers for this year's routine. They are supposed to have the actual music memorized already so they can concentrate on the other stuff. They will get the chance to hone their craft at the home football games, and the day of reckoning is October 20: the annual Newsday Marching Band Festival at Hofstra University. Parents sit in the bleachers and whoop it up and usually freeze their extremities off until 11PM or so (we are normally the second to last group to perform).

And so we get ready to do it all again this year. Last time I rode the bus to and from the camp, helping to herd the kids on and off, manage their behavior, entertain them, hand out snacks and water, take attendance, check for contraband, etc. A couple of weeks ago my friend H, mom of one of my son's friends, mentioned that she'd like to drive out instead of take the bus, and asked whether I'd like to keep her company. She's a people person with a really wacky and fun sense of humor, but she's also an intellectual like me, and so the only thing holding me back was to make sure that there were enough bus chaperones...which we confirmed last night at the meeting and celebrated with hugs and smiles.

As we were leaving the school, my son gave me and H a disdainful look (in front of H's daughter, no less) and said that he thought the two of us were carrying on some kind of girl romance. H and I, amused, blew each other kisses, which of course brought other expressions of disgust. H's daughter just kept walking. Did he put on that show for her benefit? Is it a validation of the difference between his budding manhood and his female peers?

Who cares? I'm all set to have a good time. I doubt it'll be Thelma and Louise, but we don't need to go there. And I guess we're at the point where we're supposed to be embarrassing our children. I'm doing my job and doing it well. Hurrah for me!