Marching Band

Collin and I went to watch the Michigan Marching Band practice today and we were both mesmerized. He couldn't decide what instrument he wanted to play in the marching band when he grew up - perhaps all of them. We haven't gone to watch them practice in a long time; I'm thinking years, pre-Boston probably. And, when we did go, I think it was always on Friday nights when half the town is there watching them. Those Friday nights have their own energy, but there is something to having the whole band to yourself. Not really to ourselves, there were about 10 other people watching this afternoon. Collin was about 3 feet away from the amazing baton twirler and 10 feet away from the spit shooting out of the trumpets. He asked me a million questions about tubas and saxophone cords and drum major whistles and lines on football fields and rank leaders. He watched, he listened, he danced, he stared, he swooned.

But, there is something so awe inspiring about that marching band. They were loud. We could feel our chest vibrating. And, they are so darn precise and fit. Collin marched all the way back to the car, practically kicking himself in the nose with his knees. We both left in much happier moods than we came in with. Why has no one turned me onto marching bands before this?

Collin has insisted that we go back tomorrow. So, you'll know where to find us!