be there for that. To be part of it.
“I’m sure you do. But you’ll see your friends on Monday,” he said in his clipped “this discussion is over” voice. I looked around for Mom, who gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” she said. “There’ll be other opportunities to celebrate.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Get your things,” Dad ordered.
“But Steve would be—”
Dad cut me off.
“Get your things and let’s go.”
“Fine.” I turned and stomped away, tears stinging my eyes. He was cutting my celebration short! Okay, we hadn’t just played Wagner’s Ring Cycle or gotten off the stage at the Met, but this was a big deal to me.
I slammed up the bus stairs, making as much noise as I could, and grabbed my bag, hatbox, and instrument. This was so not fair. Other kids’ parents were letting them take the bus home. Why couldn’t I? And why hadn’t Mom and Dad thought to mention this game-changer before I left?
I stood on the blacktop outside of the bus, clutching my stuff, fuming and halfheartedly searching for my mom and dad. I spotted them over by Mr. Sebastian and the band parents, then took my time getting there. I didn’t want to go around and say good-bye to everyone, making it totally obvious that I was leaving early.
As I approached, I heard my dad saying, “Since we drove out here for the competition, it only makes sense that she come home with us directly instead of us having to meet the bus at school. And we feel that it’s just too much responsibility for a student driver, especially after dark. It’s not safe.”
I stood stock-still. What?! What?! They were taking me home because it was too much trouble for them for me to ride home on the bus? And too dangerous to be with Steve? That it was unsafe ? What did they think was going to happen?
“Are you kidding me ?” I snapped, startling the entire group.
“Oh, honey,” my mom said, “don’t be upset. It’s not like that.” She must have seen the anger in my expression, because she stepped back. Mr. Sebastian and the band parents moved away to give my family fight some privacy.
“You are making me come home with you because it’s too much trouble for you if I take the bus home? That it’s dangerous for me to ride with Steve?! Are you crazy ?” I yelled directly at my dad, in front of all those people, and the worst part was, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Not crazy. I’m your father,” he snapped back. “Just in case you’ve forgotten your relations as well as your manners, Elsie. Do not be disrespectful.”
“You’re being disrespectful to me ! ” I wailed. Today had been a crazy roller coaster of emotions and I was stretched as thin as a drumhead. Much to my chagrin, tears burst through and I started crying. I couldn’t help it.
“See? You’re tired. You need to go home. It’s only a marching band competition,” he said.
I gasped, heart in my mouth.
“Let’s go,” he said, as though he didn’t see how hurt I was.
“I am not tired!” I said through my tears. “I’m just—just—”
Just fed up with how you treat me.
Just wishing you would see me as a player ready for Shining Birches.
Just wondering how I ever thought we were so alike.
Just wondering why I ever wanted to be like you.
But I couldn’t bring myself to say any of that. I don’t even think I had the right words.
“Honey, let’s go.” My mom’s quiet voice cut through my fury like a hot knife through butter. All of my anger melted away, a puddle of disappointment left behind.
“Yeah, sure.”
“We’ll discuss your behavior at home, young lady,” my father said with one last stern look. They turned and started walking to the car.
I just stood there for a few seconds, allowing them to put some distance between us. Why was Steve driving me home from school such a big deal? Why did Dad act like this ensemble, and its achievements, didn’t matter or weren’t worth celebrating? Sure, it was a
“I’m sure you do. But you’ll see your friends on Monday,” he said in his clipped “this discussion is over” voice. I looked around for Mom, who gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” she said. “There’ll be other opportunities to celebrate.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Get your things,” Dad ordered.
“But Steve would be—”
Dad cut me off.
“Get your things and let’s go.”
“Fine.” I turned and stomped away, tears stinging my eyes. He was cutting my celebration short! Okay, we hadn’t just played Wagner’s Ring Cycle or gotten off the stage at the Met, but this was a big deal to me.
I slammed up the bus stairs, making as much noise as I could, and grabbed my bag, hatbox, and instrument. This was so not fair. Other kids’ parents were letting them take the bus home. Why couldn’t I? And why hadn’t Mom and Dad thought to mention this game-changer before I left?
I stood on the blacktop outside of the bus, clutching my stuff, fuming and halfheartedly searching for my mom and dad. I spotted them over by Mr. Sebastian and the band parents, then took my time getting there. I didn’t want to go around and say good-bye to everyone, making it totally obvious that I was leaving early.
As I approached, I heard my dad saying, “Since we drove out here for the competition, it only makes sense that she come home with us directly instead of us having to meet the bus at school. And we feel that it’s just too much responsibility for a student driver, especially after dark. It’s not safe.”
I stood stock-still. What?! What?! They were taking me home because it was too much trouble for them for me to ride home on the bus? And too dangerous to be with Steve? That it was unsafe ? What did they think was going to happen?
“Are you kidding me ?” I snapped, startling the entire group.
“Oh, honey,” my mom said, “don’t be upset. It’s not like that.” She must have seen the anger in my expression, because she stepped back. Mr. Sebastian and the band parents moved away to give my family fight some privacy.
“You are making me come home with you because it’s too much trouble for you if I take the bus home? That it’s dangerous for me to ride with Steve?! Are you crazy ?” I yelled directly at my dad, in front of all those people, and the worst part was, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Not crazy. I’m your father,” he snapped back. “Just in case you’ve forgotten your relations as well as your manners, Elsie. Do not be disrespectful.”
“You’re being disrespectful to me ! ” I wailed. Today had been a crazy roller coaster of emotions and I was stretched as thin as a drumhead. Much to my chagrin, tears burst through and I started crying. I couldn’t help it.
“See? You’re tired. You need to go home. It’s only a marching band competition,” he said.
I gasped, heart in my mouth.
“Let’s go,” he said, as though he didn’t see how hurt I was.
“I am not tired!” I said through my tears. “I’m just—just—”
Just fed up with how you treat me.
Just wishing you would see me as a player ready for Shining Birches.
Just wondering how I ever thought we were so alike.
Just wondering why I ever wanted to be like you.
But I couldn’t bring myself to say any of that. I don’t even think I had the right words.
“Honey, let’s go.” My mom’s quiet voice cut through my fury like a hot knife through butter. All of my anger melted away, a puddle of disappointment left behind.
“Yeah, sure.”
“We’ll discuss your behavior at home, young lady,” my father said with one last stern look. They turned and started walking to the car.
I just stood there for a few seconds, allowing them to put some distance between us. Why was Steve driving me home from school such a big deal? Why did Dad act like this ensemble, and its achievements, didn’t matter or weren’t worth celebrating? Sure, it was a
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