My grandmother has never been the easiest woman to impress but my father could always do it. When he would play the trombone, my grandmother’s eyes would sparkle and light up like fireworks on the fourth of July. I always wished my grandmother would look at me like that but it was only my father who could generate that look of pride. My grandmother is an amazing fan of marching bands, so watching her
son play must have been great. My father and my grandmother are the two people I adore and respect the
most in this world and all I wanted to do was make them proud.
My sophomore year in high school I joined the football team. Since I didn’t play much, I got on the special team. My parents would come to games to watch me but my grandmother would never glance at me once. She would always be completely focused on the drum line with this look in her eyes. This look like
she had been cheated; she should have a grandson out there. A grandson who would stand out there in line
with his head held high, looking like some god as he played, stick moving in perfect unison with the rest of the line. But all she had was a little boy getting hurt.
When I saw my grandmother look like that, it really hurt me. I wanted to be my father for her,
but I didn’t think I was capable. Then my good friend Tiffany who was in drum line convinced me to try out
for it although I had never even picked up a stick. I finally agreed and started going to practice with her, and
I don’t think I have ever been more intimidated in my life. I remember walking into the room where the drums were kept