I am the mother of one only childand my 17 year old son is a senior this year. I have always tried to volunteer and get involved to help and enrich his school experience, but in recent years I have scaled back.
When he entered high school and joined the marching band in ninth grade, I no longer wanted to stand around on the sidelines. taking care of things for everyone’s children. I wanted to focus on my child. So that’s what I did. I took a step back and really enjoyed watching my child do something he loved.
Now he is a senior and I have no regrets.
I’ve put in my time
I was bad active in the PTA when he was in primary school. I organized the biennial dinners for teachers and staff during parent-teacher conference evenings, arranging food and desserts and recruiting volunteers to help set up, serve and take down.
Then came high school and COVID-19. My focus shifted to my child and how I could get him through difficult times. I started “Mom’s Summer Camp” when his camp was closed, and I wanted to focus on being there for him during these transitional years.
When he entered high school, I personally went through a difficult time and had to fight to find the time and energy to stand up for him. My mother, who previously enjoyed an independent retirement life, developed a number of demanding medical problems continued assistance from me.
The PTA mother has left the building
The mother I had been in primary school was no longer there. At first I felt guilty for not joining the Band Boosters, the parent group (mainly moms) that organizes every band event and fundraising activity.
I went to the first meeting and they described the enormous amount of work each year – guiding bus tours, organizing raffles, running the biennial hoagie fundraiser and staffing the parking lots. While there are a few times when even the booster moms are allowed to watch the halftime show, the rest of the time they are working, cleaning up the stands, handing out food to the kids after the halftime show, or trading lottery tickets in the stands.
I couldn’t do it. Not with everything going on with my mother. Moreover, my son is my only child. I just wanted to be there, show up at the football games, sit in the stands, cheer on the team and scream as loud as I could when the best band in the country took the field at halftime. Home, away, rain or shine, I wanted to show my son that even in chaotic personal times, I was the mother he could count on.
Fighting for time
I had to fight hard to be there for him. With need after need related to mine physical and mental health of the motherI haven’t had a perfect record. I had to miss an entire game one year while I was in the ER with my mother.
I asked friends for favors to make sure he got to school on time for the games I had to miss or if I would be late. But I showed up. After crying about my mom in the car, I put on my makeup, quickly walked to the stadium, bought soda and popcorn, and screamed for joy during the halftime show.
The author said she always sits in the same room at competitions so her son knows where to look for her when he performs with the marching band. Thanks to Nina McCollum.
I always sit in the same room. He knows where to look for me. All I see is the pure joy of what he does, and I’m so glad he can have that and count on me.
The parent helpers do a great, important job, but I know my child needs my attention from the stands. Every first is a last when you have an only child. These are the only years I can be a band parent.
This last year as a band mom will be bittersweet. Every year, after the last home game, the underclassmen and parents of the seniors form a path outside the band room for the senior band members to run through as they go out for the last time, one at a time. They line both sides of the path as the seniors take that final run, dance, parade or simply walk out the band door into their future.
My heart was in my throat as I watched the 2026 seniors leave, knowing that the next time I see this happen, it will be my son’s turn. I don’t know how I’ll get through it emotionally, but I can tell you this. When he walks out that tire door for the last time, I won’t be inside counting lottery tickets or driving cars in the parking lot. I’ll be standing outside that door cheering him on (and let’s admit it, probably crying). For me, that’s my job.
