It was time to suffer through another session of middle school band concert that my son, the baritone player, played in last Thursday night, and while I was there I ran into Derek’s father David who had just returned from Iraq after a sixteen month long deployment. As usual we sat in the back rows of folding chairs since wooden seats designed for 11 to 14 year old kids just never fit our rather decidedly adult proportions.
“David! Good to see you back…how long have you been here” I asked.
“Just got back a few weeks ago man, good to see you too.”
I motioned towards the stage and asked him “Are you ready for another round of “Cacophony Symphony?”
“Will, this is going to be the sweetest sound in the world, kids playing music without a care in the world” he replied.
As I looked at him he smiled and nodded, and his look told me that he wasn’t joking, he was going to enjoy hearing his son play the violin no matter how badly our kids butchered the music.
Between the 6th and 7th grade bands performances there was a five minute setup period as the band directors jockeyed the chairs and percussion instruments into place for the ever complex musical offerings to follow.
“I ran into your wife at school and the grocery store some while you were gone, and she said that you were seeing some heavy combat. She looked pretty worried.”
“Yeah” he said, “I sign up to be a tactical analyst and wind up on a 50 cal machine gun while the rest of our crew does house to house in the middle of the night. Don’t get me wrong, we did our jobs…we came home, but it was quite a switch from what I was good at…you know.”
“I can’t imagine putting a pharmaceutical rep on a machine gun” I replied, “Crazy.”
We listened to the 7th grade band perform and during the next set up period David leaned over and asked me if I’d interacted with Derek at all while he was away.
“Yeah, Derek dropped by the house a few times while Colin was there” I said. “He’s a good kid, but we didn’t talk you that much…I just asked how you were…I really didn’t know what to say.”
“I’ve been having some issues…you know…and I don’t know how much of that got translated in our communications from over there” David explained.
“They’re helping you with that aren’t they” I asked?
“Get this” David whispered, “I went to the VA the other day sign up for a session with the therapists, and I find out that I can get right in…because I’m an Iraq vet…but that means that they’ll bump a guy from Vietnam. That’s wrong, so I left. That’s just not right man…a guy from Vietnam and they’re OK with me bumping HIM?”
“That’s bullshit” David added.
The 8th graders had started playing and David’s gaze was fixed on his son, playing a fugue that sounded sweet and clear.
David’s eyes were teary and fixated on Derek, so I turned away and wondered if they were tears of frustration or of joy at hearing that wonderful sound of children being children and exploring the wonder of music. Safe, and secure, and pure. All things that I was sure David wasn't.
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