The Music Makers

I took my daughters to a band showcase today, to see a few of their friends play.  There were 10 local garage bands playing.  The band members ranged in age from 13 to (maybe)  2o.

So, there I was, walking into a rental hall filled with teenagers.  I grabbed a folding chair, and pushed it up against the wall at the very back of the room, so as not to embarrass my kids.  There weren’t too many grown-ups in the room.  One or two parents may have been hiding in the shadows here and there, but they were cleverly camouflaged.

There were kids everywhere.   Kids with dreadlocks, and devil locks. Piercings and Purple hair. Saggy pants and Air Jordans. Plaid shirts and hipster glasses.  All kinds of kids from all kinds of genres.  Weird, freaky kids.

Beach balls were being volleyed around the place and the music was loud. Very. Loud.  A small mosh pit began to form in the middle of the room, slowly spreading and gaining momentum. Boys were flailing their arms about, and crashing into each other.  It was total anarchy!

And there were my dear, sweet daughters just outside of the circle of chaos.  Keeping one eye on the mayhem and the other on the stage.   Bouncing up and down.  Smiling and singing.

As I sat in the back of the room the images of so many live shows flashed through my head.  As I watched my daughters calmly swaying beside the chaos,  words began to pulse through my brain:  Youth. Music. Anarchy. Hope.

I decided right then and there, in that roomful of freaks and geeks, that there is hope for the future.  There will always be hope for the future,  as long as there are music makers, and music lovers.

My girls have so much music ahead of them.


Photo by Rhonda Frobose


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