My oldest grandson graduated from High School this year. He is musical; plays the alto sax, the guitar, drums, and sings. He’s been in his school band forever, but also formed side bands; he and a few other musical souls have performed outside school functions. At his recent grad ceremony he and his current two-man band performed the last number. After a minute or two of arranging themselves on the small stage, my grandson took the mike and began to sing.
He took my breath away. He took control of that stage like a pro. He mesmerized me. In short, he TOTALLY ROCKED!
I have no idea what he sang. I couldn’t make out one word, either because of the sound system or because I’d gone temporarily deaf from the decibel level, but for a moment, I was under the spell of a master entertainer. I fought the urge to pump my fist in the air and maybe yell a little, so caught up in the moment was I.
Not very dignified for a woman old enough to be the young man’s grandmother. Which, by the way, I’m proud to be.
One day, if or when he is famous, I only hope that if he ever mentions me, he’ll say the kind of thing a rock star says about his fifth grade teacher: “She was an inspiration to me, a person who encouraged me to follow my dreams; she believed in me.” The ultimate tribute.
I always wanted my children to surpass me. I wanted to be the steps of the ladder they climbed to achieve things I never could. As I see my oldest grandchild branch out into worlds I have only ever watched from the sidelines, it’s a joy beyond words.
Yet, I keep trying to use words. Maybe I should sing instead. No, I think I’ll leave the singing to my grandson, the ROCK STAR!