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Every parent’s life revolves around their children’s schedule. The older the children get, the busier the parent’s life. For the past eight years, mine has revolved around my son and his decision to play the Double Bass in the orchestra.

Music to My Ears

It started with the instrument itself. The school system introduces string instruments in 5th grade. The cost to buy an instrument of our own was beyond our budget, so we chose to rent a bass for the year. Although tall for his age, Justin was no match for a full-sized bass. Like most kids, he began on a half-size. Even that barely fit in my four-door sedan, and then only with the neck hanging six inches out the back seat window. Thankfully, the vinyl cover kept it from getting wet when it rained.

About half the kids that start orchestra in 5th grade quit before they make it to 6th. Not Justin. From the first time he propped up behind the large wooden apparatus and heard the deep rich tones, he was hooked. His musical ability came naturally and he quickly excelled. Justin auditioned for and was chosen to play in a fairly prestigious youth orchestra. It meant weekly practices and playing in two to three concerts each year in addition to the winter and spring school concerts. The school system also organized a special All-City concert for 5th through 12th grade, held each year at an arena on the local college campus. Each grade played a song and then all played a final number together. It gave the younger students the chance to see and hear the progression of talent of the older kids, to encourage them to stick with their instrument.

Don’t Lose Focus

Early on in Justin’s performance career, I caught his attention as he warmed up on stage and waved to help him find me in the crowd. Most kids his age proudly waved back to their parents. Not Justin. He ignored me. At home later, he told me, in as kind of words as an 11-year-old can muster, that waving at him at concerts wasn’t necessary. His independent personality had begun to emerge in other areas of life too, so I reluctantly agreed and kept my waving hands to myself.

Seven years progressed and Justin’s musical ability continued to grow. Every year he played more difficult selections and was accepted into higher honor orchestras. I proudly attended a minimum of six to seven concerts every school year and three or four more during summer bass camps. At every one, Justin rarely looked into the crowd. He was always more occupied with placing his bass and stool in just the right spot, arranging music on the stand, or goofing around with his stand partner. I learned not to bother with a wave.

Times They Are a’Changin’

During the first half of Justin’s senior year in high school, I’d been preparing myself that come the spring, each concert would be the last one of its group, the last youth orchestra concert, the last school concert. The beauty of orchestral music frequently brings tears to my eyes and I knew each performance could be an emotional experience. So at the All-City concert in late March, it was no surprise I found myself a bit nostalgic of all the times Justin had played in the arena, working his way around the floor with each grade.

My husband and I arrived early to carefully choose our seats where we could videotape both Justin in the 11-12th grade ensemble and his younger brother, this year playing violin in the 9th grade orchestra. We noted where both were seated in their large groups and watched a pre-concert run-through for the older grades. We took photos of them as they talked with friends before the concert started. But we did not stand and wave our arms overhead to make sure they located us in the audience, unlike the parents of the younger kids. We knew better. Or so we thought.

After the oldest group performed, the MC made a point to recognize the students who received honors during the year, followed by a moment of recognition for the seniors and their parents. We proudly stood in the crowd and clapped -- not for ourselves, but for the accomplishments of the young adults. They stood, separated from the younger musicians, each possibly contemplating their last moment of All-City, wondering where the path of their lives would lead, or counting the days to the freedom that only a high school graduation brings. Not Justin. He waved -- his arm stretched high overhead. It surprised me so much I hardly knew how to react. Could he possibly be waving at me? Surely not. The applause began to die down. People began to take their seats. Automatically, I returned a wave, although a small, subtle gesture.

Later at home after Justin and his friends had stopped for their traditional after-concert ice cream, he remarked, “I waved at you like ten times.” I stammered over my response. “You haven’t wanted me to wave at you for eight years.” It sounded lame even to me. I’m such a horrible parent. The one time he wanted me to wave and I blew it! That night before heading to bed I stopped at Justin’s room. “I’m sorry I didn’t wave,” I said, hoping we’d enjoy a laugh together. In all seriousness he replied, “Well, you gave me a little one.” Someone pull the dagger from my heart.

Pomp and Circumstance

We have another six weeks until graduation when I know my emotions will run rampant. No regrets for me that night. When my son’s name is called and he walks across the podium to receive his diploma, I’ll be cheering. Maybe I’ll even have an air horn. I’ll definitely be waving.

Whether he wants it or not.