Remember, You Matter

When I was 10 or 11 years old, they had a special day in my elementary school.  They came in with a bunch of instruments and gave us the opportunity to hold them, to try to play them, to find our musical calling if there was one there.  That day I picked up a trumpet, felt the cold brass on my lips for the first time, and blew.  Sound immediately came from the horn and the person introducing us to the instruments was left shocked (this was not a normal thing for a kid to pick up an instrument and just start playing it).  I remember being a little bit shocked at my own natural ability with this strange new instrument.  I also seem to recall my mother not being shocked at all.  “Brass is in our blood,” she said.  We had a history of bugle players in my family.  

So I started lessons and joined the band.  Every week we would crowd on the front steps of my school and go to the other elementary school down the street and meet with the elementary school band director for the Middle and Parker schools.  This was where I met Ms. Parkinson.  She was an absolutely remarkable woman who spent the better part of 2 years teaching me how to play.  I would go for lessons once a week, with a second-hand trumpet in a beat up alligator skin case.  She supported me and fought for me.  I remember her as vivacious and energetic.  She was truly one of a kind.  

I wish I had some exact memory at this moment of an interaction between the two of us, but alas, it’s been twenty years and I can’t think of one exact story.  What I can say is that Ms. Parkinson impacted my life in such a profound way by the level of dedication she showed to myself and my classmates.  I had numerous band directors after those first two years, but none stood up to the memory that was Pam Parkinson.  She would continue to attend our shows well after we were no longer her students.  She continued to encourage and lead us, well into our teen years.  Unfortunately, this dynamic and remarkable woman passed away yesterday, and the world lost out because of it.  

The only thing I can think about is how badly I wish I had told her how much she impacted my life.  Although I haven’t played in years really, I never lost my love of a good brass section.  On my worst days, I find myself gravitating towards that smooth, bright, metallic sound, which always soothed me back to a sense of normalcy.  While I write this, I am playing the soundtrack for the marching band stage show Blast! and thinking about all that she taught us.  I can see her conducting from the front of the stage at the Middle School, arms flailing about wildly with such fervor, pushing our own young enthusiasm forward.  

So today, I hope we can remember that if there is someone who has done something remarkable for you, make sure they know it.  It’s not really usual in today’s society to tell people how much you love them, or care about them, or to say thank you just for being a generally awesome human.  However, you should.  We all should take a few minutes a day to tell the people who matter that they do.  If everyone spent the time to tell someone that they matter, maybe we would live in a much better place.  So to everyone in my life, thank you, I love you.  More importantly, you matter.  To Ms. Parkinson, thank you for making me a better person through your courage, fervor, and wacky personality.  The world is less colorful without you in it, but my life was far more beautiful because of you.  

I hope, if you were one of her students that you pick up whatever your instrument was and play a little something for her.  I know I will.