I am the mom of an only child, and my 17-year-old son is a senior this year. I’ve always tried to volunteer and get involved to help out and enrich his school experience, but in recent years, I’ve scaled back.
When he started high school and joined the marching band in ninth grade, I no longer wanted to be scurrying around on the sidelines, taking care of things for everyone else’s kids. I wanted to focus on my kid. So that’s what I did. I took a step back and actually enjoyed watching my kid do something that he loved.
Now, he’s a senior, and I have no regrets.
I’ve put in my time
I was very active in the PTA when he was in elementary school. I organized the twice-yearly dinners for teachers and staff during parent-teacher conference nights, arranging food and desserts and soliciting volunteers to help set up, serve, and tear down.
Then came middle school and COVID-19. My focus shifted to my kid and how to get him through tough times. I created “Mom’s Summer Camp” when his camp was closed, and I wanted to focus on being there for him during these transitional years.
When he started high school, I was going through a rough time personally, and I had to fight to find time and energy to show up for him. My mom, who had previously been enjoying an independent retirement life, started having some medical issues that required a lot of continued assistance from me.
The PTA mom has left the building
The mom I had been in elementary school was gone. I felt guilty at first for not joining the Band Boosters, the parent group (mostly moms) who run every band event and fundraising activity.
I went to the first meeting, and they described the enormous amount of work each year — chaperoning bus trips, running raffles, working the twice-yearly hoagie fundraiser, and manning the parking lots. While there are a few moments when even the booster moms get to watch the halftime show, the rest of the time they are working, cleaning up the bleachers, passing out food to the kids after the halftime show, or hawking raffle tickets in the stands.
I couldn’t do it. Not with everything going on with my mom. Plus my son is my only kid. I simply wanted to be there, to show up to the football games, sit in the bleachers, cheer for the team, and scream as loud as I could when the best band in the land took the field at halftime. Home, away, rain or shine, I wanted to show my son that even during chaotic personal times, I was the mom he could count on to show up.
Fighting for time
I had to fight hard to be there for him. With emergency after emergency related to my mother’s physical and mental health, I haven’t had a perfect record. I had to miss a whole game one year while I was in the ER with my mom.
I called in favors from friends to make sure he got to school in time for the games I had to miss or when I would have to arrive late. But I showed up. After crying in the car about my mom, I’d fix my makeup, speed walk to the stadium, buy a soda and popcorn, and scream with delight during the halftime show.
I always sit in the same area. He knows where to look for me. All I see is the pure joy of what he’s doing, and I’m so glad he’s able to have that and count on me.
The booster parents do great, important work, but I know my kid needs my attention from the stands. Every first is a last when you have an only child. These are the only years I get to be a band parent.
This final year as a band mom will be bittersweet. Each year, after the last home game, outside the band room, the underclassmen and parents of seniors form a pathway for the senior band members to run through when they exit for the last time, one by one. They line both sides of the path as the seniors run, dance, strut, or simply walk out the band door that final time, and into their future.
My heart caught in my throat watching the 2026 seniors exit, knowing that the next time I see this happen, it will be my son’s turn. I don’t know how I’ll get through it emotionally, but I can tell you this much. When he exits that band door for the last time, I won’t be inside counting raffle tickets or directing cars in the parking lot. I’ll be outside that door cheering him on (and let’s admit it, probably crying). For me, that’s my job.
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