Sherry Baby

One of the millions of things that made my grandpa great was his support of me no matter my choices. We actually had very different interests. He loved golf. My golfing skills are comical. I love music. He had never played an instrument in his life. Well, he always teased me and said he could play "the thumb." But I don't think that counts. ;) He loved the Big Bang Theory, and I hate that show. I love The Office, and he hated that show. But no matter our differences, if I was ever on a field or on a stage with an instrument in my hands, you bet Papaw was front and center. So was Mamaw and my Mom. But it's significant that Papaw was supportive because I knew that he wasn't personally interested in hearing gorgeous arrangements from the District 17 Honor Band at Ohio University. He had no interest in Wizard of Oz or Grease. He loved me though, and he wanted to support me. And that made me feel like a rockstar.

Growing up, I played many sports. I tried my hand at softball, basketball, volleyball, and track. Believe it or not, there was actually a time that I was good at volleyball. I played in middle school, and I was a starter in 8th grade. When the summer/autumn of my freshman year rolled around, I had to choose between volleyball or marching band. It wasn't really a choice. Sports are more of a hobby for me, but music is my love. When it came time, everyone knew that I was going to choose what I loved.

One day toward the end of my high school days, Papaw said, "You know, you would have been really good at volleyball." I looked at him, not knowing where the conversation was going. Then he continued, "But you're the best in the band."*

That was one of the best things I've ever heard. He accepted my talent as it was. He had no interest in changing it. He loved every sport there ever was, but he loved me more. He loved strutting around after my piano recitals and band concerts, telling everyone, "I taught her everything she knows." He loved harassing my musician friends, who grew to love him and his antics.

That spring, the concert band was playing a Frankie Valli medley, and "Sherry," was in the arrangement. That is definitely the anthem of Papaw and I. It was just a sweet coincidence. We loved singing in ridiculous falsetto voices and laughing at each other. At the concert, we started the medley, and if I remember correctly, "Sherry" was in the middle. When I started playing that piece, I made eye contact with Papaw, who was mouthing the lyrics with his signature grin. And that is when I lost all my ****. I started laughing so hard that I had to stop playing. Our beloved director Dingess looked at me, smirking and also shaking his head, you know, considering that my loud instrument had the melody at that point. Haha... Oops! It was the kind of laughter that you crave but cannot create on purpose.

I am so lucky that I was his.

Before he died, I had a few touching conversations with him about my future. When I came home for a night after the marathon, we were lying in bed and he asked, "So what's next, Jame?" It made my heart full to know that he expects big things from me. I made him some promises, and I can't wait to fulfill those.

I asked him if he would watch a show if I ever wrote for one. He said, and I love doing my impression of his answer, "Yeah. I might think it's stupid, but I would watch it anyway." And I know he would.

*To my bandies, he meant that my talent was best suited in band. Not that I was better than anyone else!

Mamaw, Papaw, and I with the trophy I got for being one of the "best in the band." :)