By Miranda Holloway
Editor-in-Chief|
This happy thought is going to stray from my normal format or rambling about unicorns and butterflies and glitter and all that mumbo jumbo.
Nay, this issue I will tell a little story. It’s not a long story but it’s a jolly one.
One day in early October I had to go home during lunch. I had forgotten to print out my paper for my seventh hour Spanish class. I was crabby, hungry and just out of whack. Despite the fact that it was sunny and warm, I had a storm cloud over my head.
I sulked to my car and started up the engine.
This would not have been so precarious if I didn’t have fifth hour lunch. For those of you who either don’t have fifth hour or don’t go outside then, here’s the problem. During the fall, fifth hour is when the marching band practices, which means thats when all 150 members of the band lackadaisically walks through the parking lot to the field to rehearse.
Normally I fancy myself a patient person but this was not one of those days. After contemplating running over an oboist, I finally shot a gap between a color guard member and a tuba player.
As I glared at some poor band kids for making me a whole 50 seconds behind schedule. I saw my new favorite member of the Prospect Marching Knights.
There was a boy, a freshman judging by his size, with his clarinet. With his jacket unzipped and glasses on this boy seemed to bounce on his way to practice.
This kid had a spring in his step and a smile on his face. He just seemed so happy to get to play his clarinet. And his happiness brightened my day.
He got so much joy in playing his instrument for 50 minutes that it reminded me that maybe having to go home to get my Spanish work was not the end of the world.
Plus I got to see my dog.
So you go clarinet kid, you go.