At Dawn They Slept

I was driving Little to Sunday School this morning.  We were chatting about the band contest yesterday, rehashing performances, disputing scores.  The usual.

Our little marching band was featured on the local news last night.  Pretty heavy stuff!

This year the music-and all the other trappings that go into a marching band show-is a tribute. It lovingly tells the story of Pearl Harbor and gives its respects to the fallen soldiers. 

It is a daunting task but we've met the challenge and so far have eight trophies to show for it.  It is moving without being cheesy.

But Little pointed out to me this morning that this year the show isn't about winning awards. 

It can't be or it won' t work.

Before each performance they listen to recorded stories of survivors, they have a history lesson. Another way to get the students into the moment and the right frame of mind is a particular addition to their uniforms.

Dog Tags.

Each member wears the name of the show on one tag and the name of a fallen soldier on the other.  

I noticed some wore their tags on the outside of their uniform and some didn't.

Little wears his on the outside.

Yeah.  Well he's my guy, Mom.  And if I wear the tags on the outside when we compete, it's like he can see the show and know it's for him.

Wait a minute.

 Gulp.  

Swallow.

Swallow.

I had to get that lump out of my throat before I could continue.

From the mouths of babes they say.

I hope Little never shuts his.