A year ago I was a band mom. The Dripping Springs High School Band. I handed out uniforms before performances. Tucked hat fezs into compartmentalized boxes. Rode in noisy, boxy yellow buses. Attended countless football games, barbecue dinners and concerts to hear and watch them perform. Gave band mom hugs.

I wasn't a big contributer in terms of time or leadership, but I showed up. I was reliable. The faces of the students, the teachers, the parents were familiar and very beautiful to me.

It wasn't about me, though I focus here on me to give the one bit of the picture I know. It was about my son and the hundred other kids who showed up excruciatingly early morning after morning to march in a parking lot carrying heavy or awkward instruments. It was about the teachers who gave beyond their limits to be there for their students, to open the right doors for them at just the right time. It was about the moms and dads who created space and resources within which the kids could develop. Who were physically present. It was about music. It was about competetive spirit, honor, comaraderie, endurance, passion and the development of good judgment. And it was very much about love.