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My Love For My Grandmother Essay, Research Paper
My grandmother has never been the easiest woman to impress but my father could always do
it. When he would play the trombone, my grandmother s eyes would sparkle and light up like fireworks on
the fourth of July. I always wished my grandmother would look at me like that but it was only my father who
could generate that look of pride. My grandmother is an amazing fan of marching bands, so watching her
son play must have been great. My father and my grandmother are the two people I adore and respect the
most in this world and all I wanted to do was make them proud.
My sophomore year in high school I joined the football team. Since I didn t play much, I got on
the special team. My parents would come to games to watch me but my grandmother would never glance at
me once. She would always be completely focused on the drum line with this look in her eyes. This look like
she had been cheated; she should have a grandson out there. A grandson who would stand out there in line
with his head held high, looking like some god as he played, stick moving in perfect unison with the rest of
the line. But all she had was a little boy getting hurt.
When I saw my grandmother look like that, it really hurt me. I wanted to be my father for her,
but I didn t think I was capable. Then my good friend Tiffany who was in drum line convinced me to try out
for it although I had never even picked up a stick. I finally agreed and started going to practice with her, and
I don t think I have ever been more intimidated in my life. I remember walking into the room where the
drums were kept. The room had a curious smell that I couldn t quite place. It was sort of like stale
cotton candy and shoe polish. I would stand in there and watch Courtney, Kevin, and Sidney in absolute
wonderment as they played (something I still do to this day). They played like my father used to, and that is
all I wanted to do.
So I worked really hard for the next few months, I ended up playing the bass drum, and my
grandmother was at the game to watch me play. I do not think I will ever forget the moment I saw her face.
It was about halfway through Beethoven s 9th symphony; right at the part where the band breaks in to Ode
to Joy. I was almost like a movie, it seemed like it was in slow motion as looked up into the stands and saw
my grandmother s face with that same look of sheer pride she used to give my father. I don t think all the
happy, joyous words in the English language could describe just how wonderful I felt. I thought I was going
to start crying right there on the football field I was so happy. My grandmother was proud of me. I felt like
that in some way I had brought a little piece of my father back to her. By being in drum line I am doing
something, my father would have done, and that makes me happier than anyone will ever know. I wish he
was here to join me play, I think he d enjoy it. And I although I will never be as good as my father was, I’m
going to keep working at it. I want to see how many looks of pride I can get out of my grandmother. And
who knows, maybe I’m getting one out of my father too.
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