Where Is The Brass Band?

We were always a family of five. Maybe it was because I was the lonely, only child that grew up deep in the mountains. So I loved having my big, busy family. I was never a mom that wanted a mother’s day out, or daycare, or vacations without kids. I loved the chaos, the fighting, the lollipops stuck to my clothes.

When the kids were small, once a week my parents would watch them while we went to dinner. We ended out spending the evening talking about the kids, wondering what they were doing, and picking up some little plastic toy for when we walked in. There was no better feeling than walking in the door and having three little bodies launch into our arms, explaining different tortures they had done to Mimi that night and wondering what goodies we had brought.

Vacations were the same way. Five of us would squeeze in the car to drive for miles while fighting over the portable TV, fighting over who was taking up too much room in back, and hollering that they couldn’t wait one more mile for a bathroom. As I contemplated jumping out of a moving vehicle, I knew, in my heart, this was as good as it got.

So last week we had to go out of town. We thought we would take an extra few days and make a mini-vacation out of it. But my oldest couldn’t go. Realizing we are now in a time of grown children, we decided to go with just the four of us. My oldest said he would go with us next time.

The four of us piled in the car and headed out. But the car felt empty. Because we weren’t five, we didn’t need to pile stuff on the roof. Because we were four, no one got squeezed in the very back seat. And because we were four, our bathroom breaks were cut down by twenty percent. It felt downright wrong.

My younger son was forced to torture me because he missed his brother. For 400 miles, I was the one to take the twisted arms and pulled hair. My daughter got twice the remarks that she was ugly and dumb because he didn’t have his big brother to insult. And as she nursed her bruised ego and I nursed my sore arm, we all felt so empty without Charley.

We went to the beach for the day, but my son had no one to drown and no one to rub sand in their face. He tried it out on his sister, but it just wasn’t the same. She posed no threat of retaliation with bodily harm. She just hollered and then he had to deal with Dad. My husband retaliated with groundings and confiscated keys. Not the same as getting chased down the beach and having his face shoved in the sand. How we missed Charley.

Too sad with only four of us, we headed home a day early and couldn’t wait to see how we had been missed, too. I knew that we would enter the driveway to big hugs, a cake, a brass band, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

We pulled in and noticed his truck was not there. Not to worry, I thought, he’s out getting the brass band. He had to have missed us, too. We unloaded the car, and still no Charley. Maybe he was out getting fireworks to herald our homecoming. We unpacked our stuff, ordered pizza, and went to bed. No Charley. I fell asleep on the couch waiting for the brass band who surely must have gotten lost and was playing for a mistaken family in Dogwood.

Around midnight a smiling son walked in the door, gave me a hug, and plopped down in the chair. I asked where he’d been. He said he and the girlfriend had gone to dinner, to a movie, hung out with friends. They had a good time. I stared at him. "Glad you missed me so much. Where is the brass band?"

Looking at me like I was crazy, he yawned, and headed to bed. I stared at the empty chair, and remembered the days of entering the house to squeals of delight. I guess time has passed and my children have grown tall and strong and independent. Isn’t that what I wanted to happen?

But I still hear the echoes of the squeals. And I really would have liked the brass band.