The Pseudobulbar Affect

       The Pseudobulbar Affect is defined as "emotional lability, labile affect or emotional incontinence. Refers to a neurologic disorder characterized by involuntary crying or uncontrollable episodes of crying and/or laughing, or other emotional displays." So basically what that means is something triggers an emotion within you and you react in a way that you can't control, like uncontrollable laughter. Everyone experiences this to some degree at some point in their life. Usually this happens when we are among friends and can find a way to remove ourselves from the situation by simply leaving the room. Well not for me! I was stuck on a fully loaded airplane.

       I have to start by introducing you to a friend of mine. He was a member of my department for over 34 years, and was influential in starting our band. He is a jack of all trades, master on none type and really enjoys making people laugh; hence my problem on the plane. Although some of these stories will seem like I'm beating him up, I really do have tons respect for this man and his family. Since this friend will appear in so many of these stories I find that I must give him a name. For the purpose of these stories we will call him The Diver. Now this name is not a stretch by any means, it just not his real name.

       In September 2008 The Diver and I traveled out to Colorado Springs for the IAFF Fallen Firefighters memorial. He is obviously very interested in deep sea diving, hence the name. Well apparently the dive company he works for has a national head quarters in Fort Collins, Colorado. He was very excited about heading up there from the Springs. Me not so much. On the plane ride into the Springs from Boston I ended up in the last seat on the plane. This twisted my back up pretty good and I really was not interested in jumping in a crappy rental car for the two hour ride to Fort Collins. I did anyway because that's what The Diver wanted to do. I thought maybe it would be interesting to visit the headquarters of a national dive company. I thought we would check out some cool equipment maybe even do a little diving. Well...There is NO DIVING in Fort Collins! This place was nothing but a giant warehouse full of safety pamphlets and handouts. I mean think about it. The closest ocean is 1200 miles away, why on earth did either one of us ever think there would be diving in Fort Collins? Once again The Diver sucked me into one of his hair brained ideas, just like the time we went to watch a band competition at the IBEW local hall wearing matching green shirts and red kilts. We weren't competing, we were watching. We were the only ones looking like Christmas, wearing kilts. Oh, so embarrassing. I would continue to bust on him for the next five days telling everyone we came across that "There's No Diving in Fort Collins." At one point I think he was ready to choke me out. I thought it was funny. You ever tell a joke so much that it becomes funny? Yea that's me. I'm sure it bugs the heck out of people, but I tend to get a kick out of myself. Don't worry, The Diver would get the last laugh. Well the last one before the plane ride home.

Fly Fishing the Arkansas river in September 2008

We decided before we left we would spend a day fly fishing the Arkansas River. Yes, the Arkansas is in Colorado, I know I thought the same thing. That morning we woke up early to head out. We brought three other friends with us, two of which had never been fly fishing before and thought it would be fun. Little did we know the fun would be on me. By the time we got to the river my back pain was pretty much gone. Up until this point I thought it was the plane ride. Oh how I was mistaken. Have you ever had Kidney Stones? Yup you got it, I was passing stones out in the middle of nowhere. I figured I would just tough it out, they offered to take me back but I didn't want to ruin the trip. I dressed in my neoprene (I was much thinner then) and head out into the water. To be honest the cold water felt great if you know what I mean. I made my way up river and the pain began to be unbearable. I remember thinking if I just pass this stone I'll be fine, good to go. The problem was actually passing this brick! I attempted to fish for about a half hour and decided I would walk to the opposite bank and try to pass the stone. Without all the gory details, I lost my favorite sunglass, the biggest fish I had ever hooked, and passed the stone. I was right, I was a new man and thought this day was about to turn around. It turned around alright. As I headed back to where the rest were fishing I noticed a woman in green khakis. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was a game warden. I thought holy crap, what else could go wrong. We were all licensed so I really wasn't too worried, but the way things had gone so far on this trip anything was possible. She had the others lined up on the shore and was waving me to make my way to them. The current was strong and swift to the point you could easily be swept away. I was trying to get over as fast as I could. She seemed a little peeved that I was not moving a little faster, she kept looking and threw out the occasional wave for me to get over there, like I didn't see her the first time. I kept thinking, is this lady serious right now? I'm gonna kill myself just so she could check my fishing license? By the time I got to the shore the rest of the group was on the ground laughing. As it turned out she wasn't planning on waiting for me at all and she packed up and left.  I'm pretty sure they planned this whole thing knowing what I was going through. All I could do was laugh, even though I wanted to cry. I turned to The Diver and like a child said, "There's No Diving in Fort Collins."

After a great week and a beautiful memorial service it was time to head back home. We are to fly from Colorado Springs to Dallas Fort Worth and then on to Boston. The Plane from Dallas Fort Worth was packed and this would be like the fourth time ever on a plane so I was still a little nervous. The Diver knew I wasn't fully comfortable on the plane so he began to tell his never-ending jokes. Most of his jokes are extremely funny but I have heard everyone of them at least 6 times so I know them by heart. We began to talk and giggle about the trip, how the day went on the Arkansas. He was doing a good job of putting my mind at ease, well at least until we turned on the TV in the headrest in front of us. It was a segment from the David Letterman show. The segment featured the kids from Piedmont High School. They were the top 3 winners in the bird calling championships. Although I only remember the first and second entries. This was so ridiculous I completely lost it! This is a real competition. They have teams of two to three high school aged kids and, in an animated way they recreate bird calls. If you haven't seen this you have no idea how funny this is. These kids take this competition very serious. The first group was a brother and sister doing the American White Pelican. This would get me started. These two would begin to wave their arms up and down and eek and crow in unison while also bouncing up and down. It was really pretty funny. Now I'm chuckling pretty good and not only The Diver noticed. The next group of kids was comprised of three girls. They would do the Black-Bellied Sand Grouse. This one is what did it! The three girls stood in a semi circle sort of facing each other and began flailing their arms making this craziest noises all while bouncing up and down shaking and swinging their heads from side to side. Their hair just flipping and swimming through the air. Then to make it worse they replayed it in slow motion. When I saw the replay I began laughing so loud and hard people were jumping out of their seats. I tried to stop but every time I did they would show the slow motion again. I remember looking over through the tears in my eyes at this lady a few rows up and to the middle of the plane. She was staring with this angry look. That just made me laugh even harder. This laughter would go on for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Just as I would calm down The Diver would just crank me back up again by shaking his head and making his own ridiculous bird noise. I truly couldn't get control of myself. Soon the flight attendant would come over and ask if we were ok. The Diver tried to explain to her what had happened and why. For some reason he felt compelled to tell her "by the way, did you know there is no diving in Fort Collins?' Now I'm trying to hold the laughter in with my hands like my mouth is a leaky faucet. She just looked at us with a blank stare on her face, and asked us to try to quiet down as she walked up the aisle. Once again, like a sound from a bullhorn, I died right there. This was some serious laughter. I kept trying to apologize but couldn't get the words out it was so bad. Soon the angry people on the plane began laughing with me. Some even clapped. Really it began to be catchy. One guy walked by and gave The Diver high five. Even the angry lady would turn and give a smile. After a good twenty minutes or so I was finally able to gain my composure. I had truly experienced emotional incontinence and I was relieved it was over. Is there a moral to this story? No, not really, but I did learn one thing through all of this. There definitely is no diving in Fort Collins.

Peter

Fur Elise

        Clearly music invokes emotion. Everywhere we go there is a beat, tone, or melody to a specific time. When we walk, how we speak, even when we eat there is a rhythm. Most of us are so enthralled in the trivial points of life we can't hear the music. Let's just imagine for a moment you spent your entire life around music, and music was your entire life. Then one day for whatever reason you actually lost your ability to hear. Your love of the music is so grand that you go on to write and perform literally hundreds of compositions, and become one of the most famous composers of all time. Despite being deaf, this was Ludwig Van Beethoven.

       Today I played the celebration of life for a gentleman who was the patriarch of 4 living generations. This gentleman lived 87 good years. This service was a joy for me. It was clear from the beginning the family wished this to be a celebration, so my tune selection was much more open than usual. I was able to play more of an upbeat selection to set a happier tone. I would play for thirty minutes before the service as people arrived to help celebrate this gentleman's life. My pipes locked in early and played rather tight today. I find it impressive how the weather has so much influence over the instrument. I was told this family would spend time in Nova Scotia. I would have to imagine today's weather is quite common there. Could there be a coincidence? I was contacted about this event by chance, from a woman I had met by chance on social media. We both belong to a debate forum and have had some great discussions. We have a mutual friend that would connect us, as she did not know any bagpipers in the area. As it turns out we graduated high school together in 1989. She is the granddaughter of the gentleman we were celebrating today. She would introduce me to her father and her daughter prior to the service. It is clear to me she is an intelligent well read woman who apparently does hear the music. This is a beautiful family whom to me, seemed very close and quite supportive of each other.  As I understood, her daughter, like her is a musician. She practices the clarinet and plays the piano. She would play a tribute to her great grandfather during the service. When I looked at the spelling of her name and that of her great grandfather, it seemed to me she was his name sake, only strengthening my thought of how close this family is.

       I mentioned how I felt the granddaughter was intelligent and well read, none of this is lost on her daughter, along with her general concern for others. The young girl and I had a brief but interesting discussion on Bagpipe lung which is a disease that bagpipers can get from not having proper care techniques for their instrument. As our conversation continued she explained how she would play the piano today for her great grandfather. She was a delightful young girl with honest eyes. She seemed ready to tackle the world. She was to play Fur Elise, one of Beethoven's most famous and complicated pieces. It is believed to have been written for a love interest of Beethoven, Therese von Rohrenbach zu Dezza. She was a friend and student of Beethoven's to whom he proposed in 1810, though she would turn him down to marry an Austrian nobleman. It is also believed that when the composition was transposed, the name was mistaken for Elise and not Therese. Clearly this young girl would master the piece. As the four of us stood talking you could see the levels of respect and admiration they each had for one another. How each of them felt for the man we all were about to celebrate. From the great granddaughter to the granddaughter, both looking up to the son as all of them playing the music of life for the father. Spending those moments with them was my favorite song of the day.

Peter

 

November 15, 2013

       We lost a former member of our department on Veteran's Day. Today we buried him. His obituary read that he is survived by his daughter, his longtime companion, three sisters, and three brothers, (one of which is on the job with me) as well as three grandchildren. This man was 61 years old so I'm sure he left many others as well, evident by the number of people that attended the graveside service. He left the department about five or so years before I came on so I did not know him. I had heard many stories some good and some bad, but we all know how that goes. I do know his brother. So I will gauge him off of that.

       When I arrived for my first shift on my first assignment after drill school the brother met me at the door. He greeted me with a smile and shook my hand. His self introduction really made me feel welcome. He worked on the opposing shift so as it turns out I was to be his relief. The cool thing about this guy was he didn't just leave. He took the time to show me around the station and go over the truck. He opened the compartments, pulled out tools, even showed me a spot on the gear rack. Now I know most of you salty guys out there are waiting for the gag. Waiting for me to tell you how he pulled one over on me, hit me with a bucket of water or something like that. Nope. That never happened. About a week later I figured out why. This guy had only gotten out of drill school himself six months prior so he knew right where I was coming from. I always remembered that and try to be the same way with new guys.

       It turns out the gentleman that passed served in the U.S. Air Force during the Vietnam Conflict. Many of times I have piped a military funeral, but not too many with the Air Force. The two Airmen were sharp in their Service Dress. These two men were young, couldn't have been any older than twenty. I went to them to let them know when I would be playing and asked if Taps was to be rendered. Neither one of them would break attention. It was rather strange how nervous they seemed. I tried to lighten their mood a little by telling them how lucky they were that they were able to enter the cemetery. They looked at me silently with a puzzled stare. I mean it gets real difficult sometimes seeing as how everyone was dying to get in there. They didn't get it.

       The department sent a five person Honor Guard holding the American flag, State flag, city flag, and two rifleman (yes we use rifles with our honor guard) along with the Ladder truck and Heavy Rescue. There were a decent amount of off duty guys there both in Class A and street clothes. A handful of retired members were there as well. The members from both trucks stood at attention wearing their bunker coats and helmets which I think is a nice touch. But really they did it because not everyone remembered that ridiculous bell cap you have heard me talk about. The ceremony started with the moving of the casket. I played "As She Moved Thru the Fair." This is a beautiful tune based on love lost. This traditional Irish tune is about two who loved and planned to marry without the permission of her family. She would pass and return to him in death promising to wait for him in the afterlife. This is one of my all time favorites.

       Now is the point I was concerned about since I spoke with the Airmen. They began to fold the flag. Veteran's families receive the American flag on behalf of the United States for their service to their country and normally this part of the ceremony is very touching. Well the nervousness got the best of the folder. It would seem to me he just didn't pull the flag tight enough on each fold. This would cause the end fold to be too short and not able to fit in the triangle. The folder realized this just a little too late so he then had to unfold and start over. This really is no big deal except the family is very emotional and the detail would be at attention for an extended period. The second time thru the fold went much better. Now is the point the folder would make up for his lack of attention previously. With grace and poise he grasped the flag from the top of its triangle and slowly brought his hand along the fold in the downward direction, waving his hand in the air so as to call attention to his task. He did this for each of the three sides each time bringing his bright white gloved hand over his head prior to connecting back with the flag. He would then properly pass the flag to the other Airman and give a slow salute prior to making his way off in the distance to retrieve the bugle. The second Airman would then take the flag and make his way to the front of the family. Taps was played and the gift of the flag was completed. Now the ceremony would end but not before I would play Amazing Grace. Earlier I noticed how the trucks were parked so I planned to direct my walk away in their direction. I played the first round and turned to begin the walk away. It went perfectly by the time of the last measure of the tune I was beyond the truck thinking how great the music must have faded off. 

       As I returned to the graveside the brother was shaking the hands of the guys from our department. He held his face of sorrow the best he could while he shook the hand of each and every firefighter as they waited for him to pass by. As I made my way to him I remembered how I felt my first day. How, for that day I looked up to him like a veteran firefighter, one that knows the ways of the job. Looking up to him as the firefighter he is today. He reached to shake my hand, I passed it by and gave him an embrace. He thanked me for playing his brothers funeral, and I was finally able to thank him.  

Peter

11/12/13

       So here we are seventeen years later, almost to the day. Well one month shy of seventeen years but who's counting. The odd thing I noticed just now is the date. It is actually 9:10 am on 11/12/13. Exactly seventeen years since I started the Fire Department. What does this have to do with Veteran's Day? Absolutely nothing! (as I digress).

       Veteran's Day started like it has since 2006. I woke up and threw on the band kilt. You see when we started the bag pipe and drum band we made kind of a pact (for lack of a better term) the first parade we would march in as a band would be Veteran's Day. So 2006 was the band's first parade. Anyway a story for another time; let's get back to 2013.

       The house was a buzz as my youngest had a sleep over the night before. The plan was for them to come down and watch the parade. So I'm sure you can imagine the request for different foods from two 10 year old girls, 12 year old boy, two adults, and a ten month old Saint Bernard. This of course is not to mention the 19 year old still sleeping. Kind of a cluster but apparently that's what I like. If we don't start our day with turmoil something is wrong. So after everything calmed down just a hair I head out of the house. I'm a little later than I wanted as I know I have to retune my chanter because the reed is rather squirrely. The sky was crystal clear and the sun was warm like many years past. I stood for a moment in the driveway looking like Timothy Green. 

       I was the second guy to arrive at the meeting place for tune-up. So I guess I wasn't the only one to leave a little behind. Good thing I factor an hour before each gig to make up for it. The tuning went real well and the hour disappeared rather quickly. The parade stepped off about five minutes late. This would be ok because the ceremony at city hall was not supposed to start before 11am. The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the Armistice. Once again as we were marching I noticed how warm the sun was. We were one of two bands in the parade. The other? Our high school band, who by the way are amazing. This parade route is rather simple three lefts and a right with full sun along the way. The route itself was rather full. When marching it's hard to get a take on the crowd but I do get the occasional eye contact here and there. I have been asked by some about the slight dip of the head as I pass by friends. It's tough not to acknowledge people when you pass by so I did, I came up with a silly little head tilt. It works for me. The best part of the route is the kids! Seeing these kids out there waving the Standard is such a joy.

       The ceremony began with us playing a slow air for the members of my department lost in the Strand Theater fire of 1941 (Another story for another time), followed by the high school band and their incredible rendition of The National Anthem. I really can't say enough to give you the idea how amazing these kids are. Pure perfection every time out. The ceremony went off without a hitch. The amphitheater behind city hall was chock full of people wearing or holding the American flag. I would estimate that there was anywhere from four to five hundred people there, all of them to thank our veterans. The local VFW played taps and volleyed off the shots of remembrance. Now it was time for us to play again. Once again, as many times before, we would play Amazing Grace. The way we play it is the same as fire and police bands across the nation. One solo piper will start and play it once. Then with a dramatic entrance which we refer to as the attack, the entire band chimes in. At this point I play a different version than the rest of the pipers. This causes harmonies creating tone change to help invoke emotion. At the end of the round I play the final solo. I play it straight but walk away. The walk away allows the music to fade off as though there is a piper in the distance. I can't tell you what the walk away means to others, but to me, I find it very special. I feel that the walk away is a symbol. Maybe it carries the soul to its final rest. Maybe that is the moment for others to reflect. Maybe people don't even notice. For this ceremony the walk away symbolized the end.

 

       This entry is really not about the morning of November 11th, 2013 as it was pretty average. Today I'm more interested in talking about the evening. The City Police Department Honor Guard held a comedy event to support the Wounded Warrior Project. Now I'm not going to get to deep into the Project if you want to know more check it out. What I want to talk about is the man that hosted the event. Yes ,he is a police officer where I live. Every time I see this man he impresses me more and more. Once again he did not disappoint. It's not the fact that he put together a great show hosted by Joey Carroll, Harry Corcell, Chris Pennie and special guest Steve Sweeney (who by the way donated their time for the Project). It's about what he has quietly done as a member of our United States Army serving as an Infantryman for the Multi Nation Forces 17th Iraq Army Battalion as well as a member of 1/325 Air, 82nd Airborne Division. It would seem he joined in late 1995 and still serves today. The 1stSgt received a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star for his service overseas along with numerous other metals and ribbons evident by the number of them on his chest.

       The 1stSgt stood at the podium speaking to the attendees about the Project and why we were all there. He reminded us of the men and woman still overseas. To this point his speech was solid. He stood tall over all of us in his dress uniform pressed to perfection. He would then refer us to a table that was just off the side of the podium. This table would test him and his speech. He began by stating in a strong drill sergeant type voice, "This is a Table of Honor. To the front of the hall and closest to the stage you can observe a table with a placement for one." His eyes jumped up from the paper and quickly scanned the room so as to make sure everyone was on task. "Although the table is small the meaning is great" he paused for a quick glance. " At this time I would like to explain the meaning of the items on this special table." Once again the 1stSgt scanned the room. I have known this man for a couple years and I have to say normally he enjoys the clowning. Not at this moment. His face was solid and serious. "The table is round-to show our everlasting concern for our missing comrades. The table cloth is white-symbolizing the purity of their motives when answering their call to duty. The single red rose, displayed in a vase, reminds us of the life of each of the missing, and their loved ones and friends of these Americans who keep the faith awaiting answers." His head would move from the paper once again. This time he fixed his eyes on one man. His voice now slightly different than when he started. I would not say that the 1stSgt was shook, I would say he was right where he needed to be. We sit home safe at night not a worry, not realizing what these men and woman have and are going through. He took a moment to gather himself. His next words were an attempt to apologize. The crowd would not have that! He would pause again. It was clear the man in front of him invoked something. One more time the 1stSgt would head back to the Table of Honor quite less clear than before. "The vase tied with a red ribbon, a symbol of our continued determination to account for our missing." These words were the toughest for him. Prior to continuing on he would introduce the man in front. This man served with him and they both received the Purple Heart. He invited the man to the stage and the man stood  and made his way to the 1stSgt's side as I am sure he had done in battle numerous times. The man grabbed the mic and began to read from the paper. "A slice of lemon on the bread plate is to remind us of the bitter fate of those captured and missing in a foreign land." The 1stSgt turned from facing the room maybe not realizing the wall behind him was fully mirrored. The man continued," A pinch of salt symbolizes the tears endured by those missing and their families who seek answers." the 1stSgt would turn back to the side of the man as he continued." A bible represents the strength gained through faith to sustain those lost from our country, founded as one nation under God."  Both men would share a look as the 1stSgt would place his left arm across the man's shoulders. The man continued, "The glass is inverted-to symbolize their inability to share within tonight's festivities. The chair is empty-for they are missing." Once again the man would pause, look across the room as serious as the 1stSgt did to begin this emotional moment. "To the American prisoner of War, Missing in Action, and those who can no longer be with us...

We pray for your safe return and know--You will never be forgotten"

Peter

 

 

 

How it all started

       I must have been in drill school for close to six weeks when we were visited by members of the Union and Fire Department Honor Guard. They spoke to us about the job and how we should get involved early in our career. To make this our own and take pride, share in the camaraderie, get involved in the brotherhood. This is what being a firefighter is all about. It was mentioned that there was to be a funeral the following day and we should think about attending as there is nothing quite like a Line of Duty Death Funeral. I remember thinking, this is more like something I had to do, rather than something I really wanted to do. It was going to be Saturday and we had a long week of training. Also it seemed odd to me to go to a funeral of someone I didn't know. I realized though that this may not have been a request but more like a suggestion, a serious suggestion.

       I remember Saturday December 28th 1996 like it was just yesterday. I found myself putting on the Department issue Class A uniform for the first time. This was my uniform, sounds strange the way I say that now but it's true. This uniform would represent me. You see I had never joined the service so I didn't understand how wearing the uniform would make me feel. I'm not referring to the feel of polyester or the starched stiff creases. I'm talking about feeling as though I belonged to something. At this point I still didn't quite get it. I felt cool and looked sharp! I think it was that ridiculous Bell Cap, It fit perfect...on so many levels. I stepped out of the house knowing how sad I would be if it were to snow or even worse rain. I didn't want to have to cover up with an over coat. I was still thinking about myself, heck I didn't even know this guy's name or how he died.

Holy Name Church Jamaica Plain, MA

       We arrived in Jamaica Plain with plenty of time to spare. Right away I noticed there were so many firefighters from so many different places. You have to understand, this was a sea of those ridiculous Bell Caps. You may find this normal in the post 9/11 world, but in 1996? I would have never expected to see so many strangers in one place, celebrating someone they didn't know to the scale of Times Square on New Year's Eve. The clouds were thick and gray, heavy with precipitation just yearning to leak from the sky. The air was crisp and whipping over the hill just past the rotary to the west of the  Holy Name Church.  The weather and the feel of the morning only compounded by the fact that we were there to celebrate someone's death. At this point I just wanted to go home. There was nothing good about this day. I remember a couple of men gathering the crowd to the front of the church. The leader of our Honor Guard instructed us to wait for all to assemble. It was his intention to wait them all out and put us in the front. The most prominent place possible. He had this swagger about him and felt that this Honor Guard should always be in front to represent our Local. I agreed! I wanted to be seen. What a fool....

       We ended up directly in front of the church, like I am sure has happened many times before by the way these men carried themselves. To us new guys, we were giddy to say the least, we got over on everyone else. It seemed we beat them. How sad is it that I took it that way. We stood in rows as long as the eye could see, from the rotary at W. Roxbury Parkway past the fork in the road onto South Street. Columns of at least ten men deep from the double yellow line onto and past the granite edge of the sidewalk. The sky grew darker accentuated by the blackened red brick of the church. The only real color noticed at this point was the seven pale stone statues that adorned the portico. As I stood at semi attention feeling the blight don, I began to hear the voices around me. I could now make out what was being said. My ears tuned into the voices as they were talking about how this man died. The circumstances were unbelievable to me. How could this day get any worse. That was when I noticed the boy across the street. He stood looking off to the west  toward the rotary, down the street to the east, back up the stairs to the church. This boy clearly had no focus. After hearing the words, "is that his oldest boy?" I realized this man had left a family.

       This boy stood in his crisp black suit and tie, couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old, clearly his troubles cause his lack of focus. Can you imagine, tears running down his face, his swollen red eyes, his chest pumping up and down from the lack of a consistent breath, what seemed to be his mother rubbing his back. Him paying no mind to her attempts to calm him. Just then his numb empty face glanced forward at us. Our eyes connected with a snap and the air emptied from my chest.  This was the moment I was not prepared for when making our way to the most prominent position. Gone was the feeling that we got over. No longer did I care how cool I looked, not for the Bell Cap, or the starched polyester. Just the thought of what could this boy have done to deserve this? How can I help this boy? I couldn't believe the change in me. I had a daughter and couldn't imagine her not growing up with me in her life. This man had died, leaving four children, and this boy with tears and real sadness was about to grow from the age of nine to forty in a matter of seconds. Was there nothing I could do or say. As I racked my brain for the right words to match my feelings, should I wink? NO! Thoughts of what I should do drown out everything around me. This was true tunnel vision. That's when I noticed the most amazing change. The boy's eyes jerked away. He was no longer connected to me, no longer looking forward at us, or at any of the contingent. It was like we were no longer there. He was now experiencing that same notion of tunnel vision only a slightly different type. I stayed fixed on him and his gaze for a few more moments while I collected myself from the tidal wave of emotion coursing through me. I realized he was fixed on something special. His face was now bright and uplifting, no longer are the tears flowing from what now seemed more like a ruddy completion. What could cause this change? I myself now experiencing the trouble to focus. I then followed the line of his sight to the top of the hill. Just past the rotary, over the gray tar street, beyond the dying brown grass lined with the snow blackened by the dirt, sand, and soot; to see the first burst of color I would see this day. It was the American Flag! Cracking and snapping like a whip, straight out, dotting to the left then to the right with the harsh winter breeze. This assault on the gloom of the day snatched me from deep within the tunnel. I turned to the boy. He was now full with smile and even seemed to be walking in place to a beat. That's the moment I was fully awakened. The sound of a hundred pipers filled the air. The swing of the kilt, the march in time. This, to this point in my life was the most impressive display I had ever seen. As the Bagpipers past by I found myself in another place. I found myself filled with pride. Clearly I had chosen the right profession for me. As the last row of snare drums walked past, the boy and I locked eyes one last time. This time he saw a reflection of himself from just five minutes prior. I reached to wipe the tears from my eyes as the boy simply stared back at me, he waved and with a sharp jerk, he turned and disappeared behind his mother not to be seen again. I knew that day, just as I know now. I had just found a way, even if for just a moment, I can take away the worst sadness anyone could ever experience. I was meant to play the bagpipes.


Peter