Dream Gig

 In my dream I was trying to play the sousaphone that was wrapped around me. It seemed like a reasonable enough request: play along with this group of current and former band members as we marched through the middle of town. 

What town? A hybrid of Oakland and my hometown of Boulder, Colorado. The reference points were made available from the times I have spent over the past year or so walking through the streets of this city by the bay in protest. But in my dream there was no protest. This was a celebration of some sort, perhaps one that recognized the turnaround from a year ago when we were marching to keep the schools open. Now we were marching because we were staying open. 

In my dreams. 

Because there are still plenty of potholes out there to overcome. My impacted embouchure not being the least of them. All those schools that had been preparing to welcome students from schools like mine that were going to be closed now have to give money back to the district to create budgets for the those schools that have recently been brought back to life. The county trustee who oversees such matters will have to look into the economic feasibility of all of this before the parade can truly commence. 

And why would it also seem like I was hanging around in Boulder? Could be that in my mind I was fishing around for some sort of retirement plan as well, where I would return to the streets of my youth. The ones I marched with a sousaphone as part of a high school band. Long before I considered a career in education, I was a consumer. I learned about reading and writing and music from teachers in schools that are still standing. Still open. Columbine. Centennial. Boulder High. 

Here in Oakland, four elementary schools were closed back in 2012. A middle school was closed in 2019. At the end of last year, another school, Parker Elementary was closed. It was deemed "unsustainable." The word "revenue" gets tossed around a lot in these moments, and one wonders if public education is really the profit center that so many have hoped it would turn out to be. 

Meanwhile, back at the parade, unable to blow my own horn, I felt like it might be a good idea to wake up because if I wasn't going to be able to fully participate, I wanted to clear out of the street. It felt dangerous, as if maybe someone had neglected to get the proper permits for this event. Traffic could commence at any moment. 

When I awoke, the uncertainty still hung in the air. I wasn't going to need my tuba playing skills right now. I will need patience moving forward, with an eye toward the future and whatever it brings. Maybe a parade. Maybe a move to somewhere else. 

Patience.