A Day to Remember

Today is a huge holiday in Panama, where I am from. It is Independence Day! I still remember the thrill of marching in the longest, most important and most watched parade of the year. My heart always beating in unison with the sound of the band playing right behind me. The strong and well syncopated rhythms and tunes heightened my sense of pride in representing my school marching right beside its colors. 

November 3rd has always been a day of great celebration in my family as well because it is my Father’s birthday. He was the principal of our once only High School for many years and that position brought him great distinction in our town. And people never forgot him. His reputation as an incorruptible, strong, strict and faithful leader followed him wherever he went. His birthday was therefore, a day of excitement in our house because people always wanted to honor him. 

I remember as a young girl going to bed excited in the anticipation of waking up to the perfectly orchestrated tune of “Happy Birthday” performed by our beloved High School’s marching band at around 5:00 a.m. every November 3rd.  I remember seeing my Father standing tall, all dressed up in his elegant suit at the front porch of our house, receiving the honor of such a visit in all his stature. I would peek out the front window and see the shine of the brass pierce through the last darkness of the night as the members of the band played their hearts out, dressed in their Independence Day best. 

What a treat that was for all of us. They touched my young heart for many years with their polished notes dedicated to my Dad. Our High School never ceased to be my Dad’s greatest treasured honor, and its Marching Band remained always his pride.

Last November they got to play for my Dad one last time as they honored him at his funeral. Once again my heart was deeply moved as I listened to the melodies they offered to their greatest fan. My Dad was honored by our beloved High School in a way that is hard to explain and impossible to describe with my limited expressions. Today, my family spends a November 3rd under the cover of a thick blanket of melancholic reminiscing, all at distant points from each other, as we see the first Independence Day without our Father. 

The memories of those days waking up at the sound of “Happy Birthday” played in admiring inspiration by a band of kids who sought to offer their best to their Principal will remain in my mind forever. For now, I move on with what life has for me, hoping that one day we’ll get to celebrate again!

My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? John 14: 12