Marshall Ramsey

It was probably three of the most emotional minutes of my life.  My middle son came out from behind the risers, wearing his red shirt and was joined by a beautiful female classmate.  They walked up to their microphones and began to sing.  Their voices sounded like angels (to me).  And at that moment, my heart stopped beating.

I can’t tell you how many different emotions I had. First, I guess, was pride. I was proud that my son had the courage to stand up in front of 500 people and perform.  I e-mailed my cousin Dave and said, “He’s got the gene.” That he could stand up in front of a crowd made me proud.  I was also impressed that he took this seriously and worked hard at it.  He was nervous. I could hear his voice crack a little bit. But he stood up there smiling with his chest out.

And then I felt sorrow.  I thought of the parents in Connecticut who would never had this kind of opportunity. It was hard not think of their sorrow during the whole program.

I listened closely in amazement as his and the little girl’s voice blended perfectly. He hit the notes (which were amazingly high) and had perfect pitch.  My eyes began to water as it occurred to me.  I realized what made me the most proud:

My son was doing something I would never be able to do.

Sure, if he got up and painted a painting or drew a cartoon, I’d be impressed.  But he sang. Beautifully.  I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.  At the age of 1o, my son surpassed his old man.

I also feel that way about my oldest son, too. I was looking at his 100 average in Algebra I yesterday.  He’s in 7th grade. I took it in 8th — and I didn’t have that kind of grade.

But as I was sitting in that theater, I realized what I truly want for my kids: I want them to be better than me.  And last night, I got to watch it happen.

I could not have been more proud.