Oh, hep me, B.B. King, hep me.There was another band director sighting today. There he was, talking to the secretary about the Auburn game when I made my Middle School entrance. We acknowledged one another with hellos, nods and smiles. He had all the same cute mannerisms, dazzling smile, and lively eyes as I sat there, waiting for the 4th period bell to ring, an innocent bystander to their conversation. I discovered that he has the same unconscious habit of cracking his knuckles as I do.
But instead of an unnerving adrenaline surge, all I felt was a resigned detachment. He became Impression: Sunrise by Monet. He’s a beautiful masterpiece only truly appreciated from a distance.
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