A first place trophy

      I was 10 when I took Baton lessons. My teacher's name was Linda. She was the niece of someone Mom knew, and she was the first person I'd ever met, or seen for that matter, that had a hair lip. During the car ride with Mom to my first lesson, she told me about it so I wouldn't be surprised. She explained that is was a type of birth defect. 

     Soon after. Mom pulled into a driveway where my teacher Linda was waiting . Her garage doors were open, and the garage was all set up for my lesson. Mom and I both got out of the car. Linda came up and introduced herself and we all said, "Hello."  "How about I do a routine for you?" she said, "So you can see what I do. Then we can get started."

     Linda was amazing. There were ribbons and trophy's and photos of her in costumes, all over the shelves and walls of the garage. I don't know how old she was, but I was mesmerized watching her twirl.  Shortly after that, Mom said goodbye to us both and left.

     I'd received my baton for Christmas the year before and had taught myself a few things already, so I showed her. "I think you're going to be good at this," she said, and I smiled.

     I took lessons that whole Summer, and into the following school year. A few months in, I was with Linda and a few other students, and she was teaching us a core marching routine for a local parade. 

     After Mom pulled in the driveway to pick me up, Linda told Mom that she wanted to talk to her, and could she wait a few minutes. Mom said she could. After the others girls left,  I heard Linda tell Mom about an upcoming competition. She said she wanted to teach me a routine for a solo. A solo. I thought? For competition?

     In the car on the way home, I asked Mom about it. She looked at me and smiled. "Not sure about that honey," she said, "We'll have to see. I need to talk to Dad first."

     Over the next week, I overheard Mom and Dad talk more than once about my possible participation in the competition. There was an entrance fee, and I would need a new costume for the solo and more lessons, and all that costs money. "Linda says Pam has talent," Mom told Dad, "And girls Pam's age rarely do Solo's. Linda thinks she could win."

     When I went to my next lesson, I was learning my Solo routine. It was exciting and like nothing I'd ever experienced before. My routine was choreographed to the song, "Stars and stripes forever," and suddenly my baton was flying into the air while spinning, and I was catching it. Then it spun around my neck and around my knees where, with a flip of my thumb it went back into the air in one swift amazing movement.

     "I think you're ready for a double," Linda announced as we planned the routine's ending. She had showed me her triple after practice a few times. It had won her a first place trophy years before. So we practiced the double. I had to flip the baton off my thumb then spin around twice before catching it. Done right, the baton fell right back into my hand like magic and the routine went on. But if my throw was crooked, I had to look for the baton at the end of my spin which usually found it's way to the floor. I practiced and practiced until I caught it much more often than it fell.

     During this time, Mom was working on my costume. It was light pink and the front had a pattern of shiny pink and white sequins in a scroll. She spent hours and hours every evening sewing them on by hand. 

     Finally the day of my competition arrived. My siblings all stayed home with Dad and wished me luck as Mom and I headed out by ourselves.

     When we got there, Mom signed me in and we sat and watched many performances take place before the solos began. Then, it was almost time. The girls who went first were older than me. They were teenagers and they were so good. 

     Finally my name was called, and I stood up. I looked at Mom for one last reassuring smile, and she squeezed my hand.

     I marched up to the judging table with my knees high and smiled. Then I took a deep breath and nodded. That meant I was ready for my music. My routine was almost perfect.     

    Near the end when I did my double, my throw wasn't completely straight and I fumbled to catch the baton which hit the ground. Linda had told me over and over what to do if that happened. She said, "Just pick it up, smile and finish strong." So that's what I did.

     Afterward, Mom said we should stay for awards but I couldnt imagine why. I had dropped my baton after all. But Mom and I sat on the floor on Gym mats while names were called. Solo winners were always called last.

     One of the girls that I watched earlier won  a second place ribbon with big medallion on it. They hung it around her neck. And then I heard them say, "And in our last solo category today we have a first place winner. She was our youngest solo competitor. Pamela Gales, we have a trophy for you." 

     I looked at Mom. Her eyes lit up and she nudged me. "Well, go get it." she said smiling, and so I did.

     As it turned out, "I was the only girl to compete for solo in the 10 and under category. I understand now, after thinking about all of this again as I write this story, that Linda and Mom had this figured out all along. Linda did see something in me and Mom and Dad wanted me to succeed. 

     I had to quit my lessons after that because they were too expensive to continue them any more. But I knew I had been given a special gift  and I loved every minute of the journey.

     And to this day, every time I hear the song, "Stars and Stripes Forever," I can close my eyes and remember my routine. Muscle memory is an extraordinary thing. So who knows, maybe I'll take it up again.

     Post script note...

     Two summers ago, while camping with my family my grandson found a piece of wood and began carving points on the tips. It was the perfect size and shape of a baton. "Let me see that",  I said. And when he gave it to me, it began to float through my fingers. I couldn't believe how it came back so easily. 

    I had told my kids and grandsons that I used to be a baton twirler, and they had seen a grainy home movie of me in my living room at age ten, but this was different. 

     My son saw me twirling the stick though the window of his camper. "Wow Mom! Look at you." 

    I twirled that stck quite a bit on that camping trip, but Reed had carved the ends very sharp. My grandsons were worried I was going to hurt myself every time I dropped it, but I knew that I had made an impression. 

     So, last summer, when we were all getting together to camp again, I brought a real baton and had it shipped to my sisters house. I spent a week in Auburn before the trip to Lake Tahoe, and practiced every day. I surprised my Mom one night with a performance to the same tune as my Solo, "Stars and Stripes forever." I will never forget her smile or her laughter as she watched me. 

     And as for the rest of the family at the camp... 

     More smiles, more laughter, much clapping, and so much love!

     Muscle  memory is an amazing thing.