Bittersweet.
This weekend I got to play violin with my two sisters in the GBS Christmas orchestra one last time before my big sis moves to Europe. There's nothing like it. The long, hot dress rehearsal. My dad and sister and friends running around like decapitated chickens, solving myriad problems that I know nothing about. My mentor and dear friend Mrs. Miller sitting right beside me, making comments in a way that only she can. The exciting rush during the street scene. The tears as the drama - still new and fresh to me since I'm visiting - tells the old story. The choking smell of the artifical smoke for the angels scene. And the adrenalin rush of performance. It feels so good to have my back aching and my fingers black from the fingerboard. So this is what it feels like to play, I remember. And the overwhelming emotion as my dad is enthusiastically honored at the end of the programs. They think he's a hero. My sisters and I cry and hold hands. We don't think he is - we know he is.
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