Nov 15, 2017, By Georg Goldthwaite
Several years ago I volunteered to help teach the
brass section for beginning band students at our small-town elementary school. During
that time, a local World War II veteran passed away and although the nearby
Naval Reserve Unit would provide an honor guard, they had no bugler. I felt privileged
when asked to play Taps for the ceremony, but honoring a veteran brings a
solemn obligation to do the best I could. Having not played in several months, I
had only two days to get my lips in shape, which in itself was stressful.
At the ceremony, many emotions
tore through me, from sharing the family's loss to the responsibility of
playing perfectly. I wondered how a person in his early teens, an age so
subject to peer pressure, would react. The result is my short story, The
Bugler. I tried to give Josh the same emotions, the same fears, and the
same sense of honor I felt so many years ago.
Thanks for reading,