I am chagrined by my neglect to note and commemorate Texas Independence Day on Sunday. I am normally observant of the holiday, and made a particular point of being so while I lived in The City. (New York has nothing of the sort, really, and The City makes little of its contribution to the American Revolution. Perhaps it is because its part in that is not what the braggarts of the clotted metropolis would have.) This year, however, I think I may be excused; I have had other things on my mind, of lesser scope perhaps but of far greater importance to me as a man.
That I missed one (ultimately minor) holiday does not mean that I will miss others, however, and so even though the man's death was on the sixth, I wish to all a happy Sousa Day (as I have done before)! For, as an old bandsman and as a life-long pun-lover, I have to say that today is the most appropriate of all days to laud the March King, to let the drums roll and the horns ring along with the President's Own, which Sousa led for many years.
(It is one of the great glories of being a father that I am allowed--nay, encouraged--to perpetuate such bad jokes upon the world. My child needs to have such things. And I need to practice them far more than I have thus far.)
There is something worthwhile in celebrating such minor things--based on jokes, really--as Sousa Day and the holiday in two months. And I will turn to that, brief as my note today will be therefore.