Once Upon a Time...

... there was an ill-fated baton twirlers' convention. You see, the event planner was not familiar with the very specific needs of baton twirlers. Not the least of these were the need for high ceilings. The venue was not well-equipped for this group of people, and the ceilings were a mere 15 feet high. However, many of them had traveled great distances, and, being expert at their craft, did their best to work within these limitations. Baton twirlers are known far and wide for their cheerful nature and this was no exception; they were optimistic about the convention ahead of them.

The week went on, and the baton twirlers attended their sessions, listened dutifully to the keynote speaker, and took copious notes. They were inspired. As the week came to a close, these peppy ladies became more and more excited to put what they had learned into practice. Now, it had long been planned that on the final day, there would be a choreographed mass performance. Just walking through the crowds one could sense the energy building. Everyone understood that they could not toss their batons high, but other than that they would be giving their all.

At long last, the moment had arrived. The twirlers' teeth glistened white, their ponytails swung happily, and the ladies twirls their hearts out. In a fit of exuberance, all 200 twirlers tossed their batons in the air; in their minds, they saw batons flying skyward. In reality, the batons were rocketing dangerously toward the low ceilings. At this moment, fate must have been on their sides, for instead of the weapons ricocheting off the ceiling and raining down on the optimistic group, the batons tangled in equal groups and affixed right there on the ceiling. Here is the result:Thus the convention came abruptly to a close. The 200 in attendance were heartbroken at their failure. They each swore on that day that they would never raise a baton again. In their many small towns across the country, parades would pass with no baton twirlers. Daughters were raised never knowing the joy of twirling. Once a year they return to the site of The Incident and set flowers in memory of the life-changing day, then they return home again a little less perky, a little sadder. In time, the site would become a restaurant, but so that we would never forget the sacrifice of these women, tiny lights were placed on the ends of each of the batons, reminding us of the everlasting light baton twirlers everywhere bring to our lives.

The next time you see a baton twirler, please thank her for her service. When your eyes meet, there will be an exchange of understanding: she will know that you, too, have learned of The Incident. The two of you may never meet again, but your lives will have been enriched.