In lights

My mother e-mailed this picture to me today that came from a yard in Mountain Brook, AL. She said the girl was embarrassed to death to come home from the University of Alabama to find this sign in front of her parent's house. All I can say is: Deb, I feel your pain.

I know my dad is probably ticked that he never thought to do something like this during my years as the Crimsonette Captain in the Million Dollar Band. Instead, he attached speakers to the top of his Suburban and would roll up to the band practice field on game day mornings with "Yea Alabama" blaring. I'd be standing at silent attention - with the 300 other band members - and hear the elephant stomp then roar that precedes the "da-da-duh-da-da" preamble of the fight song, and think, "Oh God, save me now." Everyone knew the peppy speaker music meant "here comes Rebecca's dad." His ill-timed arrival was once so bad as to prompt band director Kathryn Scott - who, all things considered, always loved me - to stop the rehearsal and make an announcement from her tower podium that there can be no band music projected onto the field other than what is coming from the band members' instruments, (note her eyes darting to me and resting in a short, albeit deadly, glare). I wanted to die.

But my dad's most infamous point of pride was his video camera. If someone's reputation can precede him, then my dad's video camera was that. Friends would squeal "am I on a Mummert movie?!" and band members who stood near me on the field would say if they ever lost their pictures, they could just call Mr. Mummert for a full lifetime video of their performances with the band. Daddy videoed practice, getting ready, the pep rally on the Quad, marching to the stadium, even running to their stadium seats to be ready to film the pre-game show and halftime performance. He didn't miss a beat (and honestly, I was furious if he did!)

I didn't realize the extent to which others had recognized my dad's devotion to my involvement with the Million Dollar Band until Halloween of my Senior year. The band usually dressed up for practice on the day of Halloween, and the costumes were always very creative and over the top. This particular Halloween I arrived at the band field for practice and several of the Crimsonettes were miffed because the piccolo section (all girls except one guy) had come dressed as Crimsonettes - big hair, red lipstick, stuffed bras, and they were even acting like us by walking in little groups doing laps around the band field, something we did every day before practice. I laughed and just hoped they didn't really make fun of us, and then I said, "Oh gosh - don't tell me Bradley dressed like a Crimsonette too?!" We all laughed thinking of him dolled up in a wig and sequins. When the piccolos came over to declare the peaceful intentions of their mocking costumes, they were beaming to unveil the crowning glory of their Crimsonette replica - the pseudo Crimsonettes parted to reveal Bradley holding a video camera to his face and wearing a pin that said "Rebecca's dad". I laughed until my cheeks were sore and my sides hurt, and I knew my dad would be so proud to know his persona was now iconic.