There are some things from childhood that don’t just fade — they stay with you like the tune of an old song or the scent of your grandmother’s house. And sometimes, it’s an object. Something so ordinary at the time, but almost magical in memory.
For me, it was my mom’s baton.
Not the kind used in marching bands today — if you even see those anymore. I’m talking about the smooth, chrome shaft with white rubber tips on either end. Balanced just right. Light enough to spin, but heavy enough to fly. You could toss it in the air and catch it with a dramatic flair, just like the high school majorettes used to do at halftime shows.
As a kid, I wasn’t allowed to play with a lot of her things. But that baton? That was fair game. She’d keep it in the corner of the closet, a little dusty but still gleaming. I’d sneak it out, twirl it around the living room, and pretend I was on the football field, with a band behind me and the crowd going wild.
I dropped it. A lot.
But eventually, I could spin it between my fingers, flip it behind my back, and even do a little toss and catch without hitting the lamp. (Well… not every time.)
Back then, baton twirling wasn’t just for fun — it was a performance art. Dance teams and majorettes incorporated it into full routines, often wearing sequin-covered uniforms and tall white boots. It took real coordination, rhythm, and flair. And it wasn’t just popular — it was everywhere.
But try handing a baton to a kid today and you’ll probably get a confused look.
A what?
You mean like a stick?
No, not a stick. Not a toy. A baton. A symbol of an era when halftime shows were big, flashy events — and twirling wasn’t just for fun, it was a sport. A skill. A little slice of pageantry that lived between marching drums and roaring crowds.
These days, baton twirling has faded into a niche activity, quietly passed down in some dance schools and small-town parades. But for those of us who remember?
It was magic.
So yeah — if you know what a twirling baton is, you’re probably “too old” by someone’s standards.
But if you ever spun one under the summer sun, flipped it high into the air, or just watched in awe as your mom or sister made it dance — then you know: those moments are timeless.
And no amount of years can take that twirl away.
