When I was 10, my dad took me to a high school football game. In the middle of the second quarter, I asked why we had come. In response, he said, "You'll see."

I was about to suggest going home when the announcer introduced the halftime show. It was the home team's marching band.

"This is what I wanted you to see," he said, turning to me. He had this gleam in his eyes, and I could feel his enthusiasm rubbing off on me.

"But why, Dad? It's just a marching band. There's nothing special about that."

"That's what you think. Just wait until they're done." He didn't say anything else until they were marching off the field.

"Well, what did you think?" he asked.

"I mean, they sounded good, and it looked cool, but I don't understand why you wanted me to see it."

"The music wasn't what I wanted to show you. I wanted to show you the reason they could do it."

"I don't understand, Dad. They could do it because they practiced."

"Yes, they did practice, but in order to perform correctly, they need someone telling them what to do. When they first learned, it was the director. When they perform, it's the drum major. You know which one the drum major is, right?"

"Yeah, it's the one that stands on the platform waving their hands," I responded, puffing my chest out. I was proud to be able to answer that question correctly.

"You, my friend, are correct," he laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. "When they wave their hands, it's called conducting. They have certain patterns, and each pattern tells the rest of the band where in the show they are. Without that, it would be chaos. Everyone would be going at different speeds, the music would sound terrible, and people would run into each other."

"But, Dad, why is this important?"

He took me by my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes.

"The point is, people need a leader. Someone to save them and show them the right way. Those people in need of a leader tend to be broken in some way or another, whether it's because their heart was broken recently, or they are struggling with an addiction.

"These leaders are often laughed at. There are people that don't believe in them, but no matter what, they keep going." I had never seen Dad this enthusiastic. He was whispering, but there was this sparkle in his eyes that showed just how excited he was.

"When you grow up, I want you, Gerard, to be one of those leaders. I want you to be the savior of the broken, and I want you to show everyone that didn't believe in you that they were wrong. Can you do that for me?"

"I think so, Dad," I replied, slightly unsure. "But why are you telling me this now?"

"Well, Gerard, someday, most likely years from now, I'm not going to be around anymore. I'm going to join The Black Parade. I want to tell you this now before I forget." At that exact moment, it looked like a lightbulb went off right above his head.

"Let's take a picture so you can remember what I told you," he suggested as he pulled a camera out of his bag.

"Wait, Dad, what's The Black Parade?" I asked, confused. I had never heard of that before.

"Well, Gerard, I picture it as a parade that gathers the souls of everyone that has died. It takes you to the place you will spend eternity."

After that, we took a picture with the football game in the background.

The rest of the night, very few words were said between the two of us.