To Times Past
2005
It will always be an important part of my life, a stage in my growth that I will look back on fondly and perhaps, even, regretfully. I will always feel that music and yearn to be with them again. My heart will always ache when I step into that room and I will forever wonder what it would have been like had I stayed. I will always remember the never-ending Friday nights and the excitement, as well as nervousness and anxiety, that swelled in my heart before our time. I will always see them standing in front of me, ready and just as nervous as I, their tools of music poised in front of them. I will always hear the cheering as I turn to face the crowd and salute, and then the silence that wrapped about me as I began to focus on them. I will always remember the good times, the mistakes, the arguments, the emotions, the fun, the music, the magic, and the family. I will forever remember the part of my life when I was drum major.
Fond memories as well as unpleasant ones surround the band hall and the people who linger in its doorway. There are some memories that are stringed together, blurred so that I have to struggle to remember when an event happened. Then, there are others, that become mixed with my other two years in the band when I was merely a follower not a leader. And still, there are those that stick out prominently. Those are the ones I will always remember.
I remember the cold and rainy nights when we played forever, our hands numb, and watched as our football team dug themselves yet another grave. On those nights, I would stand in front of the band and look them over, determined to find a spark of life. Some wore looks of indifference on their faces, as though it really didn’t matter that it was pouring rain and forty degrees. There were others, mostly the girls, who sat huddled together, their hoods of their blue ponchos tugged over their faces and eyes cast downward. And then there was Buzz.
Ever since my first day in band, I had immediately looked up to him. It seemed that he embodied the strange quality of discipline, something so rare in teenagers, and took the drum line as his complete responsibility. And it was the times like those, while I was standing in the freezing rain, looking up at the percussion, that I felt great admiration for him. Quad drums hanging from his chest, he yelled at the percussion to get their butts in gear and be ready for the next cadence. It was the times when everyone was either too tired or too subdued by the rain that I found strength in Buzz. I would call a cadence or song and he would nod and order his drum line to rise. He would argue with them fiercely and tell them to stop whining. I didn't think my admiration for him could swell any more, until we came in sopping wet from a game and I saw his hands bleeding from playing so hard.
It was a powerful feeling. Never had I experienced so much admiration for one person. I found strength in him and the will to argue back when someone denied my orders. But do not think that he was the only one, for there were many others who played vital roles in my past and affected me just as deeply.
There were those who played because it was their passion and for them I am eternally grateful. Without those dedicated few who also stood in the rain and played with numb lips and icy hands, I would not have been able to lead as a leader should. And to those who brought laughter to the band…
Ah, fond memories. The times when we, yes, made fun of the other band or dance team and cracked jokes about each other, much like a family would – those were the unforgettables. One spring day, the school's discipline coordinators, Mr. Johnson, entered the bad hall obviously searching for someone. Because it was spring, the band was rehearsing concert music which happened to be a score of the works of John Williams. As Mr. Johnson made his way to the back of the band hall where the percussion were positioned, a lone trumpet uttered the beginning notes of Jaws. Duh-duhn. There were snickers. Duh-duhn. Duh-duhn. As Mr. Johnson approached one of the percussionists, the trumpet player was now playing almost inaudibly the full theme of Jaws. Only those sitting directly in front of him could hear the song which had struck terror into the hearts of many movie-goers. Now, it was being played as some type of parody, the shark being replaced by Mr. Johnson.
Another instance most students have felt at some point in their academic careers came one afternoon when the front office called into the band hall requesting that I come to the front. As I got up to leave, afraid that I was in some type of horrible trouble, a lone trumpet began to play TAPS for I was surely going to the front office to die. Although at the time, me walking out the band hall followed by a solo trumpet playing TAPS was embarrassing, I look back at it now and laugh a bitter-sweet laugh.
I look back on those times affectionately now and it makes my heart ache, knowing that I left my family.
But, through it all, I will always remember most prominently the trips, for no matter where we went, whether to an away game or to an out-of-state trip, there were adventures to be had. I will always remember "The Waco Game." The game from hell it was also known as. It was the game where we became trapped in Waco until three in the morning because of tornadoes and were forced to eat crackers and grapes while our football players and the opposing team ate pizza and Chick-Fil-A down in the basement. Can you guess where we, the band members, were? Apparently, the band doesn’t hold as much importance as the football teams since we were stuck in the gym, completely open to any tornado attacks.
I know, you must be tired of hearing me reminisce, but you must understand that band was an important part of my life. You must also understand that contrary to what people say and what the stereotypes dictate, those of us who are in or were in band are not nerds or dorks or anything whatsoever related to them. And this account pertaining to a part of my life is evidence enough, for behind the goofy-looking uniforms and clunky instruments and deeper still is a reservoir of emotion. And on those Friday nights when I see the tall bright lights of a football stadium in the distance I know that somewhere on that field there stands a young woman or man – the drum major – tall, proud, and scared.
Fond memories as well as unpleasant ones surround the band hall and the people who linger in its doorway. There are some memories that are stringed together, blurred so that I have to struggle to remember when an event happened. Then, there are others, that become mixed with my other two years in the band when I was merely a follower not a leader. And still, there are those that stick out prominently. Those are the ones I will always remember.
I remember the cold and rainy nights when we played forever, our hands numb, and watched as our football team dug themselves yet another grave. On those nights, I would stand in front of the band and look them over, determined to find a spark of life. Some wore looks of indifference on their faces, as though it really didn’t matter that it was pouring rain and forty degrees. There were others, mostly the girls, who sat huddled together, their hoods of their blue ponchos tugged over their faces and eyes cast downward. And then there was Buzz.
Ever since my first day in band, I had immediately looked up to him. It seemed that he embodied the strange quality of discipline, something so rare in teenagers, and took the drum line as his complete responsibility. And it was the times like those, while I was standing in the freezing rain, looking up at the percussion, that I felt great admiration for him. Quad drums hanging from his chest, he yelled at the percussion to get their butts in gear and be ready for the next cadence. It was the times when everyone was either too tired or too subdued by the rain that I found strength in Buzz. I would call a cadence or song and he would nod and order his drum line to rise. He would argue with them fiercely and tell them to stop whining. I didn't think my admiration for him could swell any more, until we came in sopping wet from a game and I saw his hands bleeding from playing so hard.
It was a powerful feeling. Never had I experienced so much admiration for one person. I found strength in him and the will to argue back when someone denied my orders. But do not think that he was the only one, for there were many others who played vital roles in my past and affected me just as deeply.
There were those who played because it was their passion and for them I am eternally grateful. Without those dedicated few who also stood in the rain and played with numb lips and icy hands, I would not have been able to lead as a leader should. And to those who brought laughter to the band…
Ah, fond memories. The times when we, yes, made fun of the other band or dance team and cracked jokes about each other, much like a family would – those were the unforgettables. One spring day, the school's discipline coordinators, Mr. Johnson, entered the bad hall obviously searching for someone. Because it was spring, the band was rehearsing concert music which happened to be a score of the works of John Williams. As Mr. Johnson made his way to the back of the band hall where the percussion were positioned, a lone trumpet uttered the beginning notes of Jaws. Duh-duhn. There were snickers. Duh-duhn. Duh-duhn. As Mr. Johnson approached one of the percussionists, the trumpet player was now playing almost inaudibly the full theme of Jaws. Only those sitting directly in front of him could hear the song which had struck terror into the hearts of many movie-goers. Now, it was being played as some type of parody, the shark being replaced by Mr. Johnson.
Another instance most students have felt at some point in their academic careers came one afternoon when the front office called into the band hall requesting that I come to the front. As I got up to leave, afraid that I was in some type of horrible trouble, a lone trumpet began to play TAPS for I was surely going to the front office to die. Although at the time, me walking out the band hall followed by a solo trumpet playing TAPS was embarrassing, I look back at it now and laugh a bitter-sweet laugh.
I look back on those times affectionately now and it makes my heart ache, knowing that I left my family.
But, through it all, I will always remember most prominently the trips, for no matter where we went, whether to an away game or to an out-of-state trip, there were adventures to be had. I will always remember "The Waco Game." The game from hell it was also known as. It was the game where we became trapped in Waco until three in the morning because of tornadoes and were forced to eat crackers and grapes while our football players and the opposing team ate pizza and Chick-Fil-A down in the basement. Can you guess where we, the band members, were? Apparently, the band doesn’t hold as much importance as the football teams since we were stuck in the gym, completely open to any tornado attacks.
I know, you must be tired of hearing me reminisce, but you must understand that band was an important part of my life. You must also understand that contrary to what people say and what the stereotypes dictate, those of us who are in or were in band are not nerds or dorks or anything whatsoever related to them. And this account pertaining to a part of my life is evidence enough, for behind the goofy-looking uniforms and clunky instruments and deeper still is a reservoir of emotion. And on those Friday nights when I see the tall bright lights of a football stadium in the distance I know that somewhere on that field there stands a young woman or man – the drum major – tall, proud, and scared.