For some reason on this race I have had many
dreams about marching band. Seeing as how it has been 9 years since I have
marched, that I had little school spirit, that I never went back for events and
that I hardly talk to anyone from that time; it struck me as super strange.
Nonetheless my brain gets stuck on thoughts like no one’s business. I started
to think about what I took from marching band. For each of us on that field, I
know that marching band meant something different; but regardless of what it
meant it was a lot of time, music, teamwork and sexual induendos.
I remember the day that Vic Scimeca came into
Hubble Middle School to talk to us about the band program at Wheaton
Warrenville South. I actually don’t remember a word he said, but I remember the
facination I had that Marching Band was marching on a field, making shapes
& images while playing music. For a while I could not decide if I wanted to
march or try out for sports in high school; however my middle school record
wasn’t that great. I tried out for volleyball every year but never made the
team. It was decided, I would march. Little did I know that such a seemingly
small choice would save and alter my life. (that sounds so dramatic)
Not many freshman get it. We just knew that we
needed to show up, try our best and hope to make friends. As the years went on
it became so much more than something you just showed up for; though rehersals
were eactly what you loved to hate. It became understood that you showed up to
rehersal preparred- charts mapped out, markers in hand, pencils, water, music
memorized – because if you didn’t, you were holding the rest of the band back;
and Vic would let you know. It became understood that: you were on the field
when rehersal started because if you weren’t the rest of us could not start;
you were needed because if you were not there, the pictures weren’t complete.
What amazes me, as I think about it now, is
that it did not really matter if you got along; somehow we all knew we were
there for a bigger reason. We might not have been best friends, or known each
others names but we knew we needed each other. If someone forgot something at a
competition you gave them your extra: from shoe polish, to black socks, to
gloves, bandaids, whatever it was. Often you didn’t give it to them because you
liked them, but because you knew that you were part of a team (and you didn’t
want to be marked down).
Rehersals on Monday & Wednesday from 3-5,
Tuesday & Thursday from 6-9, Fridays (when we didn’t have games) during the
year not to mention rehersals that started in May and went for the entire
summer AND band camp definetly taught us discipline. I remember that there was
no room for laziness. I can’t remember which leader it was, but he would not
let us begin rehearsal on the feild until our sidelines were neat and
organzied. Water breaks were often based on performance rather than time frames.
I remember “gush & gos”- quick water gulps designed to keep us
from breaking focus on the task at hand. It was the military for band.
On days when everything else in the world
sucked, when I felt alone, when I wanted to be dead, when I didn’t feel like I
had friends, when I didn’t see the point in putting my best foot forward I
always had marching band. It gave me a place to channel my energy. All those
feelings of negativity left because I had something to focus on. Even if
everyone didn’t know my name they knew if I was there or not and I didn’t want
to let any one down by not doing my part. There were always competitions to
look forward to. That feeling that you get after spending every ounce of
physical and mental energy, while you march off the field, knowing that you
just gave it your best, and at that time nothing else matters.
There were always friendships and crazy
traditions that helped to push me through as well. I’ll never forget meeting
Tom Drenthe & Skippy – I could always count on them to make me smile or let
me punch them. I’ll never forget when they, in 99, brought a grill and meat to
a hotel we were staying at and Vic flipped a lid. I’ll never forget the low
brass singing “big balls” on the back of the bus. Or the saxaphones
with their keys. Adam Greenlee getting his section focused with intense eyes.
People making out on the back of busses. The long trips to Disney when Nate
Rawley and I talked about staying up all night, so I drank coffee only for him
to fall asleep on me 10 minutes later. When Vic would put my dad in charge of the
drumline because he was so worried about them; and they all thought he was the
best chaparone. Eating spaghetti and pizza and sandwhiches on the side of the
bus between shows and rehersals. And so many more people that I can’t even
begin to list ya’ll.
It’s crazy to think that from 14-17 I had some
of my most disciplined years of my life. That with everything we put into those
shows, those rehersals, those friendships we have nothing to show for it now.
We have memories, a few people that we might still talk to, we have band
pictures, we have videos and with all of that which we shared, we are no longer
the same. I bet that there are many of us who have no idea how much we meant to
each other then. It’s amazing what being part of a team, a team that knows they
need each other, can do to a person without ever having to speak a word to each
other. I remember marching with people that I could not stand and I remember
how much it didn’t matter because we were united in a purpose.
How is it that as time goes on, that concept
becomes harder for us? As high schoolers we were able to put our differences
aside, be unwavering, and come together to put on an amazing performance. So
why as adults do we struggle to do the same? How has it become more about
“me” and ‘getting my way’ as we get older? In theory, shouldn’t it be
easier?
