OPINION: A marching band dropout

As I was putting together today’s story about drum major Abby Collins, I couldn’t help but think back to my days in marching band. I’ve learned my experience is different than most, especially compared to somewhere like Creston where the band and guard are so incredible.

First, some background. My private high school took students from all over, many of us coming from tiny private grade schools associated with the high school. My eighth grade graduating class had four people, including myself. I knew that the next year, I would be going into a class of about 150 students, and as a socially anxious human being, that was terrifying.

One of my grade school friends, who was a year older than me, had joined the marching band coalition my soon-to-be high school was a part of. While each school had their own band during the school year, the various private schools would come together during the summer for the various parades and field shows both in and out of Wisconsin.

My high school didn’t have color guard with their marching band during the school year, but during the summer the schools were able to scrape just enough students together to form a team. With the hope of making some friends before entering the big, scary high school, I joined this team.

Let me preface this by saying, I have no grace or balance whatsoever. The last time I did any dancing was a hip hop class at the local YMCA when I was in preschool. However, I’m also someone who tries their hardest, so this was an interesting summer for me.

As a summer program with lots of newbies, the marching band was an all-day, all-summer commitment. Whether we were learning how to march, practicing general guard skills or rehearsing routines, we were up and at it for at least eight hours a day in the humid Wisconsin summer.

When it was just a day at time, lunch was provided, and we were encouraged to get those gallon-sized water jugs. However, for about half of the summer, we were instead living inside various churches and schools as we traveled for shows and parades. For a week at a time, we would be doing nothing but marching band. Girls would sleep in the school’s choir room, boys in the school’s band room. Meals were served by band parents in the cafeteria.

For a while, we had a whiteboard marking injuries. I unfortunately broke the week-long streak of no injuries when I failed to catch the flag with my hands, instead catching it with my face. While this was my only injury of the summer, it was not my only frustration.

Going back to my lack of grace, learning routines was hard for me. I was a book nerd, not an elegant dancer. I would try over and over again to learn a move, and when I eventually got it, I’d have to learn an additional movement without forgetting the previous 10. I was very hard on myself, tears streaming down my face as I tried the same thing over and over again. This was combined with my first time ever being away from home for more than a weekend. Let’s just say, I had a very difficult summer.

It wasn’t all awful. The boys and girls liked to play pranks on each other, especially on the longer trips. One night, the girls took all of the boys’ air mattresses out of the school and put them on the track. When they realized their beds were gone, they all sprinted outside. As soon as they were outside, we locked the door to the school. Of course, they got us back, waking us up a couple hours earlier than needed with a resounding performance of Gustov Holst’s “Mars, the Bringer of War.”

Near the end of the summer, I finally convinced myself that, five years from now, none of this would matter. Sure, I was still going to try my best, but I had to stop having an existential crisis every practice. While my coach wasn’t thrilled about my change in attitude, the last few weeks of marching band were so much more fun. I still got frustrated when I wasn’t hitting each mark, it didn’t ruin my day. I also knew this would be my one and only summer of marching band.

I’m not going to lie, every time I see the Creston guard spinning away, I get a little jealous. There’s something nice about getting a couple spins in, and when you perfect a toss, it feels fantastic. However, I am not built for that world, and that’s fine by me. I’ll let the experts enjoy their time performing.