Personal Narrative: My Spring Concert Band

It doesn’t take a natural disaster or a death to alter the course of your life. It can be as small and simple as a choice—picking a class. My life was changed for the better when, in sixth grade, I chose to join the band. I remember vacillating, nearly in tears, over which instrument to learn before deciding to choose the flute, unaware that this decision would mold me through out my middle school and high school years. Band has taught me valuable life lessons and leadership skills, it has provided me with priceless friendships, and it has fostered a love of music in me. Without band I would not be the person I am today.

Marching band does not sound interesting to most people, at least to me it didn’t. For the longest time I wanted to quit band because I never really enjoyed it, I didn’t think I was good so it made me want to give up. But my mother never let me quit. I hated her for it but I realize now that she was doing something good for me. My mother made me play the flute. The instrument that isn’t like any other, some call it a “hybrid” between the woodwinds and brass. I never liked to practice the flute, but eventually I had to. These factors, hating being in band, my mother forcing me to stick with it, and playing the flute, changed my life.

As with most kids, I was a bit nervous about my transition from middle school to high school. One advantage I had was that I participated in band in middle school and planned to be in the band in high school. The Round Rock High School band has a history of excellence and I was looking forward to being a part of that organization. This was an extraordinary time and I looked forward to being a part of the band with great anticipation. Being a part of an organization such as this makes the transition to high school seem much easier and it seemed I had a ready-made group of friends that I could rely on and ask questions of if necessary. After all, the Round Rock High School Band has over 300 members.

1. Thirty pounds of metal resting on my left shoulder, I marched for hours in the blistering hot sun. The sousaphone was my greatest enemy. In 6th grade I was chosen to play tuba for our middle school band, I didn't like it at first, but it grew on me. Two years later, I had gotten pretty good. I made all state band, won some awards, and was 1st chair. I had no intention in joining the marching band my freshman year.

When I came to Highlands Ranch High School as a freshman, I didn’t know where I belonged. I had done soccer, but a concussion and several headaches later, decided it wasn’t for me. I had tried fully devoting myself to academics, but later realized that I can’t spend my life focusing on grades. I didn’t have anywhere to belong. Then, in the winter of my freshman year, I was persuaded into doing winter percussion. I had never played an instrument before and had absolutely no idea what was going on. I didn’t even really know what a quarter note was, no less how to count them. My freshman self was totally clueless and wanted to quit at first because I was so bad and had absolutely no idea what I was doing. But, I stuck with it to the end of the winter percussion season and when we took second place in the state suddenly all the long hours of rehearsal and constant changes were totally worth it.

I stood on the podium, looking out at the field and took a deep breath. The fans in the stands behind me were a buzz in my ears as I made eye contact with every member of the band. I held my hands up and clapped three times and then SNAP! The instruments were up and I counted off, starting our first marching band show of the season.

Summer before junior year of high school, I was looking at a lot of standardized tests, essays, a heavier school workload, college applications, and getting a driver's license; my most immediate concern, however, was the soon to begin marching band season. Spring semester of sophomore year I had decided to audition for a leadership position in the band, and I suppose I was the best candidate because I managed to snag Section Leader for my instrument, clarinet. As the final days of July passed by, I anticipated the start of a season where I would be mentoring and teaching my fellow clarinet players the complex art of marching band. A few days before leadership camp I received a letter in the mail from the Head Band Director, Mr. Larry Brown, and immediately I knew things were not going to be what I expected.

Everyone knows who the band kids are. They see the band members marching under the Friday night lights and listen to their non-stop chatter about band. It’s easy to pick them from a crowd. I, despite my chagrin to admit it, am one of those kids.

In eighth grade I was first chair trumpet player for the J.A.M.S. band. I led the band in most songs and the band teacher made me feel like I was the best trumpet player ever. In eighth grade I was again accepted into a junior high honor band just as I had been in seventh grade. In eighth grade however I was not concerned about chair placements at the honor band as I had been in seventh grade. When I went to honor band in seventh grade I received a second chair placement. An eighth grader received first chair. Therefore, I thought I was almost guaranteed first chair as I was an eighth grader now so in my mind no one would beat me.

A field show in marching band is structured like a story. A beginning movement sets a mood and an introduction to your show. Then comes a slow ballad that addresses a turning point in your story. Finally comes the closing movement, your resolution.

Everyone knows who the band kids are. From seeing them marching under the friday night lights, to listening to them never stop talking about band, it’s easy to pick them from a crowd. I, despite my chagrin to admit it, am one of those kids.

Whenever I moved to Boyle County and found that Boyle County High School was my desired school of choice, my parents found themselves continuously urging me to join their band program, specifically marching band. I had previously been in band at my former high school, located in an exceptionally small town, in which a quality music program was not necessarily valued, much less a competitive marching band.

My past has had lots of good times and has had some down right shitty a.f. times. But it’s in the past, so I’ll try not bringing up those memories. So let’s start in the beginning. It was 6:00am at Hamot hospital in Erie,PA, and all of a suddenly you here a huge “OOOUUUCCCHHH!!!!!!!!!”, then badabing badaboom it was 6:01am and I was born. Apparently when I was born I was very yellow looking. Nothing was wrong with me I was just born yellow. After a couple months I started growing out of it, and eventually turned the color I am now, which after lots of discussion and debates with people it has been determined that I’m almost the inside of an almond color. Anyway, after the hospital I lived with my Mom and my Grandmother at her old house in Erie.

When I first started high school I wasn’t nearly as worried as some other kids were, since I had been going there for several years already. My dad has been the band director at Mason City High School since I was one year old, and so I have been inside the building many times throughout my life. In middle school I would walk over to the band room after school got out, so I already knew many of the older students in the school. Many of them already knew me pretty well by the time that I made it to freshman year, so it wasn’t hard to make friends. A lot of freshmen are worried about the seniors, but since the majority of my older friends were seniors, I had no problem hanging out with them.

“And then we have to change directions simultaneously while maintaining form and posture and while staying covered down to the person in front of us and dressed to the people beside us and –”