“Guys we can’t rush, pay attention.” he says, waving his arms wildly above his head. He’s looking sternly at the percussion section full of freshman. They slow down for the third time this song. He’s wearing the typical outfit. Purple Laurel Locomotives shirt tucked into his faded dad jeans. Grey and white tennis shoes to pull the look together. The sunset is glinting off his short, grey hair. I look around at the instruments and people beside me. I feel happy to be a part of it. I get made fun of for it, I know, and it’s not the coolest group to be a part of. As dumb as it may sound though our little band is like a family. In other sports and activities there is so much competition that there is hardly any joy for the art left. Band however,…show more content…
Miller cuts us off at the end of the song and we all scatter until the next break in the game. He looks down and does his usual little chuckle, laughing at how fast we all ran away. He put down the drum sticks he was using to whack a music stand with and folds his arms over his chest, turning to check the score. Inside the school, around the corner is his office. For now it sits quietly, waiting for the noise to enter again. It’s a mess, always, but not to Mr. Miller it isn’t. Even in the chaos of papers and bit and pieces of lost instruments, he knows where everything is at. My teacher was always calm and collected and his office resembled that. Even in the mess of what was happening he knew what to do, and how to fix any problem we came upon. I miss Mr. Miller. I love the new band teachers that we’ve had in the last few years, Mr. Bidwell and Mr. Cross. There is still nobody who can replace Mr. Miller for us. I remember the day that he told us he was leaving. I remember the whole room was in tears, and few were sobbing quietly. Even Mr. Miller had tears building behind each blink. It was hard to hear that he would no longer be there with us. He had lost his hearing almost completely and could no longer teach us the way he used to. The music that he had loved through his life had been the reason he had to stop. Mr. Miller had always been my favorite teacher, and even though he can’t be my teacher anymore, he will remain my
Miller cuts us off at the end of the song and we all scatter until the next break in the game. He looks down and does his usual little chuckle, laughing at how fast we all ran away. He put down the drum sticks he was using to whack a music stand with and folds his arms over his chest, turning to check the score. Inside the school, around the corner is his office. For now it sits quietly, waiting for the noise to enter again. It’s a mess, always, but not to Mr. Miller it isn’t. Even in the chaos of papers and bit and pieces of lost instruments, he knows where everything is at. My teacher was always calm and collected and his office resembled that. Even in the mess of what was happening he knew what to do, and how to fix any problem we came upon. I miss Mr. Miller. I love the new band teachers that we’ve had in the last few years, Mr. Bidwell and Mr. Cross. There is still nobody who can replace Mr. Miller for us. I remember the day that he told us he was leaving. I remember the whole room was in tears, and few were sobbing quietly. Even Mr. Miller had tears building behind each blink. It was hard to hear that he would no longer be there with us. He had lost his hearing almost completely and could no longer teach us the way he used to. The music that he had loved through his life had been the reason he had to stop. Mr. Miller had always been my favorite teacher, and even though he can’t be my teacher anymore, he will remain my
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