Sometimes, I swear my heart can beat louder than our bass drum line. Now is one of those times. Standing at the back of the football field next to my director, watching as the last few seconds of the clock count down until halftime, this is the moment I live for. My band stands behind me, ready to take the field, ready to follow me onto the field, and here I am, so nervous I feel like I am going to puke all over my white uniform and so excited I feel like I could dance to the moon.
The clock hits zero, and my band director, my best friend motions to me. I turn to the band and clap my hands four times, the sound echoing loudly through the field, and command, "Mark time, Mark!"
My band, my family, responds with a loud, confident, "And one!" as their feet all begin moving in place, completely in sync with my hands and now the snare drum taps.
"Forward, March!" I order, and turn and begin to march onto the field. The grass is wet under my feet, but I march on confidently. The sky outside the stadium here is black, but on the field we are illuminated by the bright stadium lights. I could clearly see every face in our home bleachers, many of which are now heading to the bathroom or the concession stand, many on their phones, but some glued to the group now taking the field.
I hit my spot and now turned around, high fiving each band member as the line passed me to take their spots on the field. Everyone was in step, everyone's uniform matched and looked good, instruments were shined to perfection, helmets all matched, and everyone had a plume. My band, my family, looked good.
The announcer was talking, but I wasn't listening yet. He was babbling on about something my band director had written up five minutes before the show today to introduce us, but I didn't need to start listening until our director finished our on field warm up.
The band faced the back field, and our director silently began conducting. Our on field warm up was an eight measure piece; the first time through, they played it so soft they were barely audible. The second time through, they tried to blow everyone in the visitor's stands out of their seats.
The last whole note echoed loudly after the cut off. "Turn 2, 3, 4," I ordered, clapping my hands, and my band obediently turned to the front. Our band director left the field, and suddenly it was all me. I was completely in control now.
"Drum Major, is your band ready?" the announcer said. I immediately jumped into my choreographed salute, made to fit our Western themed show. As I finished and stood in my salute, the stands applauded. They applauded for me. "Then you may take the field for your halftime performance of The West!" the announcer said, and I ran to my podium, climbing onto it.
I stood for a moment and faced the band. It was almost silent on the field. In our little shell of light that was the stadium, I could clearly see every face of my band members in front of me. These were the people I had chosen to be with for the last four years of my life, and I would choose to stay with them forever if I could. I had so many band camp memories with them; memories of pranks played on each other and on our teacher, memories of victories at competitions, and some failures too, memories of making the best music anyone in our county had ever heard out of a high school band, memories of making jokes about anything that came our way to keep everyone's spirits up, memories of food fights after football games, memories of romances within the group, and most of all, I had memories of being the happiest I had ever been in my high school career with these people. We weren't a big band by anyone's standards- there was only fifty of us- but every single one of them was my one of my best friends, and I wouldn't give them up for the world.
I brought my hands up and gave my band the horns up signal. As obedient and perfect as always, the horns rose in complete synchronization.
"One, two," I counted loudly, my voice echoing through the stadium as I began to conduct. The band came in together, exactly as they should, and the beautiful music coming from my band brought the biggest smile to my face as I conducted through our opener- and the smile stayed throughout the show, through three songs, forty one charts, and the best fifteen minutes of my life.
As the last note echoed through the stadium after the cut off, I stood there, heart beating loudly. The stands behind me were applauding, applauding loudly. I turned around and gave another salute, and the applause increased. I turned back to the band, commanding, "Turn 2, 3, 4."
The band turned and began marching over towards the twenty yard line, forming two straight lines. I climbed down off of my podium and met them there, and led them down the track in front of the stands. The announcer continued to talk about us as we walked in front of the stands, receiving a standing ovation from the crowd as we marched by. A standing ovation at our first football game of the season.
I led the band off the track and behind the stands where our director waited for us. "Ready, halt," I commanded.
"Step and close," responded my band. Our director looked as happy as I did.
"That was a first show to be proud of," he said. "You guys rock, I could not be more proud of you. The bus for our competition leaves at 8:30 A.M. tomorrow, so you guys should all be here at 7:30. Perform tomorrow like you guys just did, and there's no question that we'll be coming home with a first place. Drum Major, anything to add?"
"You guys are the best band I've ever seen in my entire life, and I wouldn't trade a single one of you for the world," I said. "Don't forget black socks tomorrow either. Go Marching Tigers!"
"GO MARCHING TIGERS! GO MARCHING TIGERS! GO MARCHING TIGERS!" the rest of the band promptly and enthusiastically bellowed.
"Alright then," our director said. "Band, DISMISSED!" A cheer went up from my band- my family- and we all headed back into the stands together. My first football game as Drum Major, and here I was. I made it.
Well, there you guys go. A Drum Major's first football game.
Eyes with Pride!