I could try to explain, but I know it probably wouldn't work. I'm just gonna tell my story, and if you read it, thanks a lot. If you don't, I'm not losing any sleep. This is all true. This is my story. And it's my life. It may not be exact on the days and the order, but it is what happened, and it's all you need to know.
Prologue
It is March. It has been roughly eight months since I became a part of something bigger than a school activity, something more significant than a bunch of musicians playing together. I say it so many times with my best friends and we all agree that we love band more than life, band rocks, can't wait until band camp next year. I met people who knew themselves; I met people who I aspire to be. I met people that showed me the vastness of the world, in a group of only about a hundred fifty. I learned the value of commitment and passion, and the difference between the two. I discovered how one person can have an effect, whether they know it or not. I realized the tremendous bond that comes with time spent, fun had, shows developed, jokes made, conversations discussed, and chances taken, with people you never would have guessed. There are things I know I will never forget, for different reasons, and there are things that I believe, over the course of time, will fade, because sometimes that just what has to happen for a person to grow and change. And now, almost eight months later, I even have to wonder if what happened could have actually, possibly, really happened. Something I never gave one second of thought to a year ago changed my life in a matter of weeks, although I didn't fully realize it until the season was far done and gone. But as the months pass, I realize, that band is not my life. Band is just an incredibly large part of it. Band is not who I am. Band is what made me who I am, and it is what will continue to make me into who I will become over the next three years.
But the following is what I was before. This was me as an eighth grader, bored, dead set against marching band. I'd seen those "geeks" on the practice field during the heat of summer, and every morning in the cold before school. I would have hated to be them.
January 2006 was high school registration time. An assortment of extracurricular groups had come to visit us and campaign their activity. The eighth grade band was in chairs by section, thought today without instruments, and all in various positions of slump.
In came two guys in band sweatshirts who told us they were the drum majors. They walked over to the last row of chairs, where us percussionists were sitting down for once. Both went along the line of us 8 and shook our hands, introducing themselves and proclaiming they would lead us should we choose to join marching band, and we should. Dane, short and portly, piercing blue eyes, hair plastered down like the kid in Harry Potter movies (even though in the books it clearly states how unruly and sticky-uppy it is.) Nick was taller, walked flat and duck footed, had curly brown hair and brown eyes, and a heavily acne scarred face. As the two got to me, each looked at me straight, and I could see his passion for band. I felt an odd need to prove to them that I was good enough, that I was maybe better than the rest of my percussion mates. It was strange. Either these people would never talk to me again, or these people would become important figures in my life. My mind was shifting.
High school band director Mr. Smith but called Smitty by everyone except administration walked in with a collection of band kids, representatives from each class. He set up the VCR/TV at the front of the room, and put in a tape. We all watched silently, as tiny blue figures formed patterns and played tunes; their performance. Someone on the drum line fell. Mistake. It was quickly resurrected, but it went to show, 'What if that's me?' After the video, Nick and Dane joined Smitty and the others at the front, as everyone introduced themselves and began their crusade to persuade us to join marching band.
It was all a blur of "Marching band is so much fun, it's not that hard getting up early, you guys should all totally stay in band and be in marching band. Trust me it's great."
I thought they were all either lying and were incredible losers, or marching band really was that enjoyable. My mind shifted further.
The bell rang, and 6th period band filed out. Would I really hate to be them? Maybe I could try it... just for freshman year. If it is that horrible, I can just quit. My mind stopped shifting. What the hell, I'll do it.
I'm still in the process of writing the rest of my experiences. It's kind of amazing how long ago these things were, but how I remember them as if they were yesterday. Thanks for reading, sorry about any grammatical type errors. I appreciate anything you have to say.