More Than a Team
I sat on the cold bleacher, alone save for the thoughts that drifted through my mind. October was almost over. There was just over a month left of marching band. After that, there would be no more three-hour practices on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. I would not miss standing stiff and still in the hot sun with sweat dripping down my back. I would not miss drilling in weather so cold I could barely hold on to my flute, let alone play the right keys when my frozen fingers couldn't move or feel anything. I would not miss the pain of thawing my hands out, when I would have preferred the numbness of the cold instead of the indescribable sensation I felt in my fingers.
However, I would miss everything else. I would miss everyone in marching band, along with their unique personalities. I loved how marching band brought together so many people who never would have met otherwise. I would miss the hours-long bus trips we took to football games and competitions.
Also, I would miss the glorious feeling of completing a show flawlessly. That was the feeling I should have felt at that moment. The Andover High School Marching Band had just finished its last 2002 competition, and was gathered on the bleachers, watching other bands perform. At first, I had also watched intently, but after countless shows, I had begun to get bored. I closed my eyes and thought again about the day.
It was Sunday, and the marching band had been required to arrive at the band room at six-thirty in the morning, so that we could leave by seven. Of course, this meant that we wouldn't leave until eight; since everyone would take so long to get ready.
The bus trip to Framingham, where the competition was held, was uneventful. I spent the time thinking. There were four divisions. Our small marching band, with only thirty-two members, was in Division I. Division IV was for bands that had at least two hundred members. Divisions II and III were for bands with over fifty members but less than two hundred. Though small, our marching band could give quite an impression, mainly through how loud it could play [1].
In the competition, Division I bands performed first, and then Division II bands. After that, there was an awards ceremony, and then most of the people would leave. Following that, Divisions III and IV performed and had their awards ceremony. Our marching band had the first performance, which was at eight-forty five. When we had marched onto the field, we had a small audience. That was because, after the first performances, most of the audience was made up of marching bands who had already performed. Since there had been no bands performing before us, we didn't have that portion of the audience.
We marched onto the field and stood in our positions. The drum major counted off. Everyone lifted their instruments to their lips. As soon as I played a note, I knew it was going to be a bad show for me [2].
When I had first started marching band, I didn't play very well. All during eighth grade, I was the only eighth grade flutist who sat in the second row [3]. All the rest seemed to part of an exclusive group. Since there were so many flutists, I could hardly even hear myself while playing. I didn't practice at home, so my ability weakened. However, there were only three flutists in marching band, so I could be heard clearly, especially if I played a wrong note. That was what motivated me to get better. Nevertheless, I still had my bad days, which seemed to occur at random.
This was apparently one of my bad days. My first note, and all the ones that followed it, came out shaking. Some of the higher notes weren't in the right octave, and all of them had an airy tone. During the whole show, I tried to get my flute's notes to stop fluctuating, but in vain.
After the show was done, we marched off the field and back to the bus to take our uniforms off. Afterwards, we came back to the stadium, this time to be part of the audience. By then, I was sure I had ruined the show.
I resurfaced in the present time. Around me, people were talking and pointing to a hawk that was circling in the sky. I felt slightly bad for the marching band that was currently performing, because everyone seemed to be giving all their attention to the hawk. Then I realized what had brought me back from my thoughts: hunger. Because I had been rushing to get to the band room on time, I hadn't had an adequate breakfast. So, I left my seat in the bleachers and headed for the concession stand.
After countless shows, many more visits to the concession stand, and talking about anything with anyone just to pass the time, it was time for the awards ceremony. Before I knew it, our band's drum majors and colorguard captains were lined up next to all the other marching bands' leaders, who were wearing equally ridiculous uniforms.
A plaque was given to each marching band, with the evaluation on the plaque. Unlike other competitions, each band was given a rating in several factors instead of a ranking against the other bands. All the bands were evaluated in six categories, including "music" and "visual effect." Then, there was an "overall effect."
Because our marching band had performed first, we were the first to get a plaque. Each of the categories were announced and punctuated with a cheer from our marching band. In all but one category, we had gotten the equivalent of a silver medal! Everyone was cheering and celebrating. We had come such a long way from our first competition, when we (and all the other marching bands) had gotten mostly bad ratings. Our feeling of victory only increased when we found out that we had done the best in our division. Still, I secretly felt guilty, because I thought my terrible performance had taken the toll on the marching band by making us earn only a silver medal rating instead of gold.
Each marching band at each competition is recorded. When we got back to the band room (after more celebrating on the bus), the first thing we did was watch the tape of our performance. I found out that I couldn't even hear myself! All that worrying had been for nothing; maybe my performance didn't have a negative effect on the marching band after all.
As people started going home, I thought about what was to become of the marching band. Today's competition was our last one; the rest of our shows would all be performed during half-time at football games. However, we weren't only doing shows. We had a parade coming up, and a banquet to end everything. From what I had heard, the banquet was always fun.
I smiled. I would miss the marching band; that I knew. I would miss the shows and competitions. I would even miss the practices—the ones with decent weather, that is. It was then that I realized: the marching band is not about events. And, it's more than just a team. It's a group of friends. The marching band veterans, although they enjoy teasing the rookies, accept them, always. The rookies, though they may be shy and quiet at first, warm up to the rest of the band. Although the group changes each year through the seniors leaving and the upcoming freshmen joining, everyone becomes part of a family in the end.
[1] Our school's marching band has only 32 members, including the percussion and colorguard.
[2] Our school's marching band is tiny and always in need of more members. Therefore, we accept anyone who wants to join, which is how someone like me got in.
[3] At the time of writing this, which is December 2002, I am a freshman.