This is just something I wrote after our last marching competition a week ago:
Four years ago, I stepped out on this field
I didn't know what was going to come
I didn't know what I would learn
All I wanted to do was play music
I didn't know that I would get much more
It's been four long years of hard work
The hours of band camp in 102-degree weather
The pain of sore muscles, and blisters
The mosquito bites, and sprained ankles
It's the hours of practicing till your lips bleed
The repeating measures of music till it's grilled into you head
It's repeating sets over and over until you are ready to pass out
And yet still push for that "one last time"
It's being out of breath from the many run through
The sweat dripping into your eyes so cannot see
The sun beating down on your face
And yet still managing to pull off that one last great performance
It's standing on a field in front of a crowd of 200 at a football game
And knowing no matter what your director says
It's nothing like standing on a stadium field for compition in front of 800
It's that first time that you put on a uniform
The adjusting and zipping
Finding black socks and the right shoes
It's the "exploded chicken"
And getting the hair and heads to fit in the hats
It's standing with your section before warm-ups
It's fighting the nerves as you walk onto the field for the first time
It's realizing you are with your true family
It's the inside jokes
It's the hours of bus rides
It's the many card games
It's seeing the worst and best of someone in one day
It's the shared tears and laughs
It's standing here for the last time
And being just as scared as the first
It's taking a deep breath
And playing the best you have ever played
It's realizing that a tenth of a point does matter
It's the tears of knowing your best just wasn't enough
It's the crying with friends
And laughing about it on Mondays
It's finding you really are
It's realizing you would never have changed it for anything
It's realizing you will never forget
It's the friends
Family
About life
It's the music