How the high school marching band saved me

Two of my teenagers started high school this year and one of them plays clarinet in the marching band and one plays trumpet in the jazz band. We attended the season's first football game last night and it was thrilling. Not just because we won (34-8) but because of the halftime show. I had more fun watching that 4 minute performance than I have any Broadway show or Oscar-winning movie.

When it comes to high school, most adults I know carry very polarizing memories. Either they loved it or hated it. For me, high school felt like this huge stage on which I worked out my most intimate, awkward, and confusing issues, most of which centered around fitting in. My struggle might not have been apparent to those around me, but there was definitely an apocalypse happening on the inside.

One of the things I am most grateful for during that time was my experience in the marching band. I started playing trumpet in the 5th grade and wanted to quit by 7th. My mom talked me out of it and I will be indebted to her forever for that pep talk because it saved me. For four years, I was an integral part of a 160-member club - the band geeks. We stood proud in our glorious nerdness because we knew we had back-up. I might spend 6 classes a day orbiting the perimeter of the cool crowd, but when I walked into that band room, I was home. I belonged. I was friends with every trombone player, drummer, and french horn player. We got each other. Other kids might have perfect skin, good grades, and had their own cars, but we knew in our hearts that we could belt out Georgia On My Mind with such precision and synchronicity, it could bring tears to your eyes.

We marched in parades, football games, and did concert performances during the winter. We spend hours in a bus motorcade listening to The Beach Boys and Van Halen from cassette tapes played on boom boxes that sat on the back of the bus seat. We girls learned how to change into our band uniforms on a moving bus without ever exposing an inch of flesh (its all about layering). I could pick out my own two basic black shoes from 300+ other basic black shoes and somehow managed to keep a pair of white gloves white for four years. But most of all, I got to work through my misfit stage in the safe company of 160 other misfits and managed to love every minute of it. I left school with confidence, discipline, a sense of teamwork, a love for music, and a sense that being different and nerdy was one of my gifts. I hope my boys end up feeling the same when they leave.

P.S. The trumpet in the picture of me? That's the silver Bach Stradivarius my parents got me for Christmas the year I made first chair.