Ever since I joined band in 4th grade, people have been talking about how excited they were to join marching band. At band day in 5th and 6th grade, everyone else shared how they couldn't wait until they were a 9th grader and could finally be able to perform and play in the stands like we saw the marching band do many times. In 7th and 8th grade, we had a watered down version of marching band that only played two parades. While I was glad to get snare drum both years, the exhilaration was never there, and I came very close to not joining marching band. But against my will, I ended up auditioning for drumline in April and I got the cymbals. After many summer practices and two torturous weeks of band camp, the whole machine band thing didn't exactly pay off yet. I was just hoping that it would all be worth it in the end. Finally, September 4th rolled around and the first game of the season was underway.
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We practiced for an hour, put on the uniforms, piled into the buses, and unloaded at a high school foreign to me. The sun sank into the horizon as we sat in the stands and watched the other high school perform. At second quarter we did our own show, and it went flawlessly. But the thrill of marching band still didn't kick in to me. We made our way back to the stands, and the drum major held up a sign saying, "Land of a Thousand Dances." From the moment the band saw the sign waving in the air, the mood went from proud of a good performance to buzzing with excitement to play the first stands song. One of the snare drummer who I held my cymbals for (the snare drums play on our cymbals for the majority of the stands songs), turned to me with devious smile. The rest of the snare drums looked at each other as if they all had a secret that they were trying their hardest to keep from the cymbals. All the other cymbals looked at each other in confusion. We didn't have much time to figure out what was going to happen before the drum major started counting off. I quickly turned around and hefted my cymbals up to the snare drums who were a row above me, not even bothering to put my earplugs in. The song started out with them hitting their sticks together, and they moved along to the beat. After around seven measures of that, the action began. All at once, all the snare drums bent down and starting hitting as hard as they could on our cymbals. The sound of drumsticks on bronze filled my ears instantly. Everything else was drowned out around me as adrenaline coursed through my body, and I didn’t want it to stop. A smile effortlessly spread across my face. I glanced up at the two upperclassmen above me, Trey and Ashley. They were both giving it their all, swinging arms and sticks around as hard as they could. They grinned at me playfully, but with no remorse as their drumsticks pulverized my cymbals, adding the first of many small oval-shaped marks on the shiny metal. The angles and lighting of everything around me was picture perfect. A part of me knew this image and overwhelming feeling would be engraved in my head forever.
We practiced for an hour, put on the uniforms, piled into the buses, and unloaded at a high school foreign to me. The sun sank into the horizon as we sat in the stands and watched the other high school perform. At second quarter we did our own show, and it went flawlessly. But the thrill of marching band still didn't kick in to me. We made our way back to the stands, and the drum major held up a sign saying, "Land of a Thousand Dances." From the moment the band saw the sign waving in the air, the mood went from proud of a good performance to buzzing with excitement to play the first stands song. One of the snare drummer who I held my cymbals for (the snare drums play on our cymbals for the majority of the stands songs), turned to me with devious smile. The rest of the snare drums looked at each other as if they all had a secret that they were trying their hardest to keep from the cymbals. All the other cymbals looked at each other in confusion. We didn't have much time to figure out what was going to happen before the drum major started counting off. I quickly turned around and hefted my cymbals up to the snare drums who were a row above me, not even bothering to put my earplugs in. The song started out with them hitting their sticks together, and they moved along to the beat. After around seven measures of that, the action began. All at once, all the snare drums bent down and starting hitting as hard as they could on our cymbals. The sound of drumsticks on bronze filled my ears instantly. Everything else was drowned out around me as adrenaline coursed through my body, and I didn’t want it to stop. A smile effortlessly spread across my face. I glanced up at the two upperclassmen above me, Trey and Ashley. They were both giving it their all, swinging arms and sticks around as hard as they could. They grinned at me playfully, but with no remorse as their drumsticks pulverized my cymbals, adding the first of many small oval-shaped marks on the shiny metal. The angles and lighting of everything around me was picture perfect. A part of me knew this image and overwhelming feeling would be engraved in my head forever.