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bedlamsbardEHS marching band starts today.
I'm not marching -- I can't. My band director has let graduates march with the band in the past -- super seniors -- but I'm leaving on Saturday, two weeks before the Rodeo Parade. (That's right, y'all, my high school marches in a rodeo parade. How's that for country?) I didn't know that marching band was starting today until I checked the band website on a whim, wondering when the barbecue was and if I should drop by and say hi to everyone. And I graduated high school three months ago, but I was in the EHS marching band a full year before I was a freshman at EHS; I marched as an eighth grader, a freshman, a sophomore, a junior, and a senior. I marched flute and I marched bari. Except for my senior year, I gave more to the band program at EHS than I've ever given to anything else. I was the very epitome of a band geek, and I loved marching band more than anything else. And knowing that band starts today, I'm on edge, I keep glancing at the clock as if I answer to the beat of that drum again.
I could, if I wanted to, and maybe I will. I should go say hi. But it's not my band any more. It won't be my band ever again. My fight song isn't my fight song any more; my instrument was never mine.
It hurts, a little bit. It's lonely.
I miss it.
Who knew?
I'm not marching -- I can't. My band director has let graduates march with the band in the past -- super seniors -- but I'm leaving on Saturday, two weeks before the Rodeo Parade. (That's right, y'all, my high school marches in a rodeo parade. How's that for country?) I didn't know that marching band was starting today until I checked the band website on a whim, wondering when the barbecue was and if I should drop by and say hi to everyone. And I graduated high school three months ago, but I was in the EHS marching band a full year before I was a freshman at EHS; I marched as an eighth grader, a freshman, a sophomore, a junior, and a senior. I marched flute and I marched bari. Except for my senior year, I gave more to the band program at EHS than I've ever given to anything else. I was the very epitome of a band geek, and I loved marching band more than anything else. And knowing that band starts today, I'm on edge, I keep glancing at the clock as if I answer to the beat of that drum again.
I could, if I wanted to, and maybe I will. I should go say hi. But it's not my band any more. It won't be my band ever again. My fight song isn't my fight song any more; my instrument was never mine.
It hurts, a little bit. It's lonely.
I miss it.
Who knew?