I saw a high school marching band for the first time in years tonight. Actually I saw 5. It's crazy how memories can be attached to sounds and resurface so quickly.
The second band that took the field started their show with Beethoven's 5th symphony.
Immediately I was 15 years old, my first season of marching band, with my hair pulled too tightly under my hat because I was terrified that one strand was going to be misplaced. Under bright stadium lights, pouring sweat, I stepped onto a football field for the first time. Y'all....my heart.
After that one show seemed to bleed into another. Football season lasted forever. But one memory remains so clear I can almost feel it.
District marching festival. 1997. Tommy Oliver Stadium. Panama City, Florida.
We lined up on the field like so many times before. The lights were blaring and the stands were filled with people. (This time our audience was made up of fellow musicians and exhausted parents.)
The show was like any other, only this time it meant so much more. We had 30+ years of tradition riding on our shoulders. Our band was 'superior' (the highest ranking that a marching band can get) and had been for years. Everything rested in our hands now.
During the last song (Ode To Joy by Beethoven) we performed a 'company front.' Basically the entire band formed a straight line, paused for a bit, and then marched 5 more yards forward in unison. During that brief pause no note was to be played. It was dead silence for a few seconds then we all came back in together and played our guts out.
Those brief seconds are forever burned into my memory.
We formed our company front. The music went silent. Seconds before we were to play the next note a voice called out:
"Come on band."
There, from the sidelines, the man that challenged us to be better, chastised us when we made stupid mistakes, yelled when we refused to listen, and praised us when praise was due was cheering for us.
He knew what we had inside and he compelled it out.
That's what he did. He challenged us to greatness. He taught us that there is no excuse for not being excellent.
Tonight I saw bands take the field running with their instruments and waving wildly to people in the stands. I saw musicians dance rather than play. I heard melophones "trying to save the world" and tubas who were trying to see if they could get their tongue to come out of the bell. And I heard Mr. D's voice in the back of my head, not being critical, but demanding more than mediocrity.
I have waited 11 years to be a band mom. As I watched not only these bands, but their proud parents in the stands, I silently prayed that Camber gets her own Mr. D.
Words can't express the impact that he had on my life. I will forever be grateful for his influence.
