Lessons from the Band

For some people, this time of year reminds them of trips to the beach, or lazy days spent relaxing those last few weeks before school started, or doing whatever it was that kids did during the summer when they weren’t in band.  For me, it will always remind me of band camp and sweltering summer evenings spent out on a field running through drill and practicing music.  Sweat, stadium lights, music, and marching – that’s what the late summer days held for us.

I was serious about band.  Don’t get me wrong, I was having fun, too – but I was serious.  I felt like every minute between the time we got our music and the time we closed our final show was an opportunity to get better.  It makes me smile to think back on it.  Y’all, I’m way more relaxed as an adult.  ha!  One of my favorite pictures of me and my younger sister is a snapshot that was taken of us my senior year.  She was a freshman.  It was after a football game, both in our uniforms, and I do believe it’s the only picture we have of us together that season.  I’m smiling – she’s smiling and giving me bunny ears.  I was drum major.  She….well…after her freshman year she joined drum line.  That should sum it up.    😉

me and maebs band
A picture is worth a 1000 words…

 

If you had asked me during that time if I realized what I was learning, I would have told you absolutely!  I knew that I was learning about delayed gratification.  I knew that I was learning to work hard, do my part even when nobody else was around – to make the group as a whole better, learning to master a piece of music.  I felt that sense of accomplishment that only comes from trying 1000 times to get something right – and then finally getting it perfect. And trying again.  I can remember the chilly Fall nights spent waiting on a decision from judges, hearing the final “Superior”, and knowing it was what we worked for all those months.  Or maybe it was a halftime performance that just came together beautifully.  It wasn’t all about the judges – it was about the show.  The love of what we were doing.  I knew I was making lifelong friends and memories.  I had tears of frustration.  Tears of pride.  Tears of excitement.  It was knowing you could do better and yet you only had that one shot – so deciding that next time it would be the best. Sometimes it was realizing that while we weren’t where we were going to be – we had come a long way.

Yes, I would have said I knew everything that we were learning.

Exactly twenty years, and a short trip over the river, later I stood watching as my son wrapped up the first week of his last high school band camp.  Life changes, but band is pretty much the same.  It’s July.  It’s approximately 3 degrees cooler than hell in Florida, and high school band kids everywhere are running through drill sets.  They have farmer’s tans, sweat soaked clothes, and instruments that gleam – not from stadium lights, but from the humidity in the air that has settled like a weight on everything. There are afternoon monsoons in Florida so time has to be taken away from learning drill.  They get right back at it, knowing that they are chasing a goal – one that requires a maximum effort for an extended period of time.  And I realize I didn’t know everything I was learning 20 years ago.

JD band camp
Sweat. Drill Sets. Music. That’s what summer is made of for marching band kids. Photo cred Tami Skipper – because we all know that I’m not getting shots this good.

I watch JD – and 230 other kids – do it one more time.  I watch them when they take water breaks and all form smaller groups of their close friends.  Some are using the break to goof off for a few minutes, squirt water at each other instead of drink it, laugh and use more energy in the break than I feel that I have left for the whole night.  Maybe the whole weekend.  Others sit quietly with their group of friends, drinking water, and trying to rest a minute.  Others are talking to section leadership or instructors about something they haven’t quite picked up, yet.  230 different people.  Different personalities. Do you think they all get along?  No, I’m sure they don’t.  Do you think they all like the same things?  Nope.  Come from the same background? Not hardly.  Yet, it is like viewing a mini melting pot of life.  Only different.  Different because as an adult I can see what they can’t see.

I can see just how amazing it is to bring 230 people together to accomplish a goal.  I can see that they are learning more than they realize.  They are learning to set off place #1 and adjust, but they will learn to continue to adjust as they go along – because sometimes where you start out isn’t where you need to end up.  It’s a good start, but sometimes you’re going to have to move a bit to really line up in life.  Sometimes you’re going to be the #1 spot and hold your hand up and others will look to you for where they are supposed to be – but even the #1 person will need to evaluate to make sure they aren’t off.

They are learning to listen to the correct tempo, and play and march that tempo, but we all know that during a show all it takes is the drum line to speed up or slow down and they will learn to follow the drum line for that moment – because the crowd isn’t thinking the drum line is off they are just thinking the whole band is off.  Then, they will come back on a Monday and work again to perfect the tempo.  They are learning that sometimes you might drift away from the set tempo, but as long as you remember to come back and listen for the constant steady truths in your life, you’ll get it.  It will come together.

They are learning to fight back Friday night nerves, step onto the field, and do what they’ve been practicing for – through fear, doubts, or any other thoughts that might arise. They are not letting their fear override what they know they can do.  They are learning that sometimes you have to step up even when you’re afraid.  Even when you’re nervous.  They are learning that fear and nerves don’t have to own them.

I stood there and listened as their director gave them instructions to follow –  and watched as they followed.  He didn’t yell or belittle or criticize.  He told them what they needed to do, but he also told them how far they had already progressed.  He explained what judges might be looking for, and pointed out why certain decisions might not be the best for the overall performance. They are learning that sometimes in life your instruction will come from someone who is in a position of authority over you – and sometimes it will come from someone who is in leadership over you.  If you’re really blessed – you might actually have that in the same person.  And while you might just have to do what you are being told, the person you’ll want to follow is the one who leads and doesn’t just dictate.  That’s the one who sees the most genuine results.  That is the one who builds up leaders to guide the way on their own one day.

I looked around and saw what all the different sections chose as their “section night” attire.  For instance, the trumpets went with neon. They donned their neon clothes and identified as a section, and still fell right into place with the rest of the band.  They are learning that it’s okay to be proud of who you are and still recognize that you have a place within a larger group.

As teenagers, they are learning and mastering what so many of us as adults seem to have forgotten.  We don’t all have to be the same, like the same things, agree 100% of the time with each other, or want to spend breaks together, to be an integral part of a team.  Each of us adds value right where we are –  just by being who we are and being willing to help someone next to us.  It’s pretty amazing when you think about it.

The world could learn a lot from marching band.  I know I did.  Last night reminded me that I still am.

This is a beautiful life.

 

My View…

I really hope that what is in my heart is somehow about to come out in what I write.  I’ve debated not writing anything, because honestly I don’t know that I can articulate how I feel.  I don’t want to say the wrong thing.  Maybe I’ll just start with a story.

A couple of months back, on the way home from a concert, my niece, her friend, my friend Mallory, and I stopped to get something to eat.  It was Midnight, we were hungry, and I was trying to find us a place where we would be safe.  I pulled off the interstate to a Waffle House that was well-lit, had a lot of cars parked at it, and decided, that in the grand scheme of things, Midnight isn’t nearly the rowdy time at Waffle House.  I parked the car, looked through the windows, and will admit to immediately noticing that every patron in the Waffle House was black – but that didn’t put me off.  We got out and decided to go in.  Let’s pause….

Did I mention we were in Montgomery?  I should probably mention that fact. You see, I’ve always heard that Montgomery was pretty segregated, but in my mind those were stories of times gone by.  This is 2016, and while I know that racism still exist, it isn’t something I have had to really confront in my life.  Some of y’all might be shocked by that since I was born and raised in the South, but it’s true.

We walked in that night, and the entire place initially got quiet.  You could hear a pin drop.  You could feel the tension in the air, and I was faced with a decision – turn around and leave or sit down and eat.  We decided to stay and eat.  After all, we weren’t looking for trouble.  Anyone who knows us knows that we are a friendly, hug your neck kind of crowd.  I truly just wanted us to quickly eat and get back on the road towards home.

It was the longest 30 minutes of my life.

Only one server wanted to wait on us.  She was very nice, although you could tell she was nervous to wait on us. Patrons either stared, walked out, or were openly rude.  I got my food, and it wasn’t what I really ordered, but by that time I was too nervous to even eat.  I got up to pay, and heard the door open and one of the servers who had been rude to us says – in a joking voice: Oh, here comes trouble.

I couldn’t even look behind me.  A few seconds later, I see a white police officer walk behind the counter, pour himself a cup of coffee, and proceed to sit where everyone can see that he is watching us.  I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or even more nervous.  He talked and laughed with the servers and patrons, and you could tell he was a regular. We paid, walked out to the car, and the police officer gets up and walks to the window to watch us out in the parking lot.  As we went to get in the car, out of nowhere we were approached by a man.  The police officer comes out in the parking lot to make sure we are okay.  I pulled off – almost in tears.

For the first time in 37 years I entered a place and wasn’t liked solely because of what I looked like on the outside.  I made people nervous just for being me. I was treated  as if I was about to bring the whole place to a riot based on nothing other than the fact that I wanted a quick bite on the way home from a concert – and didn’t look like I belonged in that area of town.  That broke my heart – not for me – but because I realized that I would drive my car 150 miles and maybe never experience that feeling again in my life….but the people who sat in that Waffle House can’t say that.  30 minutes of uncomfortable for me is someone else’s entire life to a level I can’t understand.  No escape.  And yet….

And yet, people make generalized statements assuming that the answer is as easy as “if you didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to fear.”  I’ll be bold and honest enough to say that I have felt that way before.  I have assumed that your fear was misplaced and your idea of racism was something that was blown out of proportion.  I have tried to place my world view and my experiences on others, when clearly I do not have the same life experience – nor will I ever have that view.  I am just not sure anymore that the answer is that easy.  Today, my heart hurts.  My heart hurts for my friends and people who have lived under suspicion based on the color of their skin.  My heart hurts for children who are growing up fearing the people who are sent to protect.

My heart hurts, and I worry, for my best friend’s husband who is a state trooper.  He is out there every single day and faced with the reality that he could be ambushed based on his uniform and badge.  Yet, he still goes.  He still gets up and protects.  He is faced with the reality that all of his actions will be scrutinized and even if his actions are above reproach they could be villainized. I am heartbroken and sick that there are those who are living to serve others, only to die at the hands of someone because of what they seem to represent. It’s senseless.

I don’t have all the answers.  I don’t even pretend that I do.  I do know I pray for this country and her people.  I pray that we can open our eyes and see that our greatest strength comes from being united.

I pray and grieve for all the families who have lost loved ones this week.  Lord, that we would see that violence is never going to solve our differences, rather only serve to drive us further apart.