What marching band did, no one really knew for sure. As far as we knew, it was a sort of secret cult, the only evidence of its activities was the continuous sound of snare drums ominously drifting through the campus and the occasional half-time show or rally performance.
Personally, I had some inside sources. My friends who were in marching band constantly gushed about their show, but I firmly pushed away any and all suggestions that I join. Besides the fact that it didn’t interest me (too nerdy), I’d have to learn a new instrument (a blow to my ego), and the prospect of suddenly joining a huge organization like marching band frankly terrified me.
So it was a complete shock to my mom when I suddenly told her I wanted to join the color guard.
Honestly, I was just looking for a way to fulfill some PE credits, and the idea of taking another online course was extremely unappetizing (I took a jogging course to fulfill a semester, and ended up BSing a good half of it.) And even though I felt I was extremely uncoordinated, it looked fun. I mean, how hard it could be?
Extremely, as it turned out.
My first real taste of marching band/color guard was band camp: a grueling, week-long summer workshop, so to speak, in preparation for the season ahead.
(The sweat. Oh, god, the sweat. The hose ended up being one of the highlights of practice. With it in hand, our band director baptized us with heavily-chlorinated water and we emerged, refreshed and ready to take another set.)
That was the beginning. And now, two seasons later — after spending 13-plus hours a week for five months with over 300 other marchers and colorguard members — I have finally reached the end.
Marching band holds a new meaning to me. It’s the smell of the turf, the ping of the metronome, the rush to set, the clapping from the coaches, the gush-and-gos, the deafening silence before every performance, the swell of sound that follows.
And it's the colorguard who, with a swirl of rifle and
It’s the 300-plus people who are there with you, sharing your pride, your accomplishments; your mishaps, your losses. We smile together, laugh together, win together, lose together, and cry together.
It's the feeling that you're all family; the band room is your home. Now, when my friends gush about marching shows, I'm there with them, rambling with the same passionate energy they hold.
Now to my point: I implore you, please, please, please try something new, regardless of how difficult or ridiculous or weird it may seem. Even if you’re remotely interested, JUST. DO IT. It might just be the thing that changes your life.
It certainly was for me.
