Remembering Band Practice

I live in the same town where I graduated high school. I didn’t plan my life that way, but I’m not ashamed of it either, just so you know.

So Friday while my husband and I were off from work, we drove by my alma mater, which actually happens quite a bit since I live ten minutes away. Luckily, I don’t detest my high school years. I wouldn’t want to live through them again, but I can say I was pleased with them overall. As I looked out the window, I noticed some kids sitting on the pavement outside one of the side doors. I knew that Greenville County schools hadn’t started yet, so I wondered what was going on. Then I saw other groups of teenagers across the front lawn holding brass or woodwind instruments, and I realized that I had seen a band practice session.

For two-thirds of my high school years, I was in the band as a member of the colorguard, meaning I twirled flags. Those summer practices always excited me, even though they were brutal. There was this unknown element of what we worked on – the thrill of what the show would look like on the football field at night with lights bouncing off sequined uniforms, chrome-trimmed drums and golden brass instruments; the anticipation of cheers and whistles; and the hope of winning trophies to line the shelves in the band room.

I’m sure at least some of those kids were feeling the same things right at that moment as we drove by. I smiled, knowing the year they had ahead of them, and I wished them all the luck in the world.

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