Band Geek Mind Race written by Molly Johnson
Choosing to be a part of something greater than yourself, it changes you for the better.
Staring at the yellow sheet of paper, haphazardly tossed on my stand. Only three simple questions, I mean come on Molly.
Are you marching? Grade? Instrument?
How hard could it be? I had the last two filled in. 9th and Trumpet. Two thirds of the way there. Now the box... Waiting to be filled in by some mark, a “X”, a check mark, shaded in, a circle for Pete’s sake something! Some indication of your devotion! I sat there like a deer in the headlights of a semi-truck hurtling towards it at immense speed. My pencil just resting on the box just waiting for me to put it into action.
“Have you decided?”
“Are you signing up?”
“Should I?” Eager voices seemed to come from all directions.
I don’t even know what I ’m doing, how can I tell you?
Everyone seemed to be awaiting my reaction and the result of the silent argument between me and that tiny ink printed box. Why was this so hard? It’s a simple question, why was it so daunting? I sat there frozen in the same dumbfounded position for what seemed like years but was probably only about a single minute. Arguing and deciding all the things that could go wrong if I marked the box. All I would miss if I didn't. Would it be worth it?
I will be teased. I will be different and the classic nerd in her awkward and unflattering multi-gender uniform. The oddly fitted bowl-like hat sitting on her head with a feathered stick with tinsel woven into it; probably a last chance attempt to redeem any flattery, rocketing out of the hat like a sword in the stone.
I was about to sign up for a year of inescapable humiliation. Once you sign that sheet you have been burned into the show. You can't get out. You have been chiseled into the band. I was about to put my name on the imaginary list of “Who to Hurt” that was to be handed to the first egotistical jerk available, eager to establish his first target.
What if I fail? What if I can’t march? What if I can’t even move and play? What if being on that field gives me stage fright? Think of the names you’ll be called... Band geek, nerd, loser, dork, bombarded by the names and the labels that will be stuck onto me. I shuddered in my seat, moving the shiny hunk of perfectly twisted brass in my lap, my hand shooting down to catch it before it fell to the ground heavily. Looking at that dinged up, cold, scratched and worn noise maker seemed to turn a switch in my head, turning me on a different mindset.
I may be called geek or dork or nerd. But you know, this is me, this is my gateway to myself; the thing that drives me to keep on pushing through my life. My vent out of the cruel world we so sadly live in. The thing that I can pour my soul into, it lifts my heart the moment I put it up to my lips. This perfect, hunk of junk is the neon glowing sign in a world of darkness that reads: I will be there for you.
I looked up from my lap and snapped halfway back into reality, things still muffled and hazy. Looking around me at all these people I have grown up with. We had painted emotions on silence, for the past three years we have grown together. From our first deathly noises we erupted out of our instruments to our last concert that year, where we had flown through three page songs that actually meant something. That brought those emotions to anyone who listened; making our directors and ourselves tear up from our obvious growth. These people had given me the opportunity to become a part of something so few have been able to experience. The ultimate surround sound.
Being a part of something greater than yourself, it changes you for the better. That feeling of being a part of something one human being could never do alone, we all have to give it our all and be nearly perfect or else the beautiful emotions that have been written mean nothing. Giving you the responsibility of making or breaking everyone.
Every day I walked out of the band room thinking “I could never do this without you guys; I would never have been the person I am today without the experiences you have given me.” Being a part of such a greater thing; an entire room full of rowdy kids becomes a melody of notes and chords. You realize this and think of how close we have all become.
I felt someone tap me on the shoulder that jerked me fully back into reality. The once muffled room had become its usual booming self, full of laughter, jokes and the misplaced squeaks, booms, and roars from everyone’s instruments.
My head spun around to see the extremely tall, but not so intimidating, Mr. Lago. He laughed at my startled reaction and asked if I had taken his words into consideration. “You are one of our best musicians Molly, we NEED your sound and enthusiasm!” His words replayed over and over in my head a few times before I started smiling and looked up, nodding to him appreciatively. Turning back to my page I quickly scribbled in the little, once intimidating box next to the six word statement that was to be assumed a question.
I smiled at the page and nodded my head approvingly; thinking well that was blown so far out of proportion. Why had I feared such an obvious question?
Are you marching? Grade? Instrument?
How hard could it be? I had the last two filled in. 9th and Trumpet. Two thirds of the way there. Now the box... Waiting to be filled in by some mark, a “X”, a check mark, shaded in, a circle for Pete’s sake something! Some indication of your devotion! I sat there like a deer in the headlights of a semi-truck hurtling towards it at immense speed. My pencil just resting on the box just waiting for me to put it into action.
“Have you decided?”
“Are you signing up?”
“Should I?” Eager voices seemed to come from all directions.
I don’t even know what I ’m doing, how can I tell you?
Everyone seemed to be awaiting my reaction and the result of the silent argument between me and that tiny ink printed box. Why was this so hard? It’s a simple question, why was it so daunting? I sat there frozen in the same dumbfounded position for what seemed like years but was probably only about a single minute. Arguing and deciding all the things that could go wrong if I marked the box. All I would miss if I didn't. Would it be worth it?
I will be teased. I will be different and the classic nerd in her awkward and unflattering multi-gender uniform. The oddly fitted bowl-like hat sitting on her head with a feathered stick with tinsel woven into it; probably a last chance attempt to redeem any flattery, rocketing out of the hat like a sword in the stone.
I was about to sign up for a year of inescapable humiliation. Once you sign that sheet you have been burned into the show. You can't get out. You have been chiseled into the band. I was about to put my name on the imaginary list of “Who to Hurt” that was to be handed to the first egotistical jerk available, eager to establish his first target.
What if I fail? What if I can’t march? What if I can’t even move and play? What if being on that field gives me stage fright? Think of the names you’ll be called... Band geek, nerd, loser, dork, bombarded by the names and the labels that will be stuck onto me. I shuddered in my seat, moving the shiny hunk of perfectly twisted brass in my lap, my hand shooting down to catch it before it fell to the ground heavily. Looking at that dinged up, cold, scratched and worn noise maker seemed to turn a switch in my head, turning me on a different mindset.
I may be called geek or dork or nerd. But you know, this is me, this is my gateway to myself; the thing that drives me to keep on pushing through my life. My vent out of the cruel world we so sadly live in. The thing that I can pour my soul into, it lifts my heart the moment I put it up to my lips. This perfect, hunk of junk is the neon glowing sign in a world of darkness that reads: I will be there for you.
I looked up from my lap and snapped halfway back into reality, things still muffled and hazy. Looking around me at all these people I have grown up with. We had painted emotions on silence, for the past three years we have grown together. From our first deathly noises we erupted out of our instruments to our last concert that year, where we had flown through three page songs that actually meant something. That brought those emotions to anyone who listened; making our directors and ourselves tear up from our obvious growth. These people had given me the opportunity to become a part of something so few have been able to experience. The ultimate surround sound.
Being a part of something greater than yourself, it changes you for the better. That feeling of being a part of something one human being could never do alone, we all have to give it our all and be nearly perfect or else the beautiful emotions that have been written mean nothing. Giving you the responsibility of making or breaking everyone.
Every day I walked out of the band room thinking “I could never do this without you guys; I would never have been the person I am today without the experiences you have given me.” Being a part of such a greater thing; an entire room full of rowdy kids becomes a melody of notes and chords. You realize this and think of how close we have all become.
I felt someone tap me on the shoulder that jerked me fully back into reality. The once muffled room had become its usual booming self, full of laughter, jokes and the misplaced squeaks, booms, and roars from everyone’s instruments.
My head spun around to see the extremely tall, but not so intimidating, Mr. Lago. He laughed at my startled reaction and asked if I had taken his words into consideration. “You are one of our best musicians Molly, we NEED your sound and enthusiasm!” His words replayed over and over in my head a few times before I started smiling and looked up, nodding to him appreciatively. Turning back to my page I quickly scribbled in the little, once intimidating box next to the six word statement that was to be assumed a question.
I smiled at the page and nodded my head approvingly; thinking well that was blown so far out of proportion. Why had I feared such an obvious question?