This past Saturday I saw on my facebook page that I was “tagged” in some pictures by a friend of mine, Jennifer. (I used to babysit Jennifer when she was in elementary school. We’ve been able to stay in touch over the years, and a big part of that has been through facebook.)
I opened each one of them up and I was stunned. My family saw my face and wondered what I was looking at. These precious pictures brought back a very important part of my life in 1987…our high school marching band! I was a Senior and a Co-Drum Majorette in marching band. Our band was pretty incredible. My brother Pat and I talk about it every now and then. NO ONE was like us…our band was pretty unique. Our band was small, yet had a large sound. We would perform routines on the streets similar to what other big marching bands–who had football at their school–would perform on football fields. (Our little school didn’t have football, believe it or not!) We won award after award for what we did on the streets. It was such an amazing experience for all of us in marching band!
But to prepare for marching band contests and parades, during our band period in school, we would take to the streets of our little town and rehearse. A smile comes across my face as I recall some of those rehearsals. I remember a very angry and older lady getting so upset with us marching and playing on the street that ran in front of her house. She got in her car, maybe on more than one occasion, and tried to drive her car through our formation, almost as if she wanted to run us over. (If I remember correctly, I think she worked nights and our rehearsals would wake her up in the middle of her sleep.)
We would work our way through town and people in the local businesses and in homes would come outside to watch us. It seemed we had an audience everywhere we went in the middle of the day! I can remember how I could hardly wait to march in front of our home as we worked our way through town each day…I knew Mom would come outside on our porch to watch and cheer us on. I can picture her standing, arms crossed, on our porch by our porch swing, as I write this with tears and a smile. I would sneak in a wave and smile at her…yes, even as a Senior. I was proud to be my mother’s daughter. And how proud she must have been of my brother Pat and I as we marched by. We would also march by Dad’s mechanic garage, but not as often, as it sat on a state highway. But when we did, he would always come out, wearing his dark blue overalls, a cap on his head, and a cigarette or a cup of coffee or red shop rag in his hand. (Gosh, the memories are flooding back…I haven’t thought about this stuff in a very long time! I’m so thankful I get to tonight.)
I’m thankful for that time in my life. I’m thankful for the great experience marching band was. I try to explain it to Bill and my children, but words really can’t describe it well to someone who didn’t experience what we were able to experience through it. We had some pretty incredible band instructors. I realize that now, more than I did back then. I’m thankful for our small 1A school. I wish it was still in existence today.
Here are the pictures. I cherish each one of them, and wish I had more. Thanks, Jennifer for sharing them with me and for bringing back so many wonderful memories through them!
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