Bewitched by the Band
It’s said that acknowlegement is the first step to recovery.
So here goes . . . I’m bewitched by bands: marching bands in particular.
As teens, my girlfriends and I would occasionally hang out at the Cavalier Drum and Bugle Corps. practices since a few of the guys we knew played in the band.
Photo courtesy of: mr-oc-2nd-period-economics.wikispaces.com
I recall summer evenings when the air was hot and heavy, and the field was dotted with patches of light illuminating the boys as they stood, drenched in sweat, glistening and listening to the director call out corrections to movement and rhythm. Then, with the blast of a whistle and a guttural command, the corps would snap to attention, horns belting out the melody, drum line banging out its cadence with imperial authority.
And I was captivated. The visceral beat reverberated through me.
Many years have passed, and now, instead of a teen watching the band on the field, I’ve had the pleasure of being a high school band parent for the past four years. I’ve cheered on the band at scores of football games, in the Thanksgiving Day Parade as they strode down State St., and even watched them march on TV in front of millions in Spain’s Cabalgata de Los Reyes Magos parade, last winter.
And it has been a thrill!
Here’s the rub, though. This year’s marching season was over, it seemed, even before it had begun. All of the home games were played by the first week of October, and that was it for the marching band.
Pack up your plumes, and head on home.
What’s more, my four years of a being a marching band parent are over as well. Seemingly in the blink of an eye.
And I believe I’ve developed a case of the shakes.
You know what?
Time to rent “Drum Line”.
Photo courtesy of: blog.vh1.com