A Unforgettable MICCA

Once again, it was time for MICCA. The music and routine had been learned and rehearsed over and over again, and, although I was still uncomfortable with my drum and the grip it required, I was able to play and make it sound decent. The drumline did the usual Blue Man Group energizer dance, and we put our drums on and went to go warm up. We stood around, waiting for our time to show how hard we had worked all season, so the drumline did its Mission Impossible morale booster. Feeling pretty confident, we went out and did our thing.

We played all three songs, everyone staying in time with one another. I was pleased with myself when it was over...I had played it to the best of my ability. Now came the nerve-wracking process of waiting. We sat on the bleachers watching other bands perform and grew restless, just wanting to see how we did.

Finally, the time came. We all filed on to the football field as the judges called out the school and the scores. The scores had multiple categories: drumline, color guard, routine, music, and band were it I think. Each had the potential for 5 stars, ( a gold medal) but we had never gotten above a 2 overall. The drumline was used to getting 3s. I hoped to God it would be a 3 again for us this year. We braced ourselves, expecting the disappointing marks that didn't seem to reflect the hard work we had put into the season. The announcer called our school. "Drumline, 4 stars." I pumped my fist in the air and couldn't stop smiling. I didn't even hear the rest of our score, I just heard the drumline part and then..."Overall score: a silver medal!" I couldn't believe it. I turned to my friends in the band and we all burst into tears. Finally, 4 stars! And our last MICCA competition too! I all ran onto the field, bombarding our drum majors and directors. A job well done to all! :D

Try-Outs

The drumline was starting to feel the effects of a new director. He wanted us to try out for each instrument. None of us had ever tried out for the line before...the section leader would place us on the drum he thought would best suit us. I was happy on the bass drum and really wanted to stay on that drum. I hoped that's where I would be placed.

We all waited in the drum room, a room that the drummers had set up with speakers and 'funny' pictures and a room that the new director was trying to change (yeah right, good luck with that!). We were called onto the stage one by one, and as one left, we sat in silence...a sound I had never heard the drumline produce before. When the first person came back shaking their head, we were all apprehensive and anxious to just get it over with.

Finally, my name was called. He called me out and had me stand behind the snare, like every other drummer. I hoped that wouldn't be my permanent place. He put a piece of music in front of me and had me play it. I played until I got to a note I didn't know and stopped. "I've never seen that note before and I don't know how to count it and play it," I said. He showed me and helped me count it through, and I soon got it. "You're a fast learner," he said as I left.

We I went back to the drum room, they all came to the door to ask how it was as another was called out. I told them as we all lapsed into silence again. Finally we were all done and he started to say our names and the instrument we would be on. I stood there, waiting for my name. "Kim...snare." My heart dropped. I loved my bass drum and I didn't think I was anywhere near good enough to play the snare. There was a new grip to learn, traditional, that I had never done before and takes time to get used to and perfect. The other snare player had been training all year and knew the grip well...I had until the first game to get the grip strong enough to play the show. Oy vey...

Newbies

So, it was the first day of band camp. New people, new drumline, new section leader...new director. Although he was a nice guy, he was a threat to the drumline. The strict rules and high expectations differed greatly from the lax authority that allowed the drumline to goof around and do as they pleased. We were given a percussion instructor to keep us on track, but he was not respected by the line. His corny and terrible sense of humor and tall, lanky physique contrasted a lot with the sexual humor of the boys on the line and their short muscular body types.

I have to say, I was rather happy that the drumline was being forced to work and I hoped that the new director would be able to kick them off of their high horses and shrink their egos a bit. This did not happen. Instead, their was a constant struggle between the two forces that tore a rift in the band as they fought for independence, and the new director tried to gain a hold of the line. Being sympathetic to the new director, I tried to maintain some semblance of peace and understanding between the two, but that proved harder than I thought.

I became the go-to girl for both sides and was soon dragged into the middle of a battlefield. It didn't help that the former section was now the drum major and was trying to knock down the new director from the top as the line tried from the bottom...it was going to be a long year.

Memorial Day 2007

It was Memorial Day and the last time the marching band would be together until band camp. We had met a couple of times before to practice the songs. The drumline mainly went over the cadence, since we made up the parts to the songs on the spot while we marched down the road.

We gathered at the cemetery in the morning and the drumline went across the street to warm-up (loudly enough to wake the dead, I might add) and got in line at the end of the marching band as always. The parade started and we marched down the road, with the middle school band marching and playing obnoxiously behind us. Our section leader tapped off and we began the cadence, trying to ignore the middle school band behind us and play at the tempo the section leader gave us. We stopped at the flag so that the veterans could salute the flag and two of our trumpet players hid in the woods and played Taps.

We marched on through the town and stopped again towards the middle of the 3 mile parade to salute soldiers again. By the time we got there, it was about 70 degrees and we were sweating in our woolen uniforms. The band moms got out of the car that was driving behind us (the Marching Band H2O Car, as they called it) and gave us bottles of water to drink while we waited to continue the parade. I took of my drum...my shoulders were throbbing. But, we couldn't stop for long and soon the drum was back on and we were marching.

The last stretch was the hardest. My body began to get really tired of carrying the drum in the hot weather in a woolen uniform. My arms didn't seem to want to hold up my sticks anymore and it became increasingly hard to play...I could feel the sweat all over my body. It was disgusting.

We finally got to the end and I whipped off my drum. The sudden weight loss made me feel as if I was flying...I felt as light as a feather. I wanted so badly to take off my uniform, but we had to keep it one to play "America the Beautiful" with the middle school band. After the ceremony and after we played, I quickly stripped of my uniform. I didn't care that I was in crappy shorts, a tee-shirt and knee-high black socks. It felt so nice to get into lighter clothing. As my parents drove me home, I thought about how good a nice, cold shower would feel...

Disney Trip Part 3: Marching Around the World in About an Hour or So

It was the big night. We were so nervous and giddy, but we meet in Japan, where we were told to come. We were met by an Epcot employee who enthusiastically took us into the depths of the best known place in the world. Laughing and skipping, we followed her past the Japanese architecture, through the gate, past the parade floats, and found our bus waiting for us with our equipment and uniforms. Getting more and more excited, we rushed to the bus and grabbed our uniforms, running into the huge bathrooms that were backstage. We all milled around outside until everyone was there, and sat in middle of the two bathrooms, trying to listen to the pep talk, but too excited and nervous to put a lot of effort into it. Finally, the director allowed us to get the equipment, and we rushed to the bus again, looking for our instrument.

The drumline got together and warmed up, doing our Mission Impossible energy booster before we joined the marching formation. "Are you ready?" the woman who worked at Disney asked loudly. We screamed as she walked towards the gate and opened it for us, letting us out to join the parade.

The snares marked time as we left the gate, and the drum major counted us off to start "Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah."

The drumline was the last to leave the gate. We turned the corner and were met with the lights of Epcot at night and the giggles and enthusiasm of vacationing families. It was overwhelming. We marched past mothers bent close to their toddler's ear singing along to the music and fathers with their children on their shoulders, dancing to our beat. It was the most magical moment of my life. We marched around the world of Epcot, through Japan and China and Morocco and the United Kingdom. Through the United States and Canada and the other countries showcased at the theme park. Although the bass drum should have been hurting me by this time, the pure adrenaline rushing though my veins allowed me to ignore that and completely enjoy the experience.

It seemed to end all too soon. We marched back through the gate and heard the joyful cries of the children fade away. We were allowed to break our lines and ran around, whooping and hollering, letting out our excitement. I took off my drum and began to fell the effects of carrying it around the world. And it felt like I had carried it around the world...

We were given t-shirts and water and were let out to watch Epcot's fireworks, a perfect ending to the most memorable night of my life.

Disney Trip Part 2: "Everybody's Got a Laughing Place"

It was the second day of our trip. We got to the Magic Kingdom and were given a time and place to meet up and set free. I took off with my friends and we ran into the Magic Kingdom, wondering where to go first. After lunch, we met up with one of my friend's parents, who was a band mom, and waited in line for Splash Mountain. We waited in line for about a half an hour and were excited to get on the flume ride. We got to the beginning of the ascend to the final drop when the flume broke down. We sat there, catching up with the band moms and chatting and laughing, happy to be spending our February vacation in Disney Land.

A half an hour passed and we began to be restless. "Everybody's Got a Laughing Place" kept playing in the background and we began to sing along to pass the time, interrupted every verse or two by the animatronic vultures saying, "laughing place? I'll show you a laughing place." Then they'd cackle and the song would resume. We began to mimic the vultures as the minutes passed.

It was an hour since the ride had stopped and "Everybody's Got a Laughing Place" was get awfully annoying. Some of us we getting frustrated, others were trying to keep spirits up. I was bursting into fits of giggles, seemingly going mad with the sound of the friggin' song in my ears. The maintenance guys kept walking past and saw the deterioration of our sanity as the song kept playing and playing. Suddenly the sound stopped. One of the maintenance guys walked passed and gave us the thumbs up. "There you go guys!" I almost got out of my log and hugged him.

It turns out that the mind sucks. I could not get "Everybody's Got a Laughing Place" out of my head and occasionally our whole log would erupt into song, singing the song that would surely kill me.

After an hour and a half of being stuck on Splash Mountain, the log jerked and began ascending the giant drop. We cheered and braced ourselves for the rest of the ride. The log jerked and jerked and stopped. Halfway up the ascent. The friggin' thing was stuck again. We groaned and laughed to keep from crying. Thankfully it was fixed in about 5 minutes and we finished the ride..."Everybody's Got a Laughing Place" was stuck in our heads for the rest of the day.

Disney Trip Part 1: Universal Car Sickness and Sleeplessness

We had been waiting the entire year to go on the Disney trip. Everyone was half-asleep, but excited as we packed our stuff in the coach bus at 4:30 in the morning. Yes, we were driving down to Florida. From the middle of New England. A 24-hour drive. The usual mixture of soul and Disney music filled the bus as the band and color guard chatted away and screamed, too excited to sleep. As we left the state, a girl drew its picture, accompanied by its name and taped it to the window. "Florida or bust!" she said.

Those pictures became our map. As more and more pictures went up on the window, we knew we were getting closer to Disney World. But it seemed as if the pictures took longer and longer to put up. The music died down as we tried to settle down and get some sleep. But it's hard when the seats are only so big and you're all crammed into the bus. It was a very sleepless few hours. One drummer, frustrated with his body's inability to fall asleep, said almost hysterically, "Well, if I can't sleep, I might as well start stuffing my face with Cheeze-Its!" And he did. We stopped often for bathroom breaks. I would always get up to stretch my legs, but my friend sitting next to me wouldn't. He was a lucky one. He could sleep...sort of. Whenever I got back, he was sprawled out over both seats, sleeping. After about 3 times of this, I began to hit him whenever I got back.

In the middle of the drive, we switched bus drivers. The new one didn't know how to drive. He would step on the gas, then the brake, then the gas again, resulting in a jerking, lurching motion. Soon half the bus was car sick, including me. The band parents didn't really know what to do with so many in the same situation. I hoped to God that it would only get better from there.

A Very Blustery Day

It was the day of our competition. We loaded the equipment up onto the coach buses and warmed up all the way down there, listening to a mixture of soul and Disney music. As we pulled into the the MICCA competition parking lot, the section leader put on the Blue Man Group soundtrack, and we got pumped as we changed into our uniforms. When we got out of the bus, we were blown back by a gust of wind. It was very strong and very cold. We looked at each other and unloaded the drums.

We warmed up again, trying to keep our hands warm and lose in the cold and windy weather. The drum major called us altogether for a huddle and we got energized and lined up to march into the stadium. Our section leader took us aside and we engaged in the usual "Mission Impossible" singing that bonded us together and got us focused.

We marched out onto the field, bracing ourselves against the wind. I was not having fun. Having a large bass drum protruding from your body is as good as attaching a sail to it. Because of my small stature, it was even harder to keep my balance. I looked over towards the rest of the bass line, whose panicked and grimaced faces told me that they were also struggling. The plumes on our hats didn't help either. The band was swaying in the wind, like trees. We must have looked so funny...especially the base line. We were battling the wind and ourselves, trying make ourselves stay still and face to the side. It was hard.

After the performance, we put our drums away and froze on the stands, waiting for the results. We got 2 stars overall, making us a below average band. The drumline got 3 stars, which made us average in the eyes of the judges. We were happy that we outscored the rest of the band (it inflated our egos), but wanted to be above average. For being blown about in the wind like a couple of leaves shed from a tree, I think the line did pretty damn good...

The Girls' Game

It was that time of year when the girls got the opportunity to strut their stuff and play the watered down version of football: powderpuff. Every year, the members of the marching band got together to form a pep band for the girls. Four members of the line showed up: me, another bass drummer, the quad player, and another bass player who decided he was going to play the snare for the night.

I walked into the auditorium hearing the sound of drills. "Look, I made a super drum!" one of the bass drummers said, pointing with pride at the two bass drums he had zip-tied together. "I call it 'The Snowman.'"

"Good luck carrying it," I said.

"Eh, it shouldn't be that bad," he said, putting it on and almost toppling over. I looked towards the quad player, and the sound of the drill. Instead of zip-tying extra drums to the quads, he was drilling into the shell and screwing new ones in, permanently destroying the other set of quads that we may have needed for the following year. "He's gonna be pissed, man," I said to the quad player. I knew the section leader and the band director would be appalled to see what had happened to the spare set of quads. "No, the section leader will think it's sweet!" he said. "And who cares about the director?" I shook my head and got my drum out of it's case, preparing to harness up and go.

That night we played with the most unbalanced band I had ever heard. We had 4 drummers, an alto sax, a trombone, and a trumpet. We sounded awful, but we were having fun.

The line was dressed in our 'kick ass' uniform: black adidas sweatpants, a white tee, and a black adidas zip up. It was a particularly warm night and so we had taken off the zip up. Suddenly, the skies opened up and we were drenched within seconds. The powderpuff game turned into a mud bath. My shirt turned transparent. We rushed to get our instruments inside, knowing that they would be ruined by the heavy rain. Once inside, I put on my soggy drumline jacket, pulling my arms through sleeves saturated in water. Seconds later, the girls cam in all muddy and wet, and the crowd followed them. We pt away our instruments, and I left, watching the quad player try to find a space that would fit his monstrous creation.

Homecoming Parade

It was the biggest game of the year, besides Thanksgiving. Even though the game was at 7, the marching band was at the school at 4, perfecting the music and getting ready for the parade. The drumline was goofing off. They had found a Frisbee that lit up when it was thrown and were playing in the pitch black auditorium where we practiced. Oftentimes the Frisbee would be thrown into the seating area instead of the aisles and either the boys would dive into the chairs and get tangled in them, or they would chase the Frisbee down the sloped auditorium. I sat on the edge of the stage, watching this comic act and warming up on my forearms. The director walked into the auditorium to see what we were up to, and the all-to-often heard "DRUMMERS!!" echoed through the place. The lights were quickly turned on and the boys walked up towards the stage, one chasing the Frisbee down through the seats. We practiced for a little while, the cadence mostly, and got into our uniform.

We joined the band assembled outside and marched single file to the start of the parade. While other sections talked and laughed together, the drumline was busy tuning our equipment and warming up. When the uniform went on, the line was all business.

We watched the floats get in line behind us. We were the front of the parade. We got in formation and the drum major counted us off. The snare line kept the beat of our footsteps as the drum major shouted, "Forward, march!" As soon as we stepped off, the police escort in front of us turned on their sirens as did the fire trucks directly behind us. It was so loud! I could barely hear the drum next to me. The section leader, seeing the band start to march off time, and seeing his line struggle to hear his beat, started playing even louder. The drum major came gliding through the band on a scooter. "They're kinda loud, huh?" he yelled towards us, gesturing towards the fire trucks.

Finally, we made it to the field. As we walked around the track around the outside of the field, the fire trucks and police cars veered off and made for the station. We marched around the track...5 times. By the end, my ears were ringing from the sirens, my hands were killing me from the intensity of the cadence, and my back hurt from trying to support a drum that was practically as big as me. But the spirit of the band and the crowd pushes you on.

Playing With the Girls

It was almost time for homecoming and we were busy getting ready for the biggest game of the year, besides Thanksgiving. While the band was polishing up the songs in the show, we were putting in extra hours with the dance team. The dance team captain had found a Beyonce song that had a drumline playing in the background, and she wanted us to play the part with them as they danced. We practiced with them a few unsuccessful times in the gym, but the drums echoed off of the concrete walls and metal ceiling, making it impossible for the girls to stay in time and hear the music.

We moved rehearsals outside on to the football field so that the girls could get the feel of dancing on grass instead of linoleum, and so that our drums wouldn't echo as bad. We soon found that our echoing drums may not have been the problem. The dance team was new to the school and contained various levels of dancers. Many of the girls could not stay on time to save their lives. It was frustrating for the line to play with the girls being so off tempo and frustrating for the captain who wanted to do more with the dance, but was stuck teaching the girls how to stay on beat.

As the dancers rehearsed over and over again, the drumline tried to come up with our choreography. " I think that we should each have a chance to dance to dance with a girl," the tenor player said.

"Oh and how're you going to do that with your drum on? And what am I supposed to do?" I asked.

"Shit. I forgot"

"OK, we need to come up with something where she doesn't look gay," the section leader said. "There goes all my ideas."

We ended up doing simple marching movements, but it looked pretty good with the girls all around us, finally able to sort of dance in time. We were satisfied with it and joined up with the band and the baton twirlers to rehearse music for homecoming, and watch the twirlers spin fire.

Heart of the Game

Going on away games with the football team seemed to give them a sense of confidence. The team knew we'd be there (unless it was raining, in which case we didn't go since the equipment would be ruined) and enthusiastically cheering them on. We seemed to be a piece of home and so gave them a little of the "home field advantage" excitement.

We went to this one game about 45 minutes away from home to cheer on the team and have a good time. We loaded onto the away stands, which was always a hassle for the drumline because of the size and placement of our instruments, and prepared to play. When we played in the stands, we always played when our team was on the defensive so as not to distract the offensive line with our music. The trumpets began to play the Superman theme as our team kicked off and we were off. We quickly switched into "Born to Be Wild," trying to play as much as we could before our team got the ball. Suddenly the referees blew the whistle and came running over to the stands. Confusion ensued as the drum major cut us off to see what was happening. We were informed that we were not allowed to play. Puzzled, we obliged and let the opposing team finish out their possession.

The next time the opposing team got the ball, we began to play again. Again, the refs stopped the game and told us to stop playing. He told us that if we wanted to play, we could do so in between plays. So we did... and we only got in a measure or two before we were forced to stop because the play had begun. Frustration mounting, we began to play louder and louder. Eventually the band director had us play through the football plays because it was impossible to pick up where we left off from before. The fans were getting bits and pieces of a broken song. The refs stopped the game for a third time and this time the coach came over and started yelling at us. He told us that if we couldn't stop playing, we could leave. Angry and dismayed, we sat down on the stands. This had never happened before. It happens in college football all the time, but never before had this rule been enforced for high school ball.

When the opposing team possessed the ball again, we were silent. Our team and the fans didn't know what to do. Never before had the band not played during our defensive period. The fans, angry that we were not allowed to play, began stomping their feet loudly on the metal stands and yelling loudly. Smiling, our section leader said, "Let them stop that." The drum major gave us the signal to stand up and we began yelling and stomping as well. Although the coach couldn't stop the fans, he did come over and yell at us again. Enraged, we sat down as the director yelled back at the coach. Eventually the director gave up and sat down. We waited about 15 minutes and then the director said, "Let's go, guys." We looked up at him, sad, angry, and puzzled. "There's nothing we can do here. We can't motivate the crowd or the team...let's just go." The drum major took him aside and they decided we would stay with the team until halftime and then we would go.

During half time, we played our show, and we played it so well. All the pent up energy when into that show and we kicked some ass. After half time, we packed up and as we left, we heard the fans once again stomping and yelling, creating the music that we were prohibited to play.

Bus Rides

We had learned and revised the show...many a time. Since it was an away season, we spent most of our time on buses going to various schools to perform the show. We were one of the only marching bands in our division to still travel to away games and we hadn't missed a single one...unless it was raining.

The bus rides were...interesting to say the least. The drumline loaded the equipment into the back of the school bus we took and claimed the back third of the bus. No one was allowed in that section except for the line...and a few VIPs (girlfriends, pretty girls, directors, etc.) The instant the bus started rolling, practice pads and sticks were out and the section leader was making us warm up. Towards the front, soul music mixed with Disney music as the brass and woodwind sections fought for control of the boom box privileges. It was hard to sing to the music that one learned to like since they were mingling together.

When we got to the school, everyone instantly stripped off clothes to get into uniforms. We all got awfully close, and I realized why boys fear to "fall out..."

Rides home were interesting too. The smell of body odor filled the air as uniforms were taken off and we realized that despite the cold weather, the body still had the capacity to sweat. It was especially disgusting in the back third of the bus...the drumline plays throughout the game and we tend to play loudly and intensely...

One time, the bus smelled particularly bad and a girl sprayed a huge amount of perfume to try to cover the smell. We were on the road heading home. Not a good time to learn that the bus driver was allergic to perfume. She started coughing and sneezing. We had to open all of the windows to air the bus out...and it was 30 degrees outside. We sat huddled in our seats, listening to a mixture of soul and Disney music as the brass and woodwinds battled it out.

The Impossible Drill

We were learning the third and final song of our show (we had spent band camp on making the first 2 songs presentable and on the stand music). The drill creator had left to study abroad, so we were trying to learn it without him. We got into the ending set of the second song and walked our places for the first set of the third. The drumline looked at our dot book and realized our spots for the first set of the third song were 30 yards from where we were standing in the last set of the second. We skeptically looked at each other and when we realized that we only had 8 beats to go those 30 yards, mixed reactions were voiced. The section leader was downright pissed and threw down his sticks, yelling and screaming. Much of the snare line had the same reaction, while the basses (me included) looked and just laughed at the distance we had to cover in 8 beats with our huge drums.

"OK guys, let's try it," the drum major said as the snareline's protests grew louder. We took our positions and it was then that the bassline noticed that we'd be going this ungodly distance while marching backwards. Many of the basses shook their heads incredulously as I burst out laughing. The guy who came up with the drill was a drummer...how could he not see that this was impossible?

The drum major counted off and the cow bell kept the beat as we took the biggest steps we had ever taken in our lives. Eight beats passed and we looked around. Not even half way there. "Can we march in double time?!?!" the section leader yelled to the drum major. The drum major consulted the band director and they decided that it was the only way we had a hope of making it to our marks on time. The cow bell started up again and we moved our feet twice as fast as the beat. The problem was that since we were moving faster, it was harder to take large steps. We were still about 7 yards off by the time 8 beats had passed. The section threw down his sticks yet again and walked away. I saw the drum major look at our section leader and he turned and again consulted with the band director. We were told we all had a ten-minute break as they tried to figure how how on earth the drumline would do this.

We reconvened after the break and the drum major told us the solution. "OK, we are no longer going to march in time. Everyone walk or run to your spots between the second and third song. Just get there in 8 beats. No more, no less." The basses look at each other as we imagined ourselves running with our drums. Big Bertha, the largest of the four bass drums, was surely going to kill her drummer. I knew that I, being a petite girl, was going to die too. the cow bell began and we turned a booked it towards the end zone. We made it...but had to do it over and over and over again because the rest of the band got to their spots too early. By the end of the practice, we were all fed up and reflecting the section leader's sense of frustration...


We were told a week later that someone else had redone the drill and we would be re-learning it.

Hey Song-Workout Version

It was the first game of the season. Knowing that the show would be rocky, as it always is the first time, we decided to try to blow away the crowd with our impressive stand music. The stands were the place where we could have fun and not have the complete discipline, concentration, and precision that was required on the field. The drum major yelled out "Hey Song!!" and the band cheered, picked up their instruments, and stood up. The section leader looked over at the bass line and said, "You know what to do boys!...and girl!" The bassline cheered as I tried to figure out what he meant. I knew the music, but what else was there to do? The drum major counted us off and the bassline started the song. As they played the notes, the boys jumped up and down, laughing and banging away. I soon caught on and did the same. It was fun and gave me extra energy for the song. "Ready...switch!" the bass drummer said next to me as the snares came in with their part. Me and him switched drums and continued jumping and playing. It was so much fun...but where was the rest of the band with the melody to the song. I was starting to get tired!

The drum major finally counted off the band after what seemed like an eternity, as we continued the endless beat and jumping. I was running out of breath and could barely jump anymore. One of the boys, beginning to lose control of his jumping, almost fell off of the stands. Finally, the song was over...the rest of the drumline cheered with glee as the bassline slumped in their seats. We all had smiles on our faces...and stitches in our sides, and no air in our lungs! Well, I thought to myself, at least my legs will be toned!

Going the Wrong Way

We were finally able to kick the football players off of the field so that we could learn the routine. Marching lessons were over and the real work had begun! We set to work learning the routine. We were given dot books that showed us exactly where we supposed to be on the field and for how many counts we were supposed to be there. The drumline always found their places easily, but were not so good at remembering how long they were supposed to be there, or where they were supposed to go next. I think this is because they had a relatively short attention span, and didn't pay attention, but perhaps it was just because they forgot. I have usually been able to remember things easily once I see them written down on paper.


We had learned the first few sets of the first song and were ready to put them together. I pretty much knew what I where I was going and the boys thought they did too. But when the woodblock started beating out the tempo and we started going, I went one way and the boys went the other. Fortunately, I was the one who went with the rest of the band; the boys ended up knocking into everyone else and caused us to start over. This happened set after set after set, usually with the boys banging into me. They'd grumble a "fuck! Sorry," and quickly changed their direction to get back in their place and in step. By the time the day was over, the boys had placed me in the middle of the line so that they could watch where I went and when I went there. They'd laugh and goof off during breaks and then forget the routine once we started up again. It was going to be a long time before the boys got it...and we still hadn't marched and played our instruments at the same time yet.

Group Pee

We had been practicing for a while. The drumline is not only the heartbeat of the band, but its ego as well. We were determined to be the best in the band, so we usually came to practice early (not that much more would be done... coming to practice early was a way to get out excess energy so that the boys could focus during the actual practice hours). But on this particular day, we were focused. We had been making good strides and the boys were talking to me (a rare occasion). Suddenly the section leader dropped his sticks and said, "I gotta pee. Group pee guys, take a break." The boys filled in line behind the section leader and began to walk towards the bathroom. One of the bass drummers, seeing that I feel behind, turned and said, "C'mon, it's a group pee." Another guy on the bass line turned and looked at him, laughed, and said, "Dude, she can't come into the guys room."

"Oh yeah...sorry."

I just shook my head and watched them march off together. They came back a minute later, and, determined to make me feel like I was part of the group pee, showed me a picture of all them standing at the urinals. A nice thought, I suppose...they were at least trying to include me.

Underwear Run

I was late for rehearsal. It very rarely happens, but on this particular day, I was late. As I ran into the school, I could hear the boys practicing...of course the day I was late, they started practice on time. I calmly walked into the auditorium to make it seem like I meant to be late and immediately turned and walked back out again. When I walked in, I beheld a sight that completely shocked me. The boys' pants were around their ankles. The stood there, playing their drums and marching in place in the boxers.

When they saw me and my reaction they immediately stopped playing and started laughing. I'm not sure if it was at my expense or if they were embarrassed, but they laughed and I had no idea what to do. The section leader turned to me and said casually, "You can join in if you like." I laughed and politely declined as the boys put quickly put their pants on and waited for me to get my drum.

Apparently the underwear run had been a long time tradition of the line. My presence obviously stopped that from happening and the boys decided to take advantage of my absence and continue the ritual. It was going to be a long time before I discovered all of the manly traditions of the drumline...

Adaptation Part 1

After trying my hardest for 2 years, I finally became the first girl in my high school marching band to make the drumline in...a long time. They put me on the bass drum, which was half the size of me and weighed a ton, but what did I care? I made it.

Many of the boys had been on the drumline for their entire high school career and were very closely bonded. A feminine presence completely threw them for a loop and it was fun for a second to watch them try to adapt to the change.

The music was given to us and we went to work...as soon as the boys stopped the game of drum head Frisbee they were so diligently playing. I studied the music as they dove over the auditorium seats and realized that the marching bass was a lot different than the concert bass. Willing to give it a try, and hoping my ability to count to 4 would not leave me, I went and stood behind my bass drum, introducing myself and hoping it would be a compatible relationship. The boys soon got bored, as they always did, and came up to join me.

After warm-ups, we began to focus on the music (and by focus, I mean play two measures, take a break, and play another two). When we actually did play, they treated me like I had never seem a drum or a music note before. It was rather demeaning, but after I just played it, they left me alone, with a look mixed with surprise and embarrassment.

Because of the years the boys spent together, they had a particular way of communicating with each other when mistakes were made, or when something was actually played right. Vulgar words and gestures would often escape their lips and bodies and make their way through the line, and inside jokes were often told. The brotherhood between the boys was something I was not used to. I had been around boys like them long enough to know what behavior to expect, but I was not prepared to witness the brother-from-another-mother atmosphere that had been created.

Half way through the swearing and gesturing, I guess my invisibility cloak fell off because they noticed I was there and rapidly started apologizing for their behavior. This was another thing I was not used to either. I had always been 'one of the boys' because my love for technical theater, archery, and rock climbing usually attracted the male demographic. I was unprepared for the apology and didn't quite know what to say. A shrug of my shoulders was all I could do and we went, all with red, embarrassed faces, back to the drums to avoid the awkward moment.

Looks like we all have adapting to do!