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.