Time and Success
“ And now the Marion Patriot Pride Marching Band presents a portion of its 2012 halftime performance show “A Day”.
I hear the omniscient voice of the Marion Patriots loud and clear
“Shekina Graham, is you band ready to take the field?”
She solutes and begins to dart for her podium as the color guard begins to “wake us up” from our rest. As I stretch and yawn, it hits me. High School. Sophomore year. This is what it all boils down to. Once more the voice begins to speak.
“You may take the field in exabition”
My hands tremble uncontrollably. Beads of sweat begin to take shape on my brow as I approach my first step off. As the sun formation begins to take shape I realize that fear has no place in my heart. Pride, love, and joy quickly jump in to smother fear and its identical twin, nervousness, and step in to take their places.
Scatter drill followed by a quick sharp clean set. I soon conclude that performing this show was no longer a dream, but a reality. And to think, learning how to read notes and rhythms on a page was my first step to success.
The day has finally arrived. The day I have been waiting for since the first day of sixth grade year. I jump out of bed quickly. Eager to arrive to my destination on time, I throw on the first thing I see in my closet, my favorite tinker bell shirt, dark wash jeans, and my brand new Keds. Not knowing what was in store for the rest of the day, nervousness swoops in like a flash flood. A man I had never seen before looks at me and begins to hand me a small black box.
“Dynastiee Lewis?”
“Yes sir.”
I begin to realize that what I had been dreaming of was about to come true. I was about to learn how to play and instrument.
A loud blast from a trombone awakens me from my flash back. Sophomore year again. Mr. McCracken looks at me diligently and begins to correct some of our flaws. I sit back in my chair and focus hard on the music sitting on my stand. I begin to mark the sheet of music. I begin to become mesmerized by the notes until they begin to jumble on the page and become one big unrecognizable blur. And once again I hear myself being lectured.
“ As 7th graders, you all should know the names of the notes by now. But as I have told you all before, learning how to read notes on a page is like learning your times tables. You may not get them all correct, but if you give yourself sometime, you will eventually know them all.
These wise words pile up in one ear and slide directly out the other, like water flowing through a cup with no bottom. I slouch down not wanting to listen to the long dull story. My mind begins to drift off, and my eyes become heavier and heavier.
“Lets run that set one more time, and then we can take a water break.
After school practice. At this point, I hate high school band. The sun was blazing down. Sweat runs down my face like little rivers. I feel Michael patting me on the back.
“You’re doing good girl.”
“Thanks Michael.”
This compliment gives me the integrity to keep going on. My feet hurt. Nothing could have prepared me for the mental anguish I was currently experiencing. We successfully run the set again. Finally, a water break. Accomplishment allows me to drink my water with pride. The cooling sensation tingles my tongue like the air on a cold winter’s day. I realize that we have a small crowd forming in the sophomore parking lot. Being put on public display wasn’t unusual anymore. It was just a sign of accomplishment.
Christmas. My first Christmas concert. It was a sign of a new band, a new group of 6th graders, a new beginning, a new feeling. My heart flutters in my chest. Mr. G gives the crowd a brief message, then a short story on the first song we are about to play. I could care less about the concert at this moment. But I think to myself, just suck it up and get it over with. I take a deep breath, and start playing.
Success. We just scored another touchdown.
“Fight song! Ready, one, two, one, two, ready go!”
Friday night lights buzz along to the tune of night dwelling bugs. All the other sophomores, along with me, become very annoyed with playing the same song 5000 times. The buzzer finally sounds for half time. We are finally released from the stands. I wait for my friends as I contemplate to myself.
“I won’t ever quit band, I refuse to quit band.”
My mind jumbles with these thoughts as I say a few aloud. My circle of friends all nod in agreement. Now that I actually love what I do, the 2 years I have left of high school won’t be so bad after all. I try to catch up with everyone else as they run to the concession stand.
I feel the shakes, and pats on my shoulders. I open one eye, its Michael and Patrick.
“Dynastiee, wake up were home.”
Patrick picks up my backpack and hands it to me over the seat. He smiles and then in a British accent says,
“Here you go Mrs. Lewis”
I reply, “Thank you Bobby”
My voice cracks. I ask Patrick for the time, he tells me 2:30.
I grunt. I really don’t feel like moving but I get up. I gain a small ammount of energy. Home at last. Being home signaled our last trip as a band family. Nothing is processing through my mind at this point but sleep. But as I look back to the past I realize that if it was not for that little back box, I would not be the same Person I am today. That little black box taught me integrity, it also allowed me to release my stress in a new way. Nothing could ever replace that feeling. So many lessons have been learned. So much energy used. So much sweat. Nothing could ever satisfy me as much as being part of the Marion Patriot Pride Marching Band. What we do is special, fun, and not made for many people. I finally found my key to being successful.
I like the way how your so proud to be in the marching band. The shows were great.. i remember. Its great how you go back to sixth grade band, then flashback to our practice and marching. You used great details and elaboration. But Dynastiee.... me and you both know you can't spell.
ReplyDeleteGreat job! I like how you go from when you started to now. You might want to check some of your words and make sure you include all the letters. :)
ReplyDelete