Personal Narrative: My First Marching Band

When someone thinks back on their high school memories, they might think of the big football jocks or the preppy cheerleaders that probably shouldn’t even be cheering, but for me, I’ll being thinking of the best times of my life. It all started when I was just starting 7th grade. I was visiting my mother for Christmas break. As we watched the short parade slowly make its way down main street , I saw my first marching band. As cliche as it sounds, hearing the energy and feeling the enjoyment radiate from those musicians made me realize what I wanted to do. After this point, I begged my father for an instrument. Now I don’t know about you but when I was in middle school we were forced to learn how to play the recorder. As a small socially awkward person, I really grew to enjoy playing it, so naturally, I picked up the clarinet. It took me a day to get a sound out of it but I got a handle on things. Since I joined band in 8th grade, I was behind everyone else by two and a half years and had to teach myself. Most of my classmates laughed at me because I wasn’t as technically advanced as them but that didn’t set me back.

I was too scared to raise my hand to ask to join but I went to my teacher after class for more information. I’m so glad I put my hand up, it was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. So in 8th grade, I marched my cheap clarinet in the high school marching band. During my freshman year at band camp, I ended up getting sick and went home. On that same day, the drill for our show was rewritten and guess who was left out. The next day I didn’t have a place on the field so I was thrown into the front ensemble and was handed a fat mallet and was told to smack a giant gong and beat a bass