Midnight Confession

OK, OK, it's not midnight but here's my confession all the same (and yes, I just really like that song and it's in my head this morning).

When I was in high school (AND my first two years of college!), I was in the marching band. Only the biggest geeks were in band. If you played an instrument and had any cool, any sophistication, you were in orchestra. If you wanted to be part of the big football doings, if you wanted to be in the parades and were even the teensiest bit à la mode you became a baton twirler or a cheerleader.

Had I, as a tiny sprout, planned and dreamed of the day when I’d get to don an ill fitting, uncomfortable, quasi military uniform? Did I marvel at the wonders and beauty of military march music? Did white bucks turn me on something fierce?

Em...

The uniform/costume? No. That’s it. Just NO.

The music? Quite the reverse. Actually though, gotta say, I came to really love Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever — for the piccolo part of course.

White bucks a turn on? Though there may have been one or two Pat Boone aspirants, most of us would’ve died before being seen off the field or parade route wearing these horrid things.

So WHY then was I in the damned group. //shrugs// I was a lonely kid — it was a way to be part of the crowd, to be around people and get out of my parent's noisy, fraught house. Plus, I didn’t think I could opt out of marching but still be in band. I wanted to be involved in all possible music ensembles since that would be my major in college.

Here’s the thing — during football season, the games were played every Friday night. It rained every single damned Friday in our little Western Pennsylvania town. Dunno why. My thought at the time was that, possibly, if a god existed, he/she was pronouncing judgement on our little past time. The drenching downpours, the inescapable drizzles were, basically, god’s moue of distaste.

I enjoy hearing how my fellow bandoleers turned out — it's captivating even. Leslie (baton twirler) is a fitness trainer/consultant by day, chanteuse by night in Los Angeles. Pete (trombone) teaches biology at a small mid-western college. Ross (trumpet) was a welder and sculptor in Providence, Rhode Island — he was killed by a drunk driver before he turned 30. Rick, (tenor sax) retired from the physics fields early and lives la vida buena in Costa Rica. Connie (head twirler) sells girdles on a home shopping network in Minneapolis. Craig (trombone) is some kind of big deal engineer type in Northern California — happily married with two gorgeous daughters.

It’s all about the story for me. I want to hear/read how lives unfold. I suppose this is why I read so much fiction.