“Stay focused.”

“Keep your instrument warm.”

“Imagine yourself in the show.”

Those were the words that had been spoken over a thousand times that night, and that was the mantra that floated through my head as I stood at parade rest outside the football field at Dublin Coffman High School, just waiting.

  It was 7:00 pm and the WHS Marching Band, my marching band, was just about to take the field for the Ohio State Finals. We’d worked since literally the third week of July for this, and now it was October 31, and we were here.

  I was unspeakably nervous, something that I usually never am. I could see clearly that everyone was. My section leader Meagen Brausch was uncharacteristically serious as my section huddled together after warm-up. Positive words covered up our nervousness, but our excitement could almost be felt. We were ready.

  I could hear the band before us performing on the field, but I tried my best to tune them out. I was in a bubble where nothing but the show could interfere. My fingers worked furiously over my clarinet, going through hundreds of fingerings, practicing for the last time all the notes, rests, beats, and runs that were thoroughly ingrained in my head.

At last, the time came, and with a slight stumble the line moved forward. It was so surreal, walking onto the edge of the field, the stands opposite us filled with spectators. The next few minutes seemed to be a blur. Everything was leading up to one moment. We played through our warm-up piece and waited.

“Wilmington High School Marching Band, you may take the field for State Marching Band finals.”

The loudspeaker seemed to me like the starting whistle for a horse race. Everyone moved forward and fell into their places on the field. Our field commanders made their salute and ran to their podiums. We stood at attention, and I heard someone behind me mutter, “Stay focused.”

We got the count-off, and on two, our instruments shot up. I heard everyone take a huge breath, and the show started.

  It’s odd, but once I’ve started marching, I can’t tell you exactly what I’m thinking. I recall squeaking on a note and correcting that. Stumbling a bit over my own feet out of nervousness and recovering from that, marching too close to one person and taking smaller steps. And of course, always making sure my shoulders were square.

  But before I knew it, we’d played our final note, and snapped to our poses. I hardly remembered the in-between. I ran to take one of our props, (which was really just a 10 ft. light-pole) off the field, and we exited to applause.

  The Wilmington High School Marching Band, my marching band, received a 2 at state contest.

We were striving for the best possible 1. We didn’t get it. But the experience alone served as my reward. To be ranked among the best from the state of Ohio was truly the best part. This marching band season has proved to me that it’s really not all about individual effort. It doesn’t matter if you do it perfectly when it doesn’t mesh with everyone else. What really matters is when you take the 85 individuals you have, and shape them into one team, one band, and have them work together to perform one perfect show. That, to me, is something truly incredible, and something that I am immensely proud to be part of.