My senior year! I’d made it. I was a senior. Me. So why did I remember so distinctly the feelings I’d had as a freshman, walking up to the school for the first time? But they were memories only. I wasn’t that same kid any longer. I didn’t feel the fear and uncertainty I did then, I merely remembered the feelings. I knew who I was a lot more now, and, surprisingly—and this thought struck me with dawning realization—I kind of liked him!
A few other kids waved and smiled at me, and I responded, but for the most part, I was one of over a thousand kids coming to school that day. Just one of the crowd.
Even though I was walking with Becky and Kevin, and they were chatting away, I was more absorbed in my own thoughts of the past than what they were saying. I couldn’t help but think about how I’d been back then, a scared freshman, walking up this same walk, walking up these same front steps and into the same school, all alone, timid and fearful. I’d let those fears control me. I thought of how, in those same situations where I’d fallen apart then, I’d do things differently now. I knew how to act better, and had a better understanding of how other kids operated, and I knew better how to stand up for myself. If the exact same things happened now, the outcome would be much different. Because I was different.
And that understanding brought another insight, one that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with, one I’d have to think more about. It was that with all the trouble I’d had, it was more my fault than anyone else’s. I could see now, once I stripped the ego away, once I mentally stepped back from it and looked at it dispassionately, that had I reacted differently, things wouldn’t have got as bad as they had. That was a sobering thought, because in the past I’d blamed it all on my tormentors.
With that insight, though, came another uncomfortable mental bump. If what I’d just realized was true, it also meant something else, something just as disquieting, just as sobering. It meant that the person who was responsible for whether I was happy, or proud of myself, was me. It wasn’t some kid who picked on me or challenged me. It wasn’t some teacher who embarrassed me in front of other kids. That those things happened was not under my control. How I responded to them was. Whether I let them emotionally devastate me or whether I accepted them, did the best I could dealing with them and maintained an even keel, that was up to me. I suddenly saw that I was the one who controlled how I ultimately felt about myself, through my actions and how I handled myself.
I was brought back to earth when Kevin, walking beside me, bumped me intentionally. He wasn’t as tall as I was yet, though he seemed to think he was. His long blond hair sparkled in the sun. His smile was radiant.
“Better turn the volume down on that ugly grimace, kid. You’ll scare the women and children with your fangs,” I responded.
He snorted. “You just wish you were half as good looking as I am.”
“Well, you wish you were half as tall as I am.”
“Tall? I don’t see any tall guys around here. Who are you talking about?”
“Screw you. You’re a shrimp and always will be.”
“Just keep telling yourself that, Matt. I’ll probably pass you sometime this year. I think I’ve just started my major growth spurt. I had to bend down to see myself in the mirror this morning when I was brushing my hair. It’s just starting. Very soon now, I’ll be tall, light and handsome and probably get a whole new set of friends, good ones this time, and get rid of you losers for good.” He had a lofty, aloof look on his face, and I could see the merriment he was attempting to guard from me in his eyes, eyes which he kept trying to hide from me.
I’d always loved his eyes. I’d always felt I could see all the way into his soul looking at them.
Becky was walking on the other side of me. She rolled her eyes to the heavens, then snuck around behind me and pinched Kevin.
“Ow, what the fu…”
“Language!” both Becky and I yelled, as we’d both seen Principal Cochran coming up behind us. We stopped, and he passed us, frowning at Kevin. I don’t think he’d forgotten him.
The three of us separated at the front door, each heading for our own lockers, Kevin telling me he’d see me at lunch. Then I walked off to my homeroom and the start of another year. It was a special feeling for me, because this was the beginning of my last one. And that awareness seemed to be with me all the time, at least all that day. I guessed it might dissipate once the routine of school was again established.
Sitting in homeroom, waiting for the announcements to begin, I glanced over my schedule one more time. All AP courses, with two exceptions: gym and marching band. I didn’t have to take gym, it was optional, but I enjoyed it, and it was a class where I could be with Kevin. Dad had used some of his pull and we’d both arranged so we had gym together during the same period. I’d also signed up for marching band. I’d enjoyed it last year, and I felt that being a senior, I probably wouldn’t be given a hard time by any band officers if I didn’t march exactly as we were supposed to. Besides, Becky was in it again this year, and she’d pressured me into signing up. She’d kept making this strange noise that she said was a chicken clucking, but I’d told her that it sounded more like a dyspeptic frog with laryngitis. Anyway, I was in the marching band again.
Marching band was the last period of the day. Mr. T. had worked it out that way so that when we were practicing out on the field, he could keep us there and we’d be able to drill our marching skills for more than just an hour each day.
When I walked into the band room that afternoon, I was met with the happy noise of kids seeing each other again after a long summer. Mr. T. was up in front and a bunch of kids were gathered around him, all talking with animation. I spotted Becky talking with two other girls. Then I turned and looked at the white board, where Mr. T. had written: Welcome, Marching Band in huge, colorful letters. On the left hand side of the board there were a list of ten names, and I was surprised to see my name among them. I read them again, and then realized it was a list of the band’s officers. Band officers weren’t very important in concert band, but in marching band we did have some specific responsibilities.
In the upper right hand corner I saw Mr. T. had written Gioioso con brio e spirito!
I was still making sure what that meant when someone thumped me hard on the shoulder, and when I turned around to see who it was with a scowl on my face, Becky laughed and then gave me a quick hug.
She looked at what I’d been looking at, and asked, “What does that mean? You probably know, don’t you?”
“Mostly. I think it means joyful or joyous, that’s gioioso, and the con brio e spirito means with liveliness and spirit. I think he’s giving us a musical direction to be happy.”
Mr. T. raised his hands, and we’d learned well what that meant, all except the freshmen, and the rest of us quieted them quickly. The chairs were set up on the risers in long semicircular rows, all facing the front. We all sat down, not by sections but just all intermingled. I sat next to Becky.
“Welcome, all of you,” Mr. Tollini began. “We’ll begin marching drills in just a few minutes. For the first few days, we’ll march without instruments just to get the basics down. As in the past, the band officers will do most of the instruction, though anyone can talk to me whenever they want to. We want to look really professional this year, and we also want all of you to be proud of your band and to have fun. The better we look out there, the prouder you’ll be.
“We have one important piece of business to conduct before marching drills begin. For you freshmen, I need to tell you that we picked band officers for this year at the end of last year. Mostly these people are from different sections in the band, and they’re all good people and serious musicians. They are upperclassmen and know what we do and how we do it, and they’re there to help you. I can’t be helping 40 of you guys all at once out on the field, we don’t have time for that, so that’s what they’re there for. If they give you instructions, you should pay attention to them. Please do that.
“Now, the one thing we didn’t do last year was pick a band captain. He, or she, is the head officer, the one the other officers defer to. The captain will set the tone for the marching band. I’d like to hear nominations. The band officers are listed on the board, and the nominations should be from that list.”
Becky immediately stood up and said, “I nominate Matt Tucker.”
Damn! Why’d she do that! I didn’t want that job. All the band captains I’d known had been big guys who were kind of intimidating and tended to be the tyrannical type of leader. I was about to stand up and decline, when what John Graves had said came back to me. He’d said I had natural leadership ability. I hadn’t thought much about it, but did realize I’d been pretty much in control of the kids in my group this summer, and that I’d been pretty happy in that role. Yeah, they were 10 and 11, mostly, and these were high-school kids, but what the hell? I wouldn’t get elected anyway. So, I stayed in my seat.
Three more names were called, and that was it. Mr. T. had us all go outside in preparation for a voice vote. One of the four of us, Keith Rodgers, was a trombone player and a big guy, at least six foot three. I myself had grown over the summer and I now was six feet tall. Really, this time—I was. But Keith was considerably taller than I was, and bigger around, too. I thought he’d make a good captain, if a large presence was important to the job, but worried a little that he’d be too much like his predecessors. There was a little bit of the bully in him, and I could easily see him scaring the freshmen.
We stood around and chatted for much longer than I thought we would. I thought they’d just vote with a show of hands and we’d be back inside in less than five minutes. It was over 20 before a kid came and told us to come back in. We walked in and went back to our chairs, and Mr. T. announced that I’d been chosen captain.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to do at that point. I stood up, a little undecidedly, and then realized if I was captain, I needed to show a little more character than that. So I stood straight, turned and smiled and waved at everyone, and then when Mr. T. asked me to come down front, I did so. He called down the other officers as well, then spoke to the rest of the band.
“Okay, guys. Matt and the officers need to have a meeting right now. The rest of you, let’s go outside to the football field and we’ll get started learning, or for most of you, relearning, how to march five yards in eight steps.”
Mr. T. pulled me aside as the rest of the kids were noisily making their way off the risers and out the side door. “Matt, you know how this works, you saw it last year, and your freshman year, too. The officers work with a number of kids each, teaching them how to march, how to stand at attention, how to make precision turns, how to hold their instruments, all that stuff. Just how they teach kids to do that, that’s for you to decide. In the past, I haven’t been real happy with the attitude of some of the officers. They seemed to think they were Army drill sergeants. It’s up to you to tell the officers how you want them to instruct their groups of kids.”
“Uh, Mr. Tollini, what if I tell them what I want, and they ignore it and do things their way? What if they just roll their eyes or something.”
He didn’t answer right away, just looked at me, and I realized I probably should have thought about that a little before asking it. That was my worrying talking. If I needed him to answer that, it meant my insecurities had taken over, and I probably couldn’t be an effective band captain if I was so unsure of myself.
“Wait, please,” I said as he was opening his mouth. “Let me try this and see how it works. Then, if I need your help with anything specific, I’ll ask about it, okay?”
He got a big smile on his face and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re going to do great, Matt,” he said, meeting my eyes with his.
By then, most of the kids were at least off the risers and creating a traffic jam at the door. The other officers had collected in a group on the side of the room away from the door. I walked over to them.
“Guys, let’s pull ten chairs down and put them in a circle here on the floor, then talk.” I reached up and grabbed two chairs, the others pitched in, and pretty quickly we were sitting in a circle. The room was finally clearing, and I waited a moment or two till we were alone and the room was quiet.
“Okay. Good. Guys, in the past, the officers during drill exercises have always been no-nonsense, tough-as- nails, drill-instructor types. I don’t know how you guys were, but as a freshman, I was really scared at first, really intimidated. I didn’t have much fun in marching band that year. I was always worrying I’d get out of step or move to the wrong place and get yelled at. Did any of you go through that?”
Five of my fellow officers were nodding, and a couple said, “Yeah,” and “I remember
that.” I looked at
Keith. He shook his head, but was wearing a small grin. “I don’t remember that at all,” he said,
trying to keep a straight face.
“Were you bigger than the guy training you?” I asked with a smile on my face.
“Actually, it was a girl, and yeah, I was probably a foot taller than she was. She tried yelling at me, and I just looked at her, then scowled. So she went away and yelled at someone else.” He laughed, and I did too.
I let my gaze travel over all of them again. “Okay guys, the thing is this: I don’t want us to work that way this year. I don’t want any of these kids scared of us. I want them all to have fun, and I think we can teach them how to march without yelling at them. They’ll want to march as well as the other kids, so that motivation is already there. Anyway, I want to try this. Is there anyone here who thinks they can’t do that? Who isn’t willing to try to be really friendly and laugh with them and be their buddies instead of shouting at them and being sarcastic?”
I looked at each person, and they all were nodding. So far, so good.
“Okay, any questions? We’ll start today by breaking the entire band into nine groups, which means each of you will get 11 or 12 kids. One exception is all the snare drummers and bass drums should be in the same group with you, Gary. Most of you are section leaders, and we’ll get as many kids from your section into your group as possible. Today’s order of business is to make sure everyone can march eight by five. If someone can’t, work with him individually while your other kids practice it. If you’re having trouble getting anyone to do it right, don’t get mad at him; don’t get angry or sarcastic. Praise his effort, because anyone screwing up will certainly be more frustrated than you are and will really be trying. Try marching beside him; that might help. Call me over if you need help because nothing’s working with one or some of them. I’ll collect all the kids who are having problems with this into a separate group and we’ll see if we can work out the problems where all the other kids won’t be seeing us. Okay, if there aren’t any questions, let’s go do it.”
“Matt?” One of the officers had a question.
“Jesse?” Jesse had been an officer last year. He was one of the guys who had lead by intimidation.
“What if we’re being nice and talking to someone and he starts to give us a hard time, or purposely shows attitude and won’t cooperate. What if they don’t work hard? Before, if we thought someone was slacking, we could shake them up. We won’t be doing that now. So, if we need to get through to someone, what do we do?”
As I opened my mouth to answer, it occurred to me that that was basically the same question I had asked Mr. T. Jesse was worried that perhaps he wouldn’t be respected by the kids under his control. I grinned at him. “Jesse, I’d say play it by ear. What I don’t want to do is yell at them, or act any way other than pleasantly. There are several ways you can try to get cooperation. Yelling is the worst. But try every way you can think of, and if nothing works, let me know if nothing works, and I’ll see what other things can be worked out. We can always recommend a kid be kicked out of marching band, but if we do that, we’re failing. We’re failing the kid and we’re failing ourselves. There’ll almost always be a way to get through to someone. Sometimes, even a joke and a laugh will do it. There’s almost always a way to get through to people. We just have to try hard to find it. We don’t gain anyone’s respect by intimidating him. We get it by showing we empathize and care.
“I can recommend one thing for sure, though. If you get one kid that really seems to be giving you attitude and won’t cooperate, don’t face him in the middle of a group. That puts too much pressure on you and gives too much support to him. Pull him aside. Move with him to where it’s just the two of you. Then talk to him, and ask him, very pleasantly, if he realizes he’s disrupting what you’re doing, and if there’s a reason why. Usually, a kid won’t be nearly so combative if it’s one on one. I did this a couple times this summer, and I know it really works. But, if you do this and it doesn’t work, tell him to stay where he is, alone from the group, and come get me.”
No one else had a question, so we walked outside, ready to take charge, even if it didn’t involve kicking ass and taking no prisoners. As we walked out, I wondered why I could answer Jesse’s question, when I’d just asked the same one myself of Mr. T? I guessed I still didn’t have as much self-confidence as I’d have liked. But I felt good about the answer I’d come up with for Jesse.
◊ ◊
It was late. I’d been at school late working with the band, and afterwards talking to Mr. T. That had taken some extra time. Then, after dinner, I’d had to read a homework chapter of my Economics text and a chapter for English Lit. Both teachers had let us know in our first class with them that theirs were AP courses, and if we thought just because we were seniors we’d be having a cakewalk this semester, perhaps a little homework would disabuse us of our amusing and precocious naiveté. Or words to that effect. And then they’d dumped the homework on us. On the first day of school!
I was talking to Kevin on the phone. He’d been with all new classmates this year. His last year’s classmates were all taking sophomore classes this year, while he was now with the juniors. He said a couple guys and several girls had questioned him, thinking he’d be a sophomore, too, and that they’d all been friendly, friendlier than last year’s bunch had been.
Then I asked him what he’d found out from Becky.
I was using him as a spy. When I’d walked home with Becky after practice, I’d happened to ask her why the voting took so long, since it should have taken only moments. She’d dithered a bit, then said Mr. T. had told them all not to discuss the vote with the candidates.
Imagine how I’d received that little tidbit. This was Becky and me! So I’d started in on her, sure she’d cave, and lo and behold, I hadn’t been able to get her to say any more about it than she already had, or in other words, nothing.
Which of course only served to fire up my curiosity. So, getting nowhere with her—and believe me, I tried— I’d brought in my secret weapon. Kevin.
I’d called him when I’d got home and told him about being elected band captain, and that Becky was keeping a secret from me, which was what went on in the band room before they took a vote on which candidate to choose. I’d asked him if he thought he could be sneaky enough to find out without letting her know it was me who was wondering what had happened. I’d thought asking that way would get his ego involved, and it had. He’d said he’d find out for me.
From what he was saying on the phone now, it seemed he’d been successful. “I was sneaky, as requested. I told her I’d heard a rumor that you’d been chosen librarian of the band, and wanted to know if that was true because I wanted to tease you about having to hand out all the music,” he told me. “That was all it took. I think she was eager to tell someone, and she split wide open and spilled the beans.”
“Spilled the beans? Kevin, have you been watching the Classic Movies channel again?”
“Hey, I’ve got to do something to keep me occupied at night. My boyfriend sure won’t.”
“Don’t start! So tell me. What’d she say?”
“Well, when you guys all left the room, Mr. Tollini asked if anyone would like to speak about any of the candidates, to tell the band why they’d be a good band captain. The people that had nominated the other three guys all stood up and did that, saying things like, ‘He’s a great guy,’ or ‘he’s a good musician and loves the band,’ or ‘he’s a senior and been in the marching band all four years and has always wanted to be band captain.’ Then Becky stood up, and she spoke for a while, which is why it took so long.”
“What did she say?”
“She was kind of emotional, telling me about it. She said she told everyone that last year you’d been asked to play a concerto with the band, the first time in the history of the school that anyone in the band had been given this opportunity. That you rehearsed the piece, memorized it, planned to play it, and then changed your mind. You did so because you realized that the other kids sitting in the first row of first clarinets were good players, long time members of the band and deserving of recognition, too. You wanted to share the honor of performing with the band with them. You got Mr. Tollini to agree with what you wanted to do, then rehearsed with these players, and instead of taking all the glory for yourself, you shared it with Monica, Stephanie and Jason. She told them that by doing this, you’d sacrificed personal glory to promote other band members. She said that’s exactly what they should want in a band captain, someone who will put the band and its members ahead of his own aspirations, and that you’d already demonstrated that you had the character to do that.
“After that, she said Mr. Tollini called for voice votes for all the candidates. He called your name last. When he called it, everyone in the band shouted yes, and even stamped their feet on the risers. And that’s how you got to be band captain, and why it took so long.”
I didn’t know what to say. But I’d think of something by the time I saw Becky tomorrow.
◊ ◊
It was a week later when Mr. T. called me in to talk with him during my study hall. He was in the band room, sorting out music. He smiled at me, and then surprised me by starting to rant.
“Matt, this has never happened before, and I don’t know what to do! In the past two days, I’ve got new kids coming to me wanting to join the band. We’re already in practice, and now new kids want to join up. I don’t know if we’ll have time to train them. This could be a disaster. And it’s all your fault!”
“Huh?” Okay, not the most brilliant of responses, but I hadn’t been ready for this.
He looked at me, his face angry, and then he suddenly smiled, then laughed. I was really confused and must have looked it, because he laughed harder.
I just watched him, standing there feeling silly, till he finally calmed down enough to speak.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I was teasing you. Although this is your fault.”
“My fault? I don’t get it.”
“Simple. Because of the way you’re treating all the kids in the band, because of how the officers are treating them because of you, I now have ten kids wanting to join. They told me they’d heard from their friends that there’s no hazing this year, no intimidation and yelling, and they want to join. They’re all musicians, all have had lessons and played in their middle school bands, and just hadn’t signed up for marching band because of what they’d heard freshmen have had to go through.
“Matt, I’m not upset at all. Instead, I’m delighted. The larger a marching band, the more exciting it is and the more things you can do with it. I’m thinking now that next summer, I’m going to have a marching band camp where we can bring everyone in a week or two before school starts and learn basic marching and then probably some more advanced stuff. We never had enough kids to justify that before, but with what you’re doing, I think word will go around and we’ll have even more kids wanting to join next year. I couldn’t be happier than to have these new kids coming in now and joining.”
He stopped for a moment, calming down a bit, then spoke again, sounding reflective. “I’ve always had mixed feelings about marching band. When I first started teaching here, I thought of it as something to do till football’s over and we can get to concert band; it’s never been that high on my list. But this year, the band is enthusiastic, the kids are really trying hard to look sharp and learn the routines, and it’s made me realize that we might be able to do something special with this.
“I called you in to thank you. I think we’re right at the beginning of making marching band a big thing at this school. And you get most of the credit.”
I was embarrassed. I didn’t say anything at first, but then surprised myself with what I said. “Mr. Tollini, you deserve much more credit than I do. You’ve believed in me when there wasn’t much to believe in, and you’ve guided me along the way. You let me try things, like the four of us playing that piece last year, like changing the way the band officers work with the marching band. Most adults don’t give kids that much freedom. If things are working out well, it’s because of what you’ve done to encourage them.”
He blinked. I don’t think he was expecting that. But he said, “Matt, I don’t give everyone that much freedom. I gave it to you because you’re you. I knew you could do what you’ve done. I don’t know how I knew that, but you project something, and it gives me confidence in you. I trust you. I always have.”
He stuck out his hand, but instead of shaking it, I reached out and hugged him, just briefly. Then, with both of us blushing a little, I went back to study hall. I heard him yelling at me down the hall as I walked away, “You’re going to have to work hard with these newcomers. It’s all your fault they’re here late!”
I laughed.