Yesterday, a comment exchange on a fellow blogger’s post (Hi Tracie!) led me to think about my days in band. So, with that said, did I ever tell you that I used to play the trumpet?
When I lived in Georgia, the transition to middle school had me picking out a band instrument. Nobody made me take band, I wanted to. And truthfully, I don’t know what made me pick the trumpet. But I did. Playing in the band in the 6th grade was so cool! We played a medley of Queen songs during our spring concert. “We Will Rock You” and “Another One Bites the Dust” just hits different when you’re one instrument among a whole array of them playing your heart out.
My parents and I moved to North Carolina after the 6th grade. The middle school I landed at didn’t have kids starting band until the 7th grade. That meant I was a year ahead. I remember my mom met with the principal to discuss the idea of me having band class with the 8th grade that year. Ultimately, I stayed in my grade. And then proceeded to make all the other trumpet players super irritated with me. In band, we had weekly playing tests. We’d be assigned a couple lines of music from our practice book and then the next week, one by one, we’d play those lines solo in front of the whole class and the teacher. We’d get a grade for it. And then our seats in our respective sections were determined by the order of our grades. First chair was much coveted, because that meant you sat at the end of the row. Naturally, since I was a year ahead of everybody, I won first chair every week. Except for once in a while when I’d blow the test on purpose and absolutely not try, and for one week, one of my fellow trumpeters would get first chair. I always made sure to regain my seat when it got close to a concert. Couldn’t be sitting anywhere other than first chair for that!
I have so many stories and memories from playing in the band for those three years of middle school. It was really fun. And I can honestly start some of those stories with, “This one time…at band camp…” because after the 7th grade, I really did go to band camp that summer. Fun fact, I got swimmers ear during camp and during our final performance, I had a hard time playing because I was seated in front of the timpani which was loud and made my ears hurt, plus just trying to blow into my trumpet was a nightmare given the force of the air blowing out and the pressure on my ears. Ugh! Misery!
I didn’t continue playing into high school. I opted to join JROTC instead of the marching band. I wonder how my high school experience would have differed had I joined the marching band. They were an entirely different group of people than the ones I hung out with.
During my years as a teacher, I always watched the band students at my school play and felt a deep nostalgia. The way they laid their instruments across their laps until the band director stepped to the podium. Then raising them to their lips when she raised the baton. It always tugged at my heart strings.
I sold my trumpet probably 20 years ago. But when I told the band teacher at my old school that I used to play, she surprised me one day by bringing me her son’s old trumpet for me to borrow. She invited me to join the kids when they played their Christmas concert. It was after Covid, when the kids were still required to wear masks at school. She had special masks made for all the kids. There was a slot in the fabric designed for them to put their instrument mouthpieces so they could still be masked while they played (never mind the saliva that flies out of the end of the instruments when playing. They don’t call it a spit valve for nothing). She even had a mask made for me with my name across it. For a few days, I really did practice and entertain the idea of playing with the band kids. I know they probably would have loved it as much as I did, but teaching responsibilities and impending grad school had me too distracted. Ultimately, I thanked the band teacher and returned the trumpet.
Maybe one day I’ll buy another one, for that proverbial “old time’s sake”. There’s a music store where band kids go for their instruments not far down the road from my house.
So, in conclusion, I really did used to play the trumpet. I still remember how. When I was practicing for those few days, I remembered all the finger positions for the notes going up and down the scale. My lips got nice and swollen from the mouthpiece, but I remembered.
Also, no post that mentions the word “nostalgia” would be complete without a throwback picture. I just went searching through a box of pictures, one of many, in the hopes of finding any picture with me and a trumpet. I don’t think a good one exists. There was never a picture of me posing with it, or one where my mom snuck up on me practicing and stole a picture. All I found was a picture that my mom took of the whole band at one of my concerts. This was the 90s, so absolutely no zoom on the camera. I’ll have to explain where I am in the picture. Please disregard the black, Sharpie heart around my first boyfriend. Which now that I think about it, makes this picture from the 7th grade. We didn’t last into the 8th grade. Side note—I found a lot of good pictures in this box. So if ever a daily prompt comes up that asks what my generation looked like, I have the quintessential early 90s picture to share. Seriously, it doesn’t get more early 90s than this. But I digress. Here is the best band picture I could find of myself. Look at my 7th grade love in the heart, then look to the right. There’s a dark haired girl sitting on the end of the row (first chair forever!) holding a trumpet that was quite nicely reflecting the bright gym lights off the brass. That’s me, in all my band geek glory. I can hear this picture, by the way.
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