Memoirs of a Drum Major

My first experience at a marching competition.

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Memoirs of a Drum Major

Melissa Pardock, Copy & Opinion Editor in Chief

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It’s Saturday, October 19. I pull into Hoover’s parking lot with my mom, feeling rather apprehensive. ‘Why?’ you may ask. Well, for the first time in over a decade Hoover’s marching band is competing at the state level. I’m especially nervous due to the fact that I’m a drum major and partly in charge.

The next hour passed in a virtual blur. The only thing I remember doing was fixing my hair in the bathroom with my friends, then next thing I knew, I was on a school bus bound for Waukee.

On that bus ride, the entire season flashed before my eyes. All the mornings that we were outside marching at 8:00 AM, the three weeks of our summer we sacrificed to be at band camp for three hours a day and every single second of work we put in to get to this point.

As we approached the competition field, uniforms on and instruments at the ready, I couldn’t help but feel a ginormous sense of pride before we even stepped foot onto the field. It had been years since our band had been here. This day had been looming over us for months, but we deserved to be there. We made it.

The competition itself, again, flew by. We ran our show and marched off the field, pride swelling in each and every one of us. We took our pictures, took off our uniforms, and watched a few other bands perform before we made our way back to our school.

I was, and quite frankly still am, baffled. Our score was exactly what we were aiming for, and we spent the day surrounded by and competing alongside bands we used to dream of being like. Not only was this the beginning of a Hoover band tradition, it was a dream come true. I have never been more grateful nor proud, and I’m ecstatic for what future seasons will bring us.

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