I was going to write about my beginnings as a writer but I already did that here. I thought I could post the poem I wrote in elementary school that was published in the local paper (technically the first thing I ever published. And also the only thing. But whatever) but as I was looking through the photo album in which the news clipping lives, I came across a photo of my high school band. It was a photo op with our senator at the time, George Mitchell, during our trip to Washington D.C.. We're sitting on the Capitol steps in our god-awful uniforms (thankfully sans hats), all of us smiling (well, most of us smiling), all young and full of potential.
Had I the ability to share this photo with you, I would. But as I am currently without scanner technology, I cannot. And my haircut has nothing to do with it. I actually look kind of cute in the picture. Despite the band uniform.
But anyway, this picture has inspired me to tell you the story of how I came to join the high school band.
The opportunity to learn musical instruments through the school system started in the fifth grade. It was an optional thing. If one was interested, they could rent (to own) an instrument and join either the band or the orchestra. Percussion, the saxophone and the violin were the most popular and while I had a little spark of interest, I ultimately joined neither. I'm not sure it ever occurred to any of my siblings or me that we could really do such a thing. So we didn't.
My best friends did. One of them, a girl named MJ, played the flute. Another girl, Heidi, played the trombone. Jamie played percussion.
I played softball. Badly.
Then came the seventh grade. I walked into the junior high that first day, went to my homeroom and received my schedule. Imagine my surprise when the first class I was scheduled to attend was band.
"But I don't play an instrument," I told my homeroom teacher. I think his name was Mr. Leighton.
"I don't know what to tell you," Mr. Leighton said. "You'll have to talk to the guidance office."
So I talked to the guidance office. Apparently, they had gotten me confused with MJ. It happened a lot during our high school years because we shared the same last name and a very similar first name. It came in handy later on in our high school careers when one of us wanted to skip a class. (not that we ever did that...) So the guidance office agreed to take me out of band. However, the guidance office told me I would have to attend band rehearsals until they figured out what to do with my schedule.
So I went to band and I explained to the teacher, Mrs. MacIntyre, that my enrollment was a mistake. That I didn't play an instrument. Any instrument. Nor could I read music. I was currently the most useless member of the entire band. So Mrs. MacIntyre sent me to the back of the room where I spent a week sitting on the heater and listening to the band learn whatever songs they were learning.
By the end of the week, the guidance office had finally figured out what to do with me but there was one small hitch: I'd been bitten by the music bug and I wanted to learn an instrument and be a part of the band for real.
I ended up learning the clarinet because my aunt had one from her student days that I could use. Mrs. MacIntyre spent so much of her spare time teaching me. I didn't even know how to read music. I didn't know anything and I was two years behind the rest of her students. But she got me there and by the time I graduated from high school, I was first chair clarinet. I also learned to play the flute, oboe, trombone, trumpet and piano. I learned to conduct (poorly) and even composed my own music. I even played in college for a while until the schedule conflicted with my ability to earn a degree.
But my life was completely changed that seventh grade year. And all because of a clerical error and the dedication of one teacher.
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Thanks for L.G. Keltner for creating and hosting a very cool blogfest. Be sure to check out her blog and the tales of the other participants!