04/17/2025
Why we all did it and have the stories.
Band Camp.
Before last year, those two words would have only taken me to the famous line we can all recite from American Pie. 🤦♀️
I also think I pictured Band Camp as a sleep-away camp, far from the actual school the band students attended.
Enter last year.
My eighth grader, who had spent two years clearly cultivating a love of music and all things percussion and band- decided to give the high school marching band thing a try.
And I'll be honest, I had absolutely no idea what we were in for.
I myself come from a very musical family and took piano growing up. I also played in my middle school band for a few years, and was in choir for a few years in high school.
My mom was a music major, and was our church choir director for a long time, and an amazing soloist. My brother snagged her talent as well, following in her choir and soloist footsteps throughout his entire schooling, and landed in her church choir for many years as well.
So music itself wasn't new to me.
And despite the fact that music was always for sure a secondary hobby to me, I was so excited to watch Zoe find her "thing" in middle school, and secretly and proudly loved that it was in the arts.
My "thing" had been cheerleading and gymnastics, and to say those two things brought me so much joy, so many friendships, and so many memories from the ages of 12 to 18 would be an understatement.
They were truly some of the best times.
And as I watched Zoe find her gift and knack in the percussion life, we dug deeper, with me- knowing HER best times were likely ahead of her.
Her natural talents and a hard work ethic led us to private lessons, and then trying out for a coveted spot on "Jazz Band" at her middle school, and making it.
This past year, she tried out for and made the Northern Kentucky Select Band.
And that didn't come easy.
Despite her talent and work ethic, that goal was a challenge for her.
In a wonderful way.
We worked through tears, near mental breakdowns, a bad attitude, and a whole lot of other angsty teen things they should subject deathrow inmates to.
I parented the **** out of the girl for a two week period, people.
Like picture helping a feral cat through an obstacle course. And staying calm and loving.
But she learned what perseverance was, and that not everything is always going to come easy for her.
My base knowledge of reading music, understanding rythms and tempo, and even practice techniques gave me a nice opportunity to support her through that, and I was thankful for it.
But guys.
Marching Band.
Band Camp.
What in the actual drumline sorcery.
I'll take the feral cat back.
I was not prepared.
When she told me she wanted to try for the high school marching band her eighth grade year, I was stoked.
Not just for her and the opportunity, but for the nostalgia of knowing she'd be playing the band songs I danced to on the track back in my "scarlet-blue, we're for you!" days.
(And guys, they have alumni nights for cheerleaders that I haven't taken advantage of yet. Like, bring on the Aasics and gas up the ambulance- the time is near.)
But I digress.
Marching band, Zoe?!
Let's do this.
She successfully made it and we were elated.
And then.
We had some meeting, or perhaps it was on the Band App... my memory eludes me.
But I got the Band Camp schedule.
So many texts to my friend, Casey, whose daughter had been on marching band the year prior as an eighth grader.
Am I reading this right?!
Four weeks of five 8 hour days?! In July heat?!
They can't miss any?!
Competitions nearly every weekend, like umm, all of fall?!
Possible additions of Saturday rehearsals when competition is near?!
Three days of 2.5 hour rehearsals during the week once school starts?!
What, huh, who?!
When do they sleep, breathe, or see their family?!
Were we insane to do this?!
I was seeing drumsticks, eighth notes, and Dinkles in my sleep.
(And man, Dinkles are ugly by the way. But that's a fight for another day.)
But we were in, and we weren't backing out.
And suddenly, we were in Band Camp.
This tiny, stick-thin child would be dripping, exhausted, and peakish when I picked her up each day.
Many days, she was elated despite that.
Some days, she wasn't and was truly ready to eat and pass out before doing it all again the next day.
She'd slowly eat a Chipotle burrito at the kitchen counter by herself with it dark outside.
And then go to bed.
She talked to me about "seeing stars" during band camp, and I shot off texts to her director and percussion teacher.
They responded beautifully of course, and gave the entire band a talk about how important it was to not hide that, and to tell them when they needed a break.
She wanted to kill me.
Shhh. Child. It's my job.
(Just sit down when the stars come, and then bring back Rockin' Robin' when you can see straight again. I remember that dance the best.)
As weeks of July band camp went by, I suddenly realized that so many people I knew already knew the intensity of Band Camp, despite my ignorance.
When it would come up in conversation, friends would tell me they had been in marching band in high school, and how awful band camp was.
I legit heard stories of passing out, bleeding blisters, puking, and it went on and on.
And then they'd always end it with "But seriously, some of the best days of my life."
And then a friend from high school, who had been one of our star football players at the time, heard me talking all things "band camp".
He interjected, going on to describe how insane it had been back in his football days.
He said they'd arrive for two-a-days in the summer, and the band had already been there for hours. They'd leave for a break, and the band never did.
They'd come back, and there they were- still out on the blacktop.
And when they'd leave for the day, the band kept going.
I legitimately had no idea, and suddenly decided my three hour summer cheer practices in the shade of the other side of the building, or better yet- the air-conditioned gym- were child's play.
Add in trying on Zoe's carrier for her bass drum one day, and imagining wearing THAT throughout that entire July- and I was suddenly convinced my tiny percussionist was a God among young women.
As summer winded down, I felt bad for her because she went straight from the sweet release of the exhausting band camp being over- to going right back to school.
But I kept telling her the best part of marching band was yet to come.
Competition season would make it all worth it.
And I was both right, and wrong.
I was right- because what ensued was a whirlwind few months of watching my girl at competitions, with our band bettering their performances and placement at each one.
Cheers, tears, hugs, and just absolute fun.
I saw exactly what I had experienced in cheer- the comraderie of succeeding as a team- in band.
I learned the ropes of being a "band mom", pushing scenery onto football fields in every temperature imaginable, telling kids to drink water every 3.5 seconds, and learning her "show" as well as I once learned tumbling passes and stunts techniques.
I was 100 percent, fully IN IT.
I had shirts that said "I'm with the band." and damn bass drum earrings in my Amazon cart.
And still saw those ugly-*** Dinkles in my nightmares.
The little-band-that-could's season ended with a 5th place placement out of 17 bands in the MSBA Championships- the highest Conner High School had placed in nearly 15 years.
I bawled like a psychopath from the stands, because thats what I do.
I also cried at the end of the year banquet when she was awarded the Middle School Rookie of the Year (alongside her bestie with a tie), and I knew I had been right about the best part being competition season.
And I knew I had been wrong.
Cause ask Zoe right now- a few weeks after we got the Band Camp schedule for this summer- and she'd tell you she's counting down the days to band camp.
Yes, she might not be looking forward to seeing stars and sweating off her body weight, but in her words-
"Mom, band camp is basically just core memories."
The pic you see here- of her drenched from being caught in a torrential downpour on the blacktop one day at Band Camp- and according to her- "Mom, we just kept playing in the pouring rain."- is 100 percent one of her five core memories in her young fourteen year old life.
So here I sit- entering all the Band Camp days into our family's calendar app, turning down trips and other experiences for all of July, and cheerleader-level excited for another year of freaking Band Camp.
Which, though it may not be the sleep-away Camp I thought it was, is way, way, way more horrible.
And way, way, way more amazing.
So if you find yourself driving by a high school this summer, and see and hear the sights and sounds of a bunch of band and guard kids on a blacktop parking lot, a makeshift football field spraypainted in a field, or a small sectional of kids lucky enough to get a sliver of shade for thirty minutes- know how hard they work.
Know that they lovingly call themselves band geeks, know that they are keeping the arts alive and well, and know that they're likely seeing stars.
The student body and the outside community may not show up to their competitions like they do for the sports world, but it's okay.
Because they've got each other, and they've got us.
And moreover, they love what they do.
Band kids, band staff, and band parents UNITE.
Marching season is near, and I'm here for more core memories in the rain. 🌧🎵❤️
(And also, Aasics over Dinkles. Did I mention Dinkles are so ugly? )
