A Love Letter to Marching Band
This is a week of mourning at the Van Meter house. Marching band has come to an end.
On Saturday, our youngest child took the field with the MHS Marching Band for the last time, going out in style with a final performance of “Nightmare at 30,000 Feet” at the Youth in Music Festival at U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis. Both of our kids loved marching band—not just the performances, but the rehearsals, the friendships, the challenges, from the 6-hour bus rides to the 7:00am basics blocks at camp. More than any other adults outside of their parents, the music staff has impacted the people they’ve become. Marching band has been more than a cool experience. It’s been a keystone of their education and development.
And then there’s Denise….
Denise Van Meter, marching band supermom.
For those of you who may not know, the love of my life has taken band parenting to the next level. When our eldest was a wee baby freshmen, she was already forming a parent group and raising the bar for what it means to support your kids on the field. Even when it’s 30-degrees outside and sleeting, she’ll be the one leading the charge to line Burr Street with signs encouraging the band on their way to a weekend festival. And when the band is ready to begin their show, she’ll be in the stands screaming herself hoarse and daring anyone to match her volume and intensity.
Before you ask, yes. It is a lot to have to live with.
But it’s also been wonderful, getting to do this big thing in which our entire family was invested. We’re all sad to see it end, and we’re all taking stock. How do you begin to get your head around what it all means?
One answer is to check out the trophy case. Although this season didn’t produce the same number of topflight finishes that we’ve grown accustomed to, the body over work over the past six years is impressive—contest wins, category awards, individual accolades. For most of those years, Mitchell has punched far above its weight class, inserting itself into the conversation with much larger and better funded programs.
It’s a lot to be proud of, and it gives us a way to talk to the broader culture in a town in which sports is the chief local god. The people we live among prize competition above all things, never stopping to question why. Winning—even for an arts program like band or show choir—is the quickest way to acceptance and praise.
Still, I can’t lean too hard on the MHS Marching Band’s list of victories, impressive though it is. The results of such competitions are rarely clear and often arbitrary. I’ve seen more than one show in which our band has performed below par and come out on or near the top of the rankings. Other times, I’ve seen them bring the crowd to their feet in raucous cheering, only to go home empty-handed. There is, of course, some correlation between performance and placement, but the link is more uneven than you might expect.
Then why turn the arts into a competition at all, you might ask?
To which I respond, good question.
Most marching bands allow anyone who shows up and puts in the effort to be on the field. Some kids are better marchers or musicians than others, and allowances occasionally have to be made for those with injuries or mobility issues. No matter. Everyone who makes a good faith effort gets to play. The nature of the activity is not to filter out the best from the rest, but to get each one doing their part so that the collective effect is to elevate the moment for everyone, both on the field and in the stands.
If that sounds like what a community should be, that’s because it is.
But community is a rare thing, and the idea that there can be winners without losers is bonkers to a sizable number of the people I live among. Understandably, adults and kids alike struggle to define their place without referencing the latest score sheet or judges tally that’s been handed to them. It’s easy enough to say that we shouldn’t pin our worth on the opinions of others. But when everyone around you cares so much about where you rank, it’s almost impossible not to.
Still, I always encouraged my kids—and anybody else’s kids who would listen to me—to put competition in its place. As fun as it is to win, the point of any musical form—marching band included—is not to vanquish other musicians. It’s to stir something within the hearts of audience and performers alike. The payoff for a job well done is not a trophy in a case. It’s the moment the crowd leaps up and cheers because you have, for a few short moments, surprised and entertained and inspired them to live beyond the crushing weight of ordinary life.
So thank you, marching band and staff and parents and kids. You bear witness to what a community can do when it values all of its members. You have lifted us up time and again, often when we needed it most.
We Van Meters, at least, are better for having been a part of you.
