STORIES WITHIN A STORY

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 209

The arts, no matter the genre, are storytelling mediums—all meant to evoke emotion, imagination, and wonder. Take Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” or even his most famous piece, “The Mona Lisa,” for example. Just consider that “Last Supper” mural.

Da Vinci’s masterpiece retells the story of Jesus’ final night with His disciples before He was betrayed by Judas (which Leonardo also depicted portions of). But if you gaze long enough and just let your mind get lost in all the details, little motifs and sub-stories reveal themselves, adding incredible depth and color to the main event.

While I totally appreciate the visual arts, the ones that audibly grab and reverberate throughout your very being are truly my thing. Better yet, smash the visual and the auditory together, and you will totally hold my attention. Enter the marching arts.

When I say “the marching arts,” I’m not talking about your old-fashioned high school marching band. Nope. I’m talking about taking any collegiate marching band to a whole new level by injecting it with a near-fatal dose of steroids, then marrying it with world-class precision, teaching, athleticism, and musicianship. And that, my friends, is drum and bugle corps, or just “drum corps.”

I was first introduced to the activity back in the mid-70s when my sister began marching with the La Crosse Blue Stars. A couple of years later, my big brother joined the corps—probably their youngest member ever. My siblings marched for several years, and all those summers we followed them, crisscrossing the country and cheering them on in stadiums from coast to coast.

Then came the silent years. They both graduated, started college, and left home; it was just me, Mom, and Dad. By then, the sport was changing, and I was too young to march. Added to that, the only corps I ever really considered was the Madison Scouts, since they were the closest to us that consistently contended to medal and win.

Like my brother before me, I took my musical craft seriously. Inspired by the Blue Stars snare line of ’75, I begged my parents to let me take drum lessons. From that summer on, I never looked back. Weekly private lessons, ensembles, the Greater Twin Cities Youth Symphonies (GTCYS), All-State Band and Orchestra, band camps here and there... you name it, music was my game. All I wanted to do was drum, and eventually march center snare with a world-class drum corps.

Fast forward to 1986. Wanting to walk in my siblings’ footsteps, I begged my mom to let me audition for the Madison Scouts. Without explanation, she snapped at me, saying, “You’re not good enough to make the line.”

In that moment, she lied. She couldn’t bring herself to tell me that they couldn't afford the fees, nor was she comfortable sending me to a corps where many members had alternative lifestyles. But she didn’t say that. Mom stabbed me with her words and walked away; in the process, my dreams were shattered. While I continued to drum my senior year, my love for the art dwindled drastically. Thank goodness it never disappeared completely.

Hold onto your undies, though... you won’t want to miss the cliffhanger.

While I never marched corps myself, we’ve always supported those who do. Our daughters marched competitively in high school (not quite the same, but similar), and we’ve almost always followed DCI (Drum Corps International) as a family. And now, drum corps season is officially kicking off, and this nerd is gleefully excited.

In fact, as I bang this out on the MacBook Air, we’re watching drum corps YouTube videos just to get in the groove. What’s more, all week long I’ve been replaying music from “Blast!” on Spotify—as loud as my speakers will go. I cannot wait to see all the shows and cheer on our favorite corps.

I know this post is a bit nerdy, but I love the marching arts. Like football, the season is short: less than three months. After all, the musicians and performers age out at 22, and most are college students. Academics take priority, ya know.

So, while I’m thankful for the marching arts, here’s that cliffhanger. While my mom killed my dream, I actually have to thank her for doing it. More so, I have her—and God—to thank for the summer of ’86. Call it “fate,” but had my mother let me try out, and presuming I had made the line, I wouldn't have attended the All Honors Music Camp at the U of M. And if that hadn't happened, I never would have met Danielle.

Hmm... How’s that for a story within a story, and a fairytale ending? Thank you, God, for your providence, in Jesus' name.

That being said, I still totally appreciate the marching arts, and I'm gleefully excited now that the season is starting. Let the summer games begin!

What are you thankful for today?