I transferred from a small school (50 students K-12) to a big school (about 83 graduates) in my sophomore year. Gaylord had a band.
I loved football Fridays. I loved the half-time shows–the drums, the horns, the cymbals, the marching,
I wanted to join that band!
Bad. Really bad.
But I couldn’t play an instrument. None. Zilch.
But . . .
What if I learned to twirl?
My mom knew a little about twirling. She showed me with a broom. And then bought me a real baton.
I spent the whole summer learning to twirl in front of me, pass behind my back, pass under my leg, spin with one hand, throw and catch.
Practiced. Practiced. Practiced.
I showed up for tryouts in my junior year. I thought I would throw up.
But I made the cut! Although now I can’t really remember if they cut anyone. But at least I didn’t stink enough for them to say, “Strut on out of here.”
Miss Majorette. Band member.