-1.png?width=810&name=Blog%20Photo%20(1)-1.png)
In every piece of music, there are changes. The tempo speeds up, the pitch drops down, smooth notes become choppy, and after a loud crescendo comes a blissful and quiet release. If music is a journey, then my life story in music could be a symphony.
When I was in 4th grade, I stood next to my parents under the now-familiar Golden Dome. The entire rotunda vibrated with excitement about the upcoming football game. Cheers of “Let’s Go Irish” and “We Are ND” echoed off the slanted roof as fans anticipated what was to come. My dad lifted me and put me on his shoulders so I could see the whole scene. Without warning, the crowd grew silent, and soon, what looked to me like heroes out of a comic book entered and circled all around the balconies of the dome. With their broad gold shoulders and plaid capes, white gloves and shiny trumpets, they carried smiles on their faces and the spirit of Notre Dame in their hearts. As they began playing the Alma Mater, alumni around me cried as they reminisced on the joy and memories of their experience at Notre Dame. With the following Victory March, the excitement in the building grew to hysteria. I asked my dad to let me down, and as the trumpets left, I looked up to one of them as they walked by me, and said, “I want to play the trumpet, I want to play in the dome one day.” The female trumpet looked down kindly at me and responded, “Then we’ll see you in a few years.” I was ecstatic! The first bar of my musical journey began.
That next year, when middle school band began, I chose the trumpet. Throughout middle school I loved playing the trumpet, fresh off the excitement of Trumpets Under the Dome. I worked my way up the ranks of my small band to become first chair. Learning a new instrument was a fun challenge every day and getting to play alongside a group as something greater than myself was a rewarding experience.
My life of music hit what I would call a key change as high school started. No longer were the days of simply concert band. This was marching band. I was excited at first for marching band. This is what Notre Dame’s band did, and this was my first chance to wear a uniform. BUT. Band camp was long, it was hot, and it was different than anything I had ever done before. March forward 8, left 8, back 8, right 8, repeat. Box Drill, Diamond Drill, Figure 8, repeat. Now flank right, flank left, roll your toes, keep the shoulders straight repeat, repeat, repeat. Over and over again, my musical experience felt like running into the repeat sign and went back to the beginning. While I still enjoyed playing my trumpet, my 5-foot-2 self could not keep up with the upperclassmen who were gracefully sliding across the field. I began to wonder if I was good enough to add to the band, I wondered if my musical journey would soon come to a double bar. But then, grace entered.
Grace’s name was Chris. Chris was the drum major, the one who stood in front of the band wearing black instead of our usual maroon uniform. The drum major whose presence demanded the attention of everyone in the room as he lifted the baton and took control of the band. Everyone knew who Chris was, and everyone enjoyed his presence. Everyone knew that Chris added to the band. And Chris was the conductor I needed to get through this difficult part of the music.
One day after practice when I was particularly down, I sat down outside the field, exhausted from the repetitious work of the day. From behind me came a voice asking, “Hey Joe, how are you?” The voice was immediately familiar, and I was almost nervous to respond. I knew that right behind me stood Chris. “How does he know my name?” I thought. I had never talked to him before, and now here he was, away from his senior friends, taking time for me, a confused freshman. I responded that I was doing okay and assumed that would be the end of it. That Chris would smile and get back to whatever important duty was next on his list. But that’s not what happened. Instead, Chris sat down on my left and asked me to elaborate. Chris was a great listener. I knew his attention was on me and what I was saying. I figured there was no way that someone like Chris could understand what it was like to struggle at marching, to not understand how to march and play at the same time, and to feel vulnerable attempting to make friends with all the new people around me. But as we spent the next twenty minutes getting to know each other, I realized something: Chris made me feel like an equal. I was not just another member of the band that day, not just another spot on the field, not just a robot repeating and repeating footwork drills. I was friends with the drum major. But even more than that, through stories and his obvious empathy, I realized that I was not alone. Grace showed me I was not alone. I learned that Chris struggled with similar things, and that he had been talking to others that were going through the same thing. Chris showed me the bigger picture.
Throughout the season, Chris introduced me to others in the band that were having similar difficulties, and we worked through them together. I met some of my best friends that year and truly began to understand why people refer to the band like a family. Chris and I also became great friends. His words inspired me to take pride in every day of practice. His help and support pushed me to become a better marcher. And his leadership inspired me to want to follow in his ways.
I was not playing a solo. Rather, I was playing as part of a large group of instrumentalists going through their own musical journeys. When I hit a rough part in the music, my friends covered for me, took the time to teach me, and allowed me to help them when they struggled. When I lost my way, looking to the conductor helped me to get back on track.
There is a concept in music called a grace note. A grace note is an extra note, seemingly out of time, that adds to the main note. In the same way, Chris was able to add to all of the band, adding to us as a whole, yet not taking the spotlight, or letting things become about him. In this same way, grace can slide into our lives, oftentimes without making a huge splash. If we take a step back, and realize the presence of grace in our life, we can see where it is adding flourishes to our days.
The grace of Chris’s leadership saved my story in music. And for this I am forever grateful. Because of grace, two years ago, I was blessed to be able to put on the uniform with its broad gold shoulders and plaid cape. I was blessed to walk through the large crowd of cheering people excited for the game. I was blessed, with the help of my fellow trumpets to bring tears to the eyes of alumni and to bring the spirit of Notre Dame to life. As I finished my first time playing in the dome, tears of pure joy fresh in my eyes, a small girl tugged at my pant leg, and said:
“I want to play the trumpet, I want to play in the dome!”
Photo Credit: UggBoy♥UggGirl, Flickr
