I Am A Drumming Band Kid
I love being in band. I especially love being a drummer in the band. Drummers quite possibly make the loudest noise. I love hanging out with the guys, seeing as I'm the only girl in the drumline. Still, they know the line. We all sit in the back of the room and annoy the crap out of the band director, which is probably the mission of every drummer in band. Having an older sibling in band-and the fact I was an adorable little ball of cuddly sunshine-instantly made me the band mascot. I have always wanted to be in band, and I respect the fact that our band has had more injuries than the football team-combined-in the past four years. The worst part of being a drummer is the inevitable carrying and playing of the bass drum. At least, for me. I was given the... Honor... Of playing the bass. The problems were: 1. The drum was heavier than me. 2. I couldn't see over the top. 3. I had to march a parade with said bass drum. An eight mile parade, instantly following a four mile parade. The worst fact is that I cannot sweat, and it was a very, very hot day. Our uniforms-or should I call them torture devices-are almost entirely made of cotton. Yes, the old-fashioned ones from the 1950's. (Well, not that old.) The first parade I barely survived. The second one... Ahh, the evils of band. About five miles into that one, I stepped into a pothole and, as I thought I was going to pass out, I did a complete front flip OVER my bass drum and landed back on my feet, still in step. Needless to say, an intense pain shot through me, forcefully keeping me awake. That pain stayed with me for the remaining three miles and kept me awake. I was one of the three that made it through the entire parade without passing out. Presently, making it to the river at the end of the parade, I took off my bass drum and heaved up my entire breakfast and lunch. Yes, it rocks being a drumming band kid.