OUT OF STEP OR OUT OF TIME? MAYBE BOTH, MAYBE NEITHER!
This past weekend, I attended my son's state semifinals marching contest. I have to admit, whether it's a rehearsal or a performance, it's hard for me to turn off the band director in me. Like many of you, I am constantly thinking (and sometimes sharing) about how I could fix this or that, or how I would clean a particularly difficult passage or drill move. Unlike other parents, who are fixated on their child, I am fixated on THE BAND!
Anyway...
I was excited about this weekend's contest, since our band has made HUGE strides this year. I felt confident going in as a parent and a former band director that they were gonna turn some heads and leap towards the head of the pack.
I was not disappointed! The band gave the best performance I have seen from them in the 18 months my son has been in the program. THEY KILLED IT. The guard was clean, the drumline impeccable, the front ensemble was incredibly musical, and the winds came to play. They had themselves a day!
So I sat back, like a Cheshire cat, waiting for the bands performing later to try and measure up to the standard that we had set. And for the next two plus hours...
THEY DID!
I watched all 10 bands meet or exceed the standard that we had set.
I was at this same event last year and was so confident in the leap we had made that I had not considered the possibility that EVERY band had made a similar leap. It was incredible.
It made me wonder, could I still produce a product of that quality?
So there I sat—thumbing through the program, looking for who the arranger was, who wrote the drill, who was "tech-ing" the drumline—and then it hit me.
Of the top 10 bands, not a single director was my age, NOT EVEN CLOSE. and all but one were 40 or under. I did the math (which I avoid doing) and realized that at 58, I am apparently old enough to be most of their fathers.
What the heck?
Now, I know what you're thinking — "Scott, you're not old!" (First of all, you didn't say that; I did. And if you did, you would be lying.) But marching band years are like dog years, and I'm a relic.
Here's the thing: age doesn't define ability — (and doesn't my experience count for something?) Look at guys like Tom Brady, who played until he was 45 and still had more rings than most jewelry stores. Or Aaron Rodgers, who might be held together by stem cells and sheer stubbornness but still makes magic on the field. Or Joe Flacco, who last year rose from the quarterback graveyard to remind everyone that experience doesn't fade — it just gets better lighting. These guys prove that success in your later years isn't about being faster, louder, or flashier. It's about being smarter, calmer, and more efficient.
I used to think that I could hear balance issues before the kids even finished tuning, and that I've seen and survived every kind of rehearsal meltdown. I've learned that sometimes the most powerful leadership move isn't yelling louder — it's saying less. Experience gives you perspective, and perspective gives you peace.
However, based on what I saw (and heard) on Saturday, these twenty-something barista wanna-bes had learned those lessons, too.
Still, I'll admit — it's hard watching the next generation of band directors crush it. Their shows are fresh, their tech is next level and they don't groan when they stand up. They're innovative, inspired, and tireless. But let's be honest — they are all headed my way, and we will see if they age as well as I did. Likely better.
I don't envy them, their youth. I admire it. They're pushing the art form forward in ways I never dreamed possible when I was running rehearsals with cassette tapes and chalkboards. They're fearless, and they care deeply about kids and excellence — two things that never go out of style. But I'd be lying if I didn't wonder whether the grind that makes them so great now might also be what burns them out before they ever get to 58.
So, am I past my prime? Maybe. I can't jump off a drum major podium like I used to, and I sure as heck don't want to. I like to think that what I've lost in stamina, I've gained in wisdom — and maybe, just maybe, a touch of perspective.
I've seen enough seasons to know that every band, every kid, every show, is part of a much bigger picture. At the end of the day, it's not about how high you can jump — it's about how long you can love the work. And I still love the work.
While the next generation of directors may be leading the charge, I'll be here in the stands — cheering them on, smiling knowingly, and quietly reminding myself that maybe I've still got more teaching left in me.
Because I don't believe I'm out of step, and I am certainly not out of time.
Have a great week,
Scott