The Bitter Sting of Regret
After a very important appointment this afternoon, I headed over to the AMC 16 in Burbank for an evening of DCI Quarter Finals. Thank GOD someone finally figured out to simulcast this stuff. It's simply not meant to be seen on a small screen with virtually no stereo.
Now, for those of you muttering to yourselves, "What the fuuuuuuck," I don't blame you. You don't know me well enough to know some of the deeply ingrained loves and passions of my life, and I can't expect everyone to remember everything. So I'll either tell you or remind you.
DCI stands for Drum Corps International. That's right asshole! Once a band geek... ALLLLLLLWAYS a band geek. Don't kid yourself. There are rockstars out there who were in marching band or drum corps and even those that weren't still get a big ol' chub from this shit, just like I would if I had something to get chubby (other than my considerable gut).
Ever since I was old enough to hold my head up, I've been watching (what used to be) Drum and Bugle Corps shows. Some of my earliest and fondest memories of Summer, involve going to Spartan Stadium (home of the San Jose State Spartans) to see Pacific Processional, one of the many shows that lead a large group of Drum Corps up to the finals in late August. I've seen shows from practically every vantage point you can see them (sitting in an ambulance with my cousin, who was a paramedic at the time, on the side of the field was a really memorable one), and every year when July was coming upon us, I would get so excited I practically couldn't sleep at night.
Sure, I can see how someone would think that was not only silly but pathetic and maybe a little nuts. But in my family, we were all meant to have one thing in common... to march with Vanguard.
The Santa Clara Vanguard has been in my family since before I was born. My cousin Cliff was a kettle drum (or tympani) player and his sister Cheryl was a rifle twirler (or color guard). Martie, the youngest of the three, was in B Corps in the color guard, but I don't think it stuck to well for her taste. Still they did it. And from the first moment I showed signs of musical inclination, they were waiting for me to be old enough to join.
When I got into the Marching Band in high school, it was with every intention and motivation to use that as a launch pad to Vanguard. Considering that the youngest members at the time were about 15 years old it was not preposterous to be planning ahead, and besides... one ages OUT of eligibility when one turns 21 (which turned my 21st birthday into a festival of inner turmoil and sadness that I didn't share with anyone, that I know of). So I had a time limit. The clock was ticking and I needed to get good, fast. Really good, really fast. Where once they took pretty much whomever wanted to sign on, the competition was stiff by the time I was of age to join and that presented two severe problems. First, that I had a very controlling, overprotective mother. Two, her bullshit had everything to do with my complete and utter lack of self confidence whatsoever.
It's strange. Betty wanted me to be in Vanguard. She'd talked about it since I was a baby. I mean, I knew about Drum and Bugle Corps before I knew how to walk or ride a bike. I knew that my being in one would make her very proud, and since that's what I was trained to aim my every thought at, you can only imagine how eager I was to join. It looked like fun, the very sounds of the corps were thrilling, the idea of traveling the country with kids my age and working my ass off, it was all so perfect. So when I asked for some lessons, knowing I wouldn't fail them, why not give them to me? Why try to put me in a third rate, low grade substitute (The San Jose Rose Raiders, that folded when I was in the corps)? I'll tell you why...
Empowerment.
If I had gotten into Vanguard, I would have had pride in myself. I would have been happy, active, social. I'd have been working on my character, making friends, seeing the country, improving my musical skills and all of that spelled Betty losing control. Though clearly she had some inner struggles with that, since she did drive me to practices for Raiders. She encouraged me to go, but would also make foreboding comments like, "Well you can go if you lose enough weight" or "You can go if you complete [this mountain of chores that will continue to grow exponentially]." She never really had any intention of letting me go on tour. So when Raiders folded, you could feel the sigh of relief washing over her like a tidal wave. It had all happened without her having to be the bad guy. Perfect.
No, it wasn't all her fault. Let's face it. I could have rebelled. I could have tried harder to put my foot down and do what I wanted, what I was passionate about. She's evil. That's unquestionable. Selfish, manipulative and evil. But, I didn't stand up for myself and for that, I have only myself to blame.
What I won't blame myself for is that I didn't know better than to do so. I didn't have the tools at that age to even start. And when I was in Raiders, I could tell that if I'd tried something as legit as Vanguard, I'd have been swallowed whole by the virile boys I would have been spending all my time with. It's only now that I can be around guys I find interesting, attractive, fun and kind without forming a crush on every one. I'd have been a basket case of broken hearted post adolescence even if I'd waited until I was 20.
So things happen for a reason, I guess. It's hard for me to rectify that there's some cosmic sense to be made of my not fulfilling one of my greatest hopes and dreams. Maybe, it was either that or working for Disney and some ethereal dice roll decided it for me. Who knows? What I do know is that every year, every time I watch the broadcasts of DCI, the young girl still struggling to grow inside my heart and soul aches with regret. And as I sat there today, watching these amazingly talented, driven musicians and dancers and their young pimply faces, a remorseful cry welled up in me. It stopped just inside my chest and lingered there for hours. When the show was finally over, the urge to cry slowly shrunk back down, back into dormancy, to regain it's strength for next year. Next year, when I will be seeing this show live, in person, in Pasadena, I am certain... I will cry. It's a powerful sound that comes out of these kids and an even more formidible pain in my heart. And when Vanguard takes the field, and the announcer asks if the corps is ready (to which most hard core corps folk shout back "We're ALWAYS ready!"), a little voice in my head will shout back, "I'm ready now!"
There aren't a whole lot of things I regret not doing. Most things I've wanted to do I've at least tried and that's more than most people can say. But for the rest of my life, I will carry this scar. This bright, throbbing pain in the shape of a V that will always hold it's place on my heart and the only thing that will make it feel better, is the beautiful sounds and sights that the next generations will create to soothe the aching when it threatens to break my heart.
Now, for those of you muttering to yourselves, "What the fuuuuuuck," I don't blame you. You don't know me well enough to know some of the deeply ingrained loves and passions of my life, and I can't expect everyone to remember everything. So I'll either tell you or remind you.
DCI stands for Drum Corps International. That's right asshole! Once a band geek... ALLLLLLLWAYS a band geek. Don't kid yourself. There are rockstars out there who were in marching band or drum corps and even those that weren't still get a big ol' chub from this shit, just like I would if I had something to get chubby (other than my considerable gut).
Ever since I was old enough to hold my head up, I've been watching (what used to be) Drum and Bugle Corps shows. Some of my earliest and fondest memories of Summer, involve going to Spartan Stadium (home of the San Jose State Spartans) to see Pacific Processional, one of the many shows that lead a large group of Drum Corps up to the finals in late August. I've seen shows from practically every vantage point you can see them (sitting in an ambulance with my cousin, who was a paramedic at the time, on the side of the field was a really memorable one), and every year when July was coming upon us, I would get so excited I practically couldn't sleep at night.
Sure, I can see how someone would think that was not only silly but pathetic and maybe a little nuts. But in my family, we were all meant to have one thing in common... to march with Vanguard.
The Santa Clara Vanguard has been in my family since before I was born. My cousin Cliff was a kettle drum (or tympani) player and his sister Cheryl was a rifle twirler (or color guard). Martie, the youngest of the three, was in B Corps in the color guard, but I don't think it stuck to well for her taste. Still they did it. And from the first moment I showed signs of musical inclination, they were waiting for me to be old enough to join.
When I got into the Marching Band in high school, it was with every intention and motivation to use that as a launch pad to Vanguard. Considering that the youngest members at the time were about 15 years old it was not preposterous to be planning ahead, and besides... one ages OUT of eligibility when one turns 21 (which turned my 21st birthday into a festival of inner turmoil and sadness that I didn't share with anyone, that I know of). So I had a time limit. The clock was ticking and I needed to get good, fast. Really good, really fast. Where once they took pretty much whomever wanted to sign on, the competition was stiff by the time I was of age to join and that presented two severe problems. First, that I had a very controlling, overprotective mother. Two, her bullshit had everything to do with my complete and utter lack of self confidence whatsoever.
It's strange. Betty wanted me to be in Vanguard. She'd talked about it since I was a baby. I mean, I knew about Drum and Bugle Corps before I knew how to walk or ride a bike. I knew that my being in one would make her very proud, and since that's what I was trained to aim my every thought at, you can only imagine how eager I was to join. It looked like fun, the very sounds of the corps were thrilling, the idea of traveling the country with kids my age and working my ass off, it was all so perfect. So when I asked for some lessons, knowing I wouldn't fail them, why not give them to me? Why try to put me in a third rate, low grade substitute (The San Jose Rose Raiders, that folded when I was in the corps)? I'll tell you why...
Empowerment.
If I had gotten into Vanguard, I would have had pride in myself. I would have been happy, active, social. I'd have been working on my character, making friends, seeing the country, improving my musical skills and all of that spelled Betty losing control. Though clearly she had some inner struggles with that, since she did drive me to practices for Raiders. She encouraged me to go, but would also make foreboding comments like, "Well you can go if you lose enough weight" or "You can go if you complete [this mountain of chores that will continue to grow exponentially]." She never really had any intention of letting me go on tour. So when Raiders folded, you could feel the sigh of relief washing over her like a tidal wave. It had all happened without her having to be the bad guy. Perfect.
No, it wasn't all her fault. Let's face it. I could have rebelled. I could have tried harder to put my foot down and do what I wanted, what I was passionate about. She's evil. That's unquestionable. Selfish, manipulative and evil. But, I didn't stand up for myself and for that, I have only myself to blame.
What I won't blame myself for is that I didn't know better than to do so. I didn't have the tools at that age to even start. And when I was in Raiders, I could tell that if I'd tried something as legit as Vanguard, I'd have been swallowed whole by the virile boys I would have been spending all my time with. It's only now that I can be around guys I find interesting, attractive, fun and kind without forming a crush on every one. I'd have been a basket case of broken hearted post adolescence even if I'd waited until I was 20.
So things happen for a reason, I guess. It's hard for me to rectify that there's some cosmic sense to be made of my not fulfilling one of my greatest hopes and dreams. Maybe, it was either that or working for Disney and some ethereal dice roll decided it for me. Who knows? What I do know is that every year, every time I watch the broadcasts of DCI, the young girl still struggling to grow inside my heart and soul aches with regret. And as I sat there today, watching these amazingly talented, driven musicians and dancers and their young pimply faces, a remorseful cry welled up in me. It stopped just inside my chest and lingered there for hours. When the show was finally over, the urge to cry slowly shrunk back down, back into dormancy, to regain it's strength for next year. Next year, when I will be seeing this show live, in person, in Pasadena, I am certain... I will cry. It's a powerful sound that comes out of these kids and an even more formidible pain in my heart. And when Vanguard takes the field, and the announcer asks if the corps is ready (to which most hard core corps folk shout back "We're ALWAYS ready!"), a little voice in my head will shout back, "I'm ready now!"
There aren't a whole lot of things I regret not doing. Most things I've wanted to do I've at least tried and that's more than most people can say. But for the rest of my life, I will carry this scar. This bright, throbbing pain in the shape of a V that will always hold it's place on my heart and the only thing that will make it feel better, is the beautiful sounds and sights that the next generations will create to soothe the aching when it threatens to break my heart.