Imagine this -- you're standing out on the football field, the lights glaring down at you and a trickle of sweat dripping down your cheek. The crowd is cheering, your fingers are moving nervously, and the smell of popcorn smacks you in the face. And then...silence. To you, the silence is louder than the screaming. You wait and wait and wait for your cue. And then finally, a trumpet sounds out through the brisk night air. Then a piccolo. Then a snare drum. Finally, you realize it's your turn, and it's time to move. The show has begun.

I had always loved instruments growing up. I wanted to play the drum, the guitar, the piano...really just anything you could imagine. But I never asked to take lessons, until seventh grade when I had heard that my music teacher was giving lessons after school. I was so excited! I couldn't choose between all of the instruments -- there were so many! For some reason, I chose the clarinet. I had a hard time learning to love it.

But after playing the clarinet for a couple years, I had learned to appreciate the instrument. I knew how to play it, but I had only been playing for a couple years, and I needed to learn more and gain more experience. Going into high school, I found out they had a marching band. I couldn't tell you how excited I was. I would play my clarinet for four more years, go to all of the Friday night football games and meet a lot of new friends!

Except I learned on the first day of band camp that our band didn't have clarinets. All they had were brass instruments. I stood, flabbergasted, as an alto saxophone was thrust into my hands and I was expected to learn how to play it all by myself.

I didn't know what to do! I wanted to play the clarinet for a few more years, not learn a whole other instrument! But I wanted to be in marching band. So I tried. I would practice every night and try to follow along during practice. I'd get looks from other kids, but I tried. After a week, I had pretty much given up. People were being mean to me, and I just couldn't seem to play the saxophone correctly. So I told my mom I was quitting. She told me I could, but she wanted me to go one more day.

I went another day. That day happened to be my birthday. To my amazement, the day went wonderfully. My friends were all nice, I learned a few more notes, and I even got a cookie. That was all I needed. I wasn't going to quit. I'd stick around and learn.

Here I am, four years later. I was in marching band all four years of high school and now I'm joining marching band in college. I had the most amazing experiences in band. From the bus rides, to the shows, to the parties we'd have after the two weeks of band camp. We even went to Disney my junior year -- now that was an experience of a lifetime. I learned to play the saxophone. I wasn't the best, but I could play. But most of all, I met my best friends because of band. People I wouldn't give up for the world. It was an honor to play with them every Friday night (but it was much more fun when we didn't listen to the band director and talked in the stands -- truth or dare, never have I ever, you name it). Oh, and the Dinkles -- the hottest shoes you'll ever see.

If I had to do it all again, I would. Those two weeks of band camp were horrible in the blazing sun, having a long practice after school was horrible, not getting to talk to my other friends at the games sucked, having no free Friday nights wasn't the best. But the people and the feeling you got down on the field made it all worth it. All the sweat, drama, and tears was worth it for that 10 minutes of fame.

If you're even contemplating being in marching band -- do it. It's the experience of a lifetime. You won't regret it.