"Westerville Central High School Warhawk Marching Band, take the field"

Those were some of my favorite words in eighth grade and high school, I never thought that in a blink of an eye I would be an eight-grade marching band kid learning to ropes to the fifth year watching my section blossom into something amazing. They weren't kidding when they told us time would fly and one more time would soon become one last time. Pregame gave us a rush that nothing could ever give us. The bus ride home from the competitions were always quiet because everything we had was on that field regardless of what the outcome was.

You meet some of your chosen family in marching band, and when my dad told me that some of you that are seniors now would be my best friends and some of my "band children" I didn't believe him, and now I'm sitting in a building in my junior year of college not being able to march because of an injury from junior year of high school. Now, this one is for you, class of 2019, you're in your last season. Take it by the horns, because next thing you know you're going to be me, writing this article to the last senior class that you know people, some of you are going to continue marching, some of you will pursue a degree in music, or you'll be me, where you can't march anymore and you just sit and cry during your own marching band videos (yes, it will happen, and if you tell me otherwise I'll tell you-you're lying).

Most of you I met my junior or senior year of high school and I took you under my wing, and I loved you dearly and I wanted the absolute best outcome for you because I wanted that for myself and I didn't really have someone upperclassmen that wanted those same things. You reminded me of myself, you were confused by the music, the drill, and some of the traditions you saw the older marchers have (I never wore shoes after rehearsal before a football game, I thought it was bad luck) were really confusing to you and maybe even weird to you. You had just joined this group of misfits and nerds and little did you know you were going to walk into your freshman year of high school with 70 – 80 other friends already. You had an advantage, you had people to sit with, people to talk to, people already in your classes.

My senior year I took for granted. I was fighting through my own issues with my knee and other things, and I ended up learning the entire first part by myself and never truly learned my spots for the ballad (sorry, but I never did learn I just followed). I was a section leader and was relishing in my last year in the high school band. I was in band camp with all of you. Next thing you know, I'm at my last competition, crying in the last song, crying as I marched off the field. Crying during awards. It had hit me, my uniform was no longer my uniform, it was someone else's uniform now and I had no more Saturday's that were dedicated to being with my best friends. That was it.

Live your senior year to the best of your ability. March harder, play louder, laugh longer, and sleep better knowing your family is always going to be the marching band.

Elvis left the building, told her tales from the West Side, told you her reply, throughout all the chaos rain or shine in 2016. Now 2019 is going through the reality that after this season their time as a Warhawk is coming to a close. But it's always sunny and 75, and as always, Go Warhawks.