Memory (College

A pril 3, 2016

“College! Best years of my life!” I have heard people say. That’s not, how I remember it. For me, just not that way.

Don’t get me wrong. Some parts great. But nothing, came easy. My scholarship. My only hope. Days, not light or breezy.

Had to maintain, GPA. I did not have, money. Keep grades up. Or lose scholarship. For me. Grades weren’t funny.

I admit. Loved the challenge. Competition, appealed. I burned the candle, at both ends. And yes, skipped lots of meals.

I was, a music major. A challenge, in itself. Many, practice hours required. Had, to produce results.

Dean of Music, lectured us. A large, talented class. “A few of you, will graduate. Most of you, just won’t last.”

That moment. Became intense. Determined, to survive. Put all I had, into this task. Huge challenge, in my life.

I was, a trumpet player. This was not, like high school. Everyone was good. Some were great. Talent and toughness, ruled.

Rehearsals. Band. Orchestra. And Jazz Ensemble, too. Played in the “pit,” for musicals. Lips often swollen. Bruised.

Became, the first chair trumpet. In orchestra, and band. Was at my peak, as a player. Some saw me, as “the man.”

Prepared, for academics. The music courses, rough. No matter how much, I studied. Never, seemed like enough.

Four years, in ROTC. So many, extra hours. The drills. Classes. Basic training. No weaklings. No cowards.

Break up. Make up. My girlfriend. Always seemed, in turmoil. We struggled, to find happiness. Ecstasy, and recoil.

Marching band, was evolving. Had, a new director. He transformed us, in my four years. Became, a real power.

Were hundreds strong. Colorful. Many crowds, we did please. Our “Brother Love’s Salvation Show.” “The Sound of Seventies.”

I became, the Drum Major. Sophomore, through senior year. Developed, unique style and flash. Still hold, those moments dear.

Tragedy. Late, junior year. My lip gave out. Dead nerves. Could not play my trumpet, at all. Did not, know where to turn.

Had to perform. Requirement. A “senior recital.” But could not play. Was this the end? Trapped, in downward spiral.

I switched, to the Baritone. A horn, I’d never played. Worked hard. Practiced countless hours. Then came, recital day.

I managed, to get through it. I earned, a passing grade. Was not an “A.” But that’s O.K. At least, I’d graduate.

Graduation day, arrived. I sat in, with the band. They called out, “honors.” I waited. Not sure, where I would land.

Ended up. First in my class. Five hundred graduates. Had highest, GPA of all. The feeling. Hard to state.

I guess, it was more “relief.” I had, survived it all. Sacrificed, and gave it my best. I did, scale every wall.

Yes, I did achieve my goals. On that, reflect with pride. I also, gave up many things. Forever, changed inside.