When the Band Became the Backbone

I don’t know if pep rallies get their due in the music world—they should. Autumn each year meant after‑school rehearsals, football games, parades, and yes, pep rallies. The noise, the lights, the surge of unified energy—it still thrills me.

In those moments, the whole school came together for a shared purpose: pride. Students who had never spoken in the hallway found themselves standing side by side. We weren’t just spectators; we were a part of the wave. Sure, the focus was often on the football team, the cheerleaders—but the real magic was bigger than that. The band, the music, became the pulse. We were celebrating school, community, and our roles in both.

For me, the rallies held something special. I didn’t have to find a friendly face in the bleachers. I already had a place—with the band, with friends, fellow makers of spirit. I wasn’t the star. In fact, I was comfortable not being the center of attention. Because being in the band meant disappearing into the collective sound—no pressure to stand out, I could be introverted and loud, anonymous and powerful. The band’s sound shielded me from small, judging voices.

We may not have been front and center on the gym floor, but our music fuelled everything else—the cheers, the flag‑twirls, the game night roar. I looked forward to that Friday‑night surge—the crescendo of the week, the moment where school spirit momentarily took over reality.

Thirty years later, I hope today’s students still know that feel: music, ritual, unity, belonging. That even the quietest of us can have a place where the voices merge and lift. In the hum of horns and the roar of drums, each note whispered: you belong.