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Ferocity
Miriam MogilevskyAt first I was mesmerized by the explosive drums and the magic of twohundred people working together, making moving pictures on a field. As timewent on, I began to notice details: the glint of their instruments in theautumn sunlight, the whirlwind of notes played by flutes and clarinets, andthe steady drive of the tubas and baritones. I saw how they carriedthemselves: backs straight, chins up, with pride. I was a freshman atBeavercreek High School, painfully shy and lacking in confidence, and I couldnot take my eyes and ears off the marching band.I was in the concert band, where I played the flute. Each day, secondperiod, I'd come into the band room and gaze in wonder at the peoplearound me. Almost all of them were in the marching band. They could playmusic so difficult that I couldn't produce a single note of it. They could holdtheir instruments up at perfect angles for hours, it seemed. They couldmemorize ten minutes of music and know, to the inch, where on the field tobe at every moment. I could never do that.Gradually, despite my shyness, I met some of those people. They toldme what marching band is like—hours of practice each day, performing infront of huge crowds at football games, and traveling to competitions everySaturday. I saw how these two hundred people all had something in common.Something that they loved, that kept them together.My interest grew into an obsession. I felt lonely and wished I could bepart of something greater than myself. One day, while waiting outside theschool to be picked up after a club meeting, I saw the band members comingoutside to start their rehearsal. As they made their way to the parking lotwhere they practiced, they were talking and laughing—a far cry from theresigned misery with which I dragged myself to ballet class twice a week. Iwas so amazed by this that something in me snapped. I had to be in themarching band. I
had 
to.Falling in love with the band had been easy, but joining it was not. Myparents couldn't have hated the idea more. They said that it would ruin myacademics, that I was just following my new friends around, and that I shouldstick to homework and ballet as after-school activities. They refused to allowit.I had never defied my parents before; we had never disagreed like this.But months passed. I made even more friends in the band and, slowly, beganto shed my debilitating timidity. When spring began, I knew that I had littletime left before another band season started and passed me by. Thesituation terrified me.It was only with plenty of prodding from my friends that I approachedmy parents one evening and candidly said, "I want to join the marching bandand I'm going to do it, whether you like it or not." Somehow, with an air of bewilderment, my parents agreed.Summer came around. I was nervous. What if I didn't like it? What if I
 
couldn't keep my feet moving in tempo, or forgot where I was supposed togo? I was doing this on gut instinct alone.However, right at the first rehearsal, I realized that I shouldn't haveworried. Even though I was completely new at it—I'd never taken a 22.5-inchmarching step before, and I'd never had to hold my flute up perfectly parallelto the ground—I felt like I was in my element. It was where I belonged.I quickly learned how things work in marching band. We began eachpractice by running the length of the school, from the band room to thepractice field, to build strength and discipline. We stood in semi-circles tostretch and were expected to be silent. At the end of the stretches, the drummajor would announce a number. She would count us off, and the entire 200-person band would have to do that number of jumping jacks, countingsilently, perfectly in sync. If even a single person did too many or too few, ormade the smallest accidental movement at the end of the jumping jacks, thewhole band would do push-ups. We would try the jumping jacks again, thistime a greater number. Sometimes it took several tries to get it right, and wedid many, many push-ups and jumping jacks on those days. The summer passed frantically, a blur. I remember hours of standing,marching, and running on burning pavement; hours of music rehearsal,picking the tunes apart note by note. Each morning I would wake up and feelsore in muscles I'd never even known I had. We had our band camp at thebeginning of August, and we practiced from 8 AM to 11 PM for five days. Ihad never been so hot, so tired, so sleep-deprived in my life. I had sunburnson my face and blisters on my feet, and I was always hungry and thirsty. Yet, somehow, I loved every minute of it.September came. The air grew cooler, but only slightly. The first fewtimes we wore our uniforms—gray and woolen—we had to drink water everyfew minutes to keep from passing out. Luckily, our competitions were alwayson Saturday nights. On the bus rides, traveling to our shows, we wouldusually have to stay quiet and study drill—the numbers that denote ourexact location on the field at each part of the show, just like x-and-ycoordinates.After arriving at the competition site and getting ready, we wouldhuddle around our director to hear his thoughts. Sometimes he had lots tosay, telling us how to improve our attitude and focus, or listing details aboutthe bands we'd be competing against. Other times, he did not say much. Hesimply looked at us, the expression on his face saying more than words evercould. We knew what he expected from us: focus, pride, and ferocity.Finally, we would silently organize into rows and march to the stadium,hearing the beat of the performing band's percussion. We would blow airthrough our instruments to warm them up, running through the show in ourminds. The crisp night air and blinding stadium lights did not distract us.When at last the preceding band had finished its show, we would stand upstraight, instruments at attention, and march across the back of the field,guided by drum taps. When everyone had come to a stop, the announcer'svoice would echo through the stadium: "Beavercreek High School Marching
 
Band, you may now take the field for pre-placement and/or warmup." Fourtaps from the drum, and we began to march down the field, carefully formingour opening shape. The audience's cheers would crescendo to a deafeningvolume, but our focus never faltered. When we reached our positions, wewould turn around to face the back of the stadium, where our director stoodwith his arms over his head and counted off our warm-up, “Number Ten”. These eight beautiful notes could captivate anyone who heard them. Theaudience would quiet down to listen to our ringing harmonics, oftenapplauding when we completed the warm-up.By this point, I would be excited and anxious beyond belief. We'd turnback around to face the audience, backs ramrod-straight and instrumentsperfectly in position. Our eyes would be glued to the drum major's hands,which would show us the tempo, guiding us through the show. The voice overthe loudspeaker would then announce, "Beavercreek High School MarchingBand, you may now take the field in competition."Our drum major would count off precisely. We would take a collectivebreath, and begin.Both years that I marched in the band, I was in love. Band was a way of life. I saw changes in myself that I'd never thought possible. I grew confidentand proud, both on the field and off. I learned to love hard work and strove toimprove as much as possible. I grew even more dedicated to my schoolworkand other activities, and I sought to implement the philosophy of marchingband into everything I did.I grew used to being in the band. Each time I lifted my flute to play, thememorized notes came quickly and easily to my fingers. Moving my bodywith snappy precision became as natural as taking a breath, and ten years of ballet made it easy to lift up on my toes and march backwards. Whenever Igot ready to march, both in rehearsal and at a show, I felt energy rippingthrough me, the energy we all felt. It was the sort of energy that made usfeel like moving mountains. It was responsible for the ferocious pride paintedon our faces. Our band director called it controlled violence. The friends that I'd met stayed with me for the rest of high school. Itwas the first time in my life that I belonged to a group of intelligent,eloquent, and selfless people. Often, on bus rides during band season, wewould discuss everything from religion to politics to current scientificresearch. We did volunteer service together, played piano and sang for eachother, and took our little siblings trick-or-treating on Halloween. We were likebrothers and sisters, and it is from them that I learned to love myself despitemy faults.Marching band became the new meaning of my life, so it seemed onlynatural that I would stay in it my senior year. It would be the year to workeven harder than ever before, the year to let the music take me on one last journey.But fate intervened. I learned of a prestigious summer program calledLegacy Heritage Internships for Young Scientists (LHIYS). It involved spendinga summer in Israel and doing scientific research, Judaic study, and Israel
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