ENG 1101

Prof. Thomas

Ezra Simmons

9.17.20

Simmons 1
After the Fall

On one of the hottest days before my eighth grade year, in the dead middle of

summer, I was baking in the heat. I mean, it was so humid, it honestly felt like I was

being roasted; the flame had me enveloped. I had been thrown into my high school’s

marching band’s ranks, all of which happened to be baking along with me. I, a

connoisseur of black clothing, had decided to dress like I was grieving at a funeral. With

my black shirt and sweatpants, I was really feeling the heat like I’d never felt it before.

And this didn’t start halfway through the practice. This started as soon as I said, “Bye

Mom!” and stepped out of the car. Even just walking down to the field was miserable.

When I arrived down at the field, I didn’t know what to expect at all. All I knew is

that I was officially starting marching band, which I had eagerly anticipated, but was

completely unprepared for. What going down to the field ‘really’ meant was work.

Nothing but pure sweat and effort. Not even being greeted by the other flute players as

a recognised member of the section relinquished the dread (of being in that heat) that

overwhelmed me as I worked. At this point, though, there was a motif with the brief

conversations I had with the other flute players. They all said to me, in one way or

another, a mantra of, “Don’t lock your knees.” I had no idea what this meant, so I just

continued on with my work.

What work did I go through you may ask? Well, the first task was to run a lap

around the track at my high school. Why? I don’t know. It didn’t even break me in at all
 Simmons 2

for the next task (which was the activity’s purpose) - it just made me more exhausted

already. The second task was learning how to march. In band, if everyone doesn’t have

a unified way of marching, playing, and even just looking, we don’t serve our job as a

marching band, which is to be uniform. Little did I know that it would ultimately take me

two entire years of band to master, and while my effort was justified, marching wasn’t

something you could just pick up without critique from peers and directors. Of course,

by the time I had just started to understand the basics, we had already moved on to the

next activity, which was how to stand properly. This is where things got tricky for me.

This year the directors had hired someone, who the students knew as Mr. C, to

teach everyone how to march. Mr. C, while teaching me to march properly, had grabbed

my foot to ‘get me to understand the basics,’ so I already wasn’t too pleased with his

teaching style. When he said, “Alright, we’re learning how to stand,” I was a little

nervous already, because I was having trouble even just standing up, let alone standing

there without moving for another hour, in all black, in quite literally 100 o weather. After a

quick explanation on how to stand, we got right to it.

“So we’re going to put you in the attention position, and you will remain there until

I call you down.” Alarms had already started blaring in my head. I didn’t know how I

would survive this. My legs were already tired from standing there normally, and I was

seriously concerned for myself.

So, we start the exercise, and as we’re chugging along at snail’s pace, I started

to feel a little dazed. A little bit later, I began to see black dots in my vision - only a

couple, at first, and then a slew of them appeared everywhere. At this point, I was
 Simmons 3

actually scared, and my head started to feel really light. My vision impared and my brain

distorted, I hit the ground without even realizing.

The next thing I saw was a blue sky. A split second later, after a bit of focusing

into the scene, I witnessed some very concerned band officials overtop of me, asking if I

was okay. I, who had barely regained consciousness, murmured, “Yeah,” in a very

unconvincing way. “He locked his knees,” said one of the flute players. “We even told

him not to!” chimed in a couple more. It took a director and a parent to assist me off the

field, and while the band continued their activities, I was off the field recovering from my

fall.

Now, in hindsight, my experience has made me realize two things. One, the fall

wasn’t really what hurt me. What really hurt me is that everyone knew that I passed out,

and I was constantly and insensitively being reminded of it by everyone, as if I was on

display. As a shy kid in a group of extroverts, this was quite literally the opposite of what

I wanted to be happening. More importantly, however, the second lesson was that when

I was being questioned by the other band members, there wasn’t anything I could do to

change it, either the band members or my past. Now, looking back, it’s become a major

event in my life that I’m willing to share with everyone, even the other band members. It

made me realize that admitting my mistakes to others isn’t such a bad thing at all.

Whether it be in school with a late assignment, on the field with an incorrect style, or

even to my parents about who ate the last cookie, I strongly believe that admitting one’s

mistakes does a lot more help than harm.