I spent all of junior high and high school tweeting a flute in band class until I switched to the piccolo on the basis that it was easier to carry around and sort of ditty, like a toddler flute. But because we were in the middle of Queens we never actually got to march anywhere or play anything or — well, anything. And I had untapped ham tendencies.

Then, out of the blue, in my senior year the school decided to put on a musical (You're a Good Man Charlie Brown) for the first time in twenty years and I wanted desperately to play Lucy but I'd always thought I was an alto and so auditioned for Snoopy. But the singing teacher said that I was an untrained soprano and I got the part! Hooray! In a final burst of cuteness, I ended up going to the prom with Charlie Brown, who was really nice back then (and let me paint his nails) but is now a scumbag bounty hunter who dates 18 year olds. Yuck. Maybe it was the nail polish that drove him to it.

The singing teacher was wrong, though. Alto all the way.

I had missionary parents, and though my mother always loved to dance in secret, I was never allowed to go to school dances because it went against our mission board's regulations. I bore it quite well, until Hjalmar came to our school. He was cute and the new boy — half-Chinese, half-Swedish. All the popular girls were immediately in love with him. And out of all the girls in our year, he liked me. I found out about it through the grapevine, and it shocked me.

One of my best friends, Hersha, was having a dance party for her birthday. I begged my dad to let me go. He said no, but my mother gave me a look that stopped me from arguing — she'd talk to him. A week before the party, he came around to the idea, gave me a curfew, and let me go.

I remember planning my outfit — black shirt, white skirt, and black-and-white suspenders. I practiced dance moves to a Michael Jackson tape my sister had smuggled into the house. At the party, I had my first slow dance ever with Hjalmar. It didn't matter that he was a foot shorter than I was. It was perfect … standing there in the middle of the dance floor (my friend was a member of the richest Indian family in Hong Kong and she lived in a mansion — with a large space for parties), shifting from one foot to the other, hands and armpits sweating. I thought the song would never end. The popular girls shot me looks of contempt. It was my moment of glory!

The best part? My teenage daughter experiences the exact same thing when she dances.

So instead, I was one of the girls *next to* the band kids. Holding a flag. That's right – I was in color guard, a "flagette" if you will ;D And I could guard those colors damn well!

My freshman year, the band director chose a fool-proof soundtrack for the year's performance. Star Wars. Seriously – if you're going into competition with a lot of geeks, choosing to play one of the most awesome themes in the world was basically just asking for people to hand over trophies. We even opened with the Fox fanfare (horn-pop and all!). As for color guard, we were ready.

We had theme-colored flags for each song, most of them almost metallic-looking. Best of all, our sabres were wrapped with shiny green tape – basically imagine football field lights shining on those beauties! Lightsabres made real We finished the show with ten-foot flags (not kidding).

I ended the show spinning that ten-foot flag around me. Into a percussionist. (Not kidding.) Somehow he kept his balance and finished the performance. But to make it a little more embarassing I should mention that I had a crush on that kid since kindergarten. Somehow this sounds like a Taylor Swift song or something, but it's completely true.

No, I didn't miraculously start dating the guy, but we *did* win each of the competitions we went to that year (including the one I knocked down the drummer). No one can deny the awesomeness of Star Wars music. Or ten-foot flags.

So, really, I owe a lot to music and the marching band that gave me so many ridiculous memories throughout high school. I've since graduated high school as well as college, but I like thinking back to just how much work I put into color guard and working with the marching band. If nothing else, it at least makes for an interesting story

Great contest!

During my junior year, my best friend and I wrote the Bando Manifesto: "A spectre is haunting Olympia High School, the spectre of Bandoism!". Then as marching season ramped up we wrote the Woodwind Declaration of Independence, which in a very Jeffersonian way declared that we, woodwinds, will no longer be oppressed by the brass (most especially those hated trumpets. This seems like a good place for a trumpet joke, but I'll restrain myself).

I was a clarinet/Bass Clarinet player who during marching season was Woodwind Captain. I never auditioned for drummajor. Why would I? Drum majors don't get to march or play music. I can't see any fun in that.

As for what show, that's easy. Buffy. I would be a slayer in between Kendra and Faith. I would breeze into town, kick some vampire butt and claim Angel's heart for a short time until I am killed to make way for Faith to rise.