Teaching music is not just a hobby but a passion and that is burning in my heart. I march to the beat to my drum and I always have a rhythm going in my head. The drive is what is moving me forward in the journey that I started my 6th grade year. I was forced into music in middle school. I had taken "Summer Band," which automatically put the band class on my fall schedule. I learned to fear becoming a "band geek." I hated Band and everything that had to do with music. I pleaded with my mother to get me out, but she refused, and the principal supported her, saying that it would be a good experience for me to try new things. My mother then rented a clarinet for me, and I remember giving her a mean look and stomping off to school. I quickly decided …show more content…
As Leopold Stokowski once said “A painter paints pictures on a canvas, but musicians paint their pictures on silence.” The Southwest High School band cares so much that we have been accepted to a prestigious festival and perform on the stage of Carnige Hall in New York City. That is a prestigious festival that not many high schools get accepted to one day I would like to teach a band that would go to proceed to festival and blow the crowd away. “We have music that might speak without words.” I sit hidden behind a black music stand, buffeted by clamorous and obnoxious noises. I wait for what seems like an eternity. To my left I hear squeaks and high-pitched screeches. To my right and farther back, I hear blasting blats and loud, low eruptions that shake the whole stage. At a distance I hear low beats and ear-piercing crashes, with occasional drum rolls and peals of bass. Finally it is time to listen. The whole ensemble sits in silence, watching and anticipating. A flick of the wrist produces a beautiful B-flat tuning note and then a bit of chaos again until order restores itself. The baton is tapped three times, the tuning stops, and everyone readies to play. My heart races, a drop of sweat aims for the tip of my nose, both hands raise to give the down beat. On my left I hear long, perfectly unison runs and the high-pitched heavens. On my right I hear the syncopated rhythms, redundant yet beautiful. Heaven is upon me, covering me in angelic