I’ve never been good with change. I like knowing that things will be exactly the same as they have been. I park in the back parking lot that my sister used last year, even though it would make more sense for me to park in the fine arts lot for band. I take the same staircase I have since the first day of freshman year, even though my classes are sometimes at the other end of the school. I take the same route to school everyday, even though I know there’s a faster way. All because it seems less scary when I know that my routine will stay the same as I’ve always known it to be.

I play oboe, which isn’t an instrument in marching band. That means I had to choose an entirely new instrument to play during marching season. Since I have seven years of experience playing piano, I landed on the synthesizer, which basically is a keyboard with sound effects that sits at the front of the field with the marimbas, symbols, and other immobile percussion instruments part of the pit. 

Before my first day of percussion camp, I was terrified. What if I was terrible at synthesizer? What if I completely embarrassed myself in front of everyone? But I went anyway, and as I walked through the doors of band hall two I came face-to-face with Chris Vasquez, barefoot and sitting criss-cross on the floor in front of my instrument with drills and metal pieces strewn around him. From that point on, he made me feel like I was truly a part of the section, even though I was only there half the year. And then he was gone. Earlier this year, in the middle of marching season, he announced that he was leaving and going to the police academy.

But it was okay! I was devastated that he was leaving, but I still had two other amazing directors. I met Mr. Monasmith in seventh grade, and he grew to be my biggest mentor in band. Because he plays oboe like I do, he is able to help and give me feedback from firsthand experience. I was laying in bed one night when my best friend texted me. I opened the image of the Baylor University Golden Wave Band 2025 Leadership and saw his name. Christopher Monasmith, right at the bottom of the list of graduate assistants. Two down, one to go.

With our assistant director leaving at the end of the year, we all thought “Well, at least it can’t get any worse.” Look at us optimists, looking on the bright side. Big mistake. Huge.

At first glance, Andrew Nance was by far the scariest director out of the three.To be quite honest, I’m still nervous to go into his office. But really, Mr. Nance is just a nice, normal guy who really needs to stop using brainrot terms in the UIL sight-reading room. He has pushed me out of my comfort zone in my playing and worked with me so I can participate in band, choir and newspaper without issue. Clinicians and students from other high schools who get the opportunity to work with him have all raved about how great of a director he is, and I couldn’t agree more. But, as of next school year, he will be blessing Keller Central High School instead. Three directors, one year. Is that a record?

Now, I’m not saying I’m the closest to them by any means. I haven’t been in band as long as the juniors or seniors, and I certainly haven’t talked to the directors as much. Still, they have made such an impact on my high school experience. I’ve grown immensely as both a player and a person, and I feel like I’ve truly found a home in the organization. 

To Vasquez- Thank you for always making me feel like I had a place. I still miss your random topics of conversation and your weird debates about lions. I hope you’re wearing shoes at the police academy.

To Monasmith – Thank you for your advice and how you’ve helped improve my playing and my confidence. I’ll miss the weird faces you make across the grid and, surprisingly enough, the way you always throw the practice room keys at my feet. I will not miss you calling me a drowned rat.

To Nance – Thank you for working with me and being the best head director possible. I’ll miss all of your horrible dad jokes, and the few good ones too. I’ll keep the Keller Central band students in my prayers whenever I hear a new brainrot term.

In July I will drive the same route I always have and park in the same lot in front of the band hall doors, as I have every July for the past two summers. But this time, everything I know will officially be ripped out from under my feet. However, I’ve learned that all I can do is embrace the changes, take what I’ve learned and focus it into my playing, because that’s what my directors have always taught me to do.