Because You’re A Girl

I remember the moment I became a feminist.

It was the first time my high school band director said, “You’ll never be drum major because you’re a girl.”

A drum major leads the high school marching band by blowing a whistle, yelling commands and, most importantly, conducting the music.

The band room was too cold with air conditioning that day. I was in the seventh grade at Wren Middle School in Piedmont, South Carolina. Cow pastures surrounded the school. For band class we crossed the street to the high school every day. Blue cabinets framed the back of the rectangular room; cinder block walls were painted white with doors leading into cave-like storage rooms. Metal chairs and music stands formed a messy semi-circle. I remember the feeling, bigger than words it comes back to me as I write this, of shock and confusion. I have felt it many times since when I’ve experienced sexism. My heartbeat pulsed in my head as I asked, “Why?”

He shrugged. Shrugged. And said, “I just think boys are better at it.”

In the sixth, seventh and eighth grades whenever Mr. T. was absent I conducted my concert band class. Kids in middle school concert band are mostly motivated by the magical future that awaits them in high school marching band: the uniforms, the performances, the football games and the bus trips. I wanted to be drum major for the marching band.

Mr. T. did not hold auditions for drum major. He simply appointed a male senior to the position. I was bewildered that I would not have a chance to do something I dreamed of, simply because I was a girl. And I was additionally confused because I so admired Mr. T., and I knew he thought I did a good job as the student conductor.

I argued with him about his decision. But it did no good. I cried about it to my mother who wisely advised, "Just keep focused on your dream. You never know what'll happen."

Marching with the xylophone my freshman year only increased my desire to be drum major. (Yes, I, a mere girl, actually carried the 35-pound instrument with a harness while I played it.) I loved performing, loved the teamwork of learning a routine, the creativity of the music and showmanship, and most of all I loved the music. Now I know more about energy and the power of the vibration of music, how it calms and energizes. Then I only knew that I felt great when I played music, I looked forward to it, and rode the adrenaline high for hours or days afterwards.

On an otherwise normal spring day my freshman year - windows and doors open, spring fever in full force, everyone wishing for summer - Mr. T. was arrested. Policemen handcuffed him and took him out to a police car and drove away. He was accused of making obscene phone calls. I don’t know if he was found guilty.

Astounding. I was thrilled that I might have the chance to audition for drum major. But horrified that I’d lost my band director. Something awful happened to someone I cared about, and it was possibly really going to help me. And, wow, was my mom ever right. You never know what’s going to happen.

During the summer a new band director was hired and he immediately announced drum major auditions. The day the winner’s name was posted at the school I was baby-sitting in a little trailer park for a family who had no phone. When the parents arrived home from work, I drove my mother's green ‘77 Nova to her beauty shop. When I pulled into the gravel parking lot she opened the door holding the phone in her hand, and I read her lips through the windshield, "Hurry, the phone is for you."

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Mr. T. I heard you got drum major and I wanted to call to congratulate you."

How surreal is that? The man, who told me I would never be drum major, and who was arrested for making obscene phone calls, calls and delivers the news that I won the audition.

Band was my life: the polished white shoes, counting the eight steps between lines on the field, standing at attention, marching to a drum cadence and the music. When I blew the whistle, the vibration of my breath moving the little wooden ball around inside became an extension of my voice. I wondered if fear could be heard and seen. We played the same songs over and over for a season, perfecting them for competition. The melodies are still in my head, surfacing randomly; their names forgotten.

Winning the position of drum major did not make my life suddenly wonderful. Along with the joy came the incredible burden of others' jealousy. I was the first known female drum major for the Wren High Marching Pride. I was also only a sophomore. This alone was a good reason for juniors and seniors in the band to hate me. Being female was enough of a reason for most of the guys to hate me. And the girls, well, girls are not always famous for sticking together. Because, really, "Who does she think she is?" I’d overhear. I was called a know-it-all, a snob, a fake, a bitch, a slut, and many other things. Anything I did was scrutinized and exaggerated.

What did I learn from all this? Like the little plaque says, "If you're a woman you have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good as a man." It was painfully true. I wish I could report that the pressure and criticism had no effect on me. But it did. I worried, I cried, my insecurities were fueled. God almighty - it was high school - already barely survivable.

But I would do it again. I wish I could do it again. I wish I could march onto a football field with 150 musicians and flag corps following me. I wish I could feel the buzz of stands full of people watching as I saluted, blew a whistle, clapped and pointed gloved hands and feel the music wash over me. I’d like to bow for the band and look up in the stands and see my mother with her special “Drum Major’s Mother” tee shirt at the top of the stairs on the 50 yard line.

I wish it was the only time I’d experienced sexism. Most women have a story similar to this. Let’s tell them. It wasn’t that long ago. We have come far, but not nearly far enough. And at half time, please, keep your seats and cheer for the band.