#rccdrums

As each year passes by, the community I once so deeply entwined myself with becomes just a bit more distant. Before, when I went to a competition, I could barely walk a few feet without running into a close friend I spent seasons repping the same sets over and over with. Time marched on, and we then became teachers, watching as our students took center stage. Another few seasons go by, and I find myself rooting for the teachers more so than any performer. And now almost a decade since my age out, many former colleagues and students, like myself, have begun diverging and finding other priorities in our lives.

Still, I insist on going to a live winter drumline show each season. While the people I can excitedly run into number less than the fingers on a hand, I still appreciate the activity and the art. However, I would be lying if I denied the discomfort we had when Samantha and I walked around the lot at Toyota Arena. Nervousness isn’t to be unexpected after all these years I suppose. The activity and the people have changed so much. So much so that we felt like foreigners, with a nonsensical dread of being exposed that we didn’t quite belong. To then have RCC perform their show about Home was unexpectedly coincidental. The show itself did such an amazing job for such a simple concept. 

Instead of narrowly prescribing what a home is or should be, RCC’s approach was expansive and loose, describing what a home could be. There is of course the physical manifestation of a house, illustrated by the prop front entrances or unique pieces of furniture. But instead of limiting itself to the physical boundaries, the show also plays with the idea of the symbolic definitions of home. It can be a family member welcoming you with open arms or perhaps it's a place of play and discovery. Home can be where one find’s support, either through life’s inevitable trials or the celebrations in times of triumph. It can be that old family lamp with special meaning, or maybe just a single person to lean on. Or, if you’re fortunate, it can be a staircase full of those you love. As long as one feels safe, unjudged, heard and allowed to dream, then the home can manifest in any form.

Note. This was written pre-pandemic, since we were initially trying to establish the scholarship fund for WGI’s 2020 season and it got delayed for obvious reasons. I’ve left it mostly as is.

Over different parts of my life, drumline meant different things to me. Initially, it was an escape from reality, a place of fun; engaging in band class typically always beat out all my other subjects at school. Soon afterwards, it became a community, a warm and inviting house emanating a sense of belonging; the perfect environment many young adults yearn for as they feel trapped in the hyper judgmental confines of their surroundings. The mutual reassurance and support between drumline members were hardly ever questioned. Passion came next, as the rehearsals became the highlights of my day and as I insatiably auditioned and participated in more and more groups. While my body sat in classrooms, dorm rooms, or lecture halls, my heart was in another world, fantasizing about the field. Finally, inspiration. While odd to place the concept of inspiration at the end of the arch, this call to action to inspire and be inspired was only evident to me once I reached the higher echelons of the activity: to leave an imprint within those around me and to invite others to have their lives become inextricable from mine. 

Fun, community, passion, inspiration. This ever-changing narrative was ever-deepening; every audition, every repetition, and every performance cemented these emotions and values deep within the core of my being. Even now, as my career is shaping to have no relation to my time as a drummer, the fundamental nature of who I am today is inseparable from this activity. While my educational pedigree taught me how to write code or how to read a financial statement, the dreamer within me was crafted by my time on the floor. This inspiration, this innocent snowball that barreled down the slope of my life until it became a full-on avalanche that completely disrupted it, is still very much paving my path forward.

While there are plenty of shortcomings of the activity, I treasure it deeply. I wouldn’t be who I am today without it and I am greatly appreciative of the opportunity I had to undergo this transformative experience. However, bringing its shortcomings to the forefront, it is apparent that this activity is not inclusive to all who should be able to participate. Especially at the pinnacle of the drumline activity, the amount of women present is meager at best. While accounting for half of our population, women account for probably < 10% of our world-class battery members. Perhaps it could be due to drumline’s historical roots in the military, a drumline culture that seeks out attributes traditionally seen as “manly”, not seeing enough representation to encourage participation, or a myriad of other reasons. While I’m not going to pretend to be an expert in understanding why this divide exists, I can at least recognize that there are clearly systematic issues that prevent many women to participate in such a life-changing opportunity.

Two personal stories come to mind as I contemplate this issue. This past WGI finals, I surprised my old student Shea by flying out to Dayton to watch her age-out with RCC. While I haven’t taught her for many years now, her earnestness, effort, and excellence was always apparent to me; to see her kick ass in the lot was expected. The reactions I heard from the young high schoolers watching her were of much greater astonishment and intrigue. Multiple times I heard audible and excited whispers of how there was a female cymbal section leader in such a prestigious group. This shock and awe left me with very bittersweet feelings. While proud of the example she was setting, I was dismayed that this was seen as something so special, so out of the norm that it elicited such a strong response. This should not be a rare occurrence that merits excitement and wonder, but instead a natural facet of the drumline activity. 

My long time partner Samantha was also a part of drumline, a snare drummer since her middle school days. When she auditioned for her first independent drumline, she got cut. While being cut at an auditions is an extremely routine occurrence and there may have been many valid reasons to cut her, how she was cut completely eliminated any sense of reason. 

When she asked how she could improve, the first and only response she received was that "she was a girl, and they didn't want the snareline to look weak". As completely unacceptable as those remarks are, the fact that this was the first and only reason they gave her illustrates how deeply cemented these biases are within our activity. The person giving the comments probably had no qualms stating this and probably has already forgotten, while Samantha has always had this in the back of her mind.