The summer before eighth grade, I decided to join band to become a trumpet player.
I don’t really remember what sparked my interest in wanting to play the trumpet. Maybe it was the cassettes of Miles Davis that my parents got me that I listened to nonstop. Maybe it was the swagger the trumpet players at my middle school had, always being able to attract the lady-folk.
Whatever the reason, I was determined to become a trumpet player.
I was thirteen when the new school year started. It’s the only time I ever remember being excited about my first day of school, unable to fall asleep the night before and up at the crack of dawn.
When class started, the band director gave a brief overview of what to expect in beginning band and asked us what we wanted to play. Then he had the students sit in their respective sections for trumpet, trombone, flute, etc. I sat with my new-found crew of compadres, ready to learn to play.
But my reign as a trumpet player didn’t last long.
When the bell rang, Mr. Bentley asked me to stay back so he could talk with me. I thought maybe he was going to compliment me on my instrument of choice. Or warn me that I had better not become one of those obnoxious trumpet players who would drown out the rest of the orchestra (which, let’s face it, is every trumpet player’s main goal in life and sole purpose for living).
That didn’t happen. Instead, Mr. Bentley told me I couldn’t play the trumpet.
When I asked why, he told me because I “had the lips of a trombone player” and walked away.
I sat there alone in the band room for a very long time. The words Mr. Bentley spoke to me completely changed how I viewed myself. I thought I was a trumpet player – but I was wrong.
So I stood, grabbed my overly large backpack, and left for my next class, not caring that I was late.
For the next two years, I played the trombone in eighth and ninth grades. And I was terrible.
I only describe myself as terrible because I can’t think of a better word to explain how awful I really was at the trombone. What kind of barbaric instrument doesn’t have keys and instead uses a weird slide that you have to position perfectly for every note? I was last chair in the bottom band. And if you don’t know what that means, I’ll bottom line it for you – you couldn’t get any worse than me.
But I wanted to be part of the band, so I stayed and I tried really hard to get better.
I was focused on succeeding at the wrong thing. And because it was wrong, I was set up for failure from the beginning. When you try to succeed at the wrong thing, all you do is waste your time.
By the summer before my sophomore year of high school, I had had enough. I had spent two years of my life trying to become someone that I wasn’t. Two years wasted on the wrong path.
I decided to go out and buy a trumpet and show up on the first day of class with it.
I was nervous, not knowing how Mr. Scott, my high school band director, would react to me declaring that I was now a trumpet player. But I practiced that summer, so he simply said Okay.
Within a year I was playing in the top band. Then I became section leader. Then I was given solos. I wasn’t the best, that’s for sure, but I was doing what I felt called to be doing at that time in my life.
And most importantly, I was having a blast.
One Friday night, after playing a solo with the marching band during halftime of the football game, Mr. Bentley, who I hadn’t seen in at least four years, found me standing in line at the water cooler.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. I was a little confused and then he clarified for me. “I told you that you had the lips of a trombone player. It wasn’t true. I just had too many trumpets already in the band.”
I told him it was fine and walked away. I’m sure he was in a tough position – you can’t have a roomful of trumpet players, after all – and I just as well might have done the same thing myself.
And that’s how life works. But you have to follow your heart when you feel called to do something. Twenty-five years later and it’s still easy for me to forget this.
Stand up for what you believe to be true.
Don’t let someone tell you who you are or what you’re not.
If you’re told that you have the lips of a trombone player – have the courage to show up with a trumpet anyway. And if they have too many trumpet players, go find a new band to play in.