I’m Never Excited To Go.
In order to be sure that Shane went to high school with a slew of friends and plenty of stuff to do, I encouraged him to join the school marching band. He has been a percussionist since elementary school.
I should have known, last summer when I forced him to take lessons, that he wasn’t terribly enthused. But I thought marching about on a football field with 50 of your closest friends sounded like great fun. It made me wish I played the drums.
Shane went to practice faithfully in May and June, every Wednesday. When I asked him how practice was, he said, “fine,” and then talked about the other percussionists (who are not very nice to him) and about the new drums he was playing (which he didn’t really enjoy) and about the upcoming activities (which didn’t appeal to him).
I ignored all of the signs.
“It will get better,” I said.
“You’ll like it more when you’re with the whole band,” I said.
“You’ll like it when you’re marching,” I said.
I paid $300 for equipment, transportation, a uniform and fees. “You’re sure you want to be in marching band, right?” I asked jovially before hitting the PAY button.
“I guess,” he said.
After practice one day he said, “I wish I could practice at home, but I don’t know how to set up the drums.”
I emailed his band teacher, who suggested that he take home the actual drum set. So, while Shane was at camp, I picked up his drums. I was so excited about giving him his own drums to practice.
They were heavy. And we had a little trouble setting them up. But we did it, then left him alone to practice. After about twenty minutes, he stopped playing.
We went upstairs and found Shane. To put it mildly, he was rather unhappy. Even he didn’t know what was wrong. But in the course of a short conversation, he said he was concerned about marching band. He didn’t even know what was bothering him so deeply.
“Make a list of pros and cons,” I suggested – as my dad, years earlier, had suggested to me. “It will help you see what’s bothering you about marching band and put it into perspective. Then you can make a mature, informed decision about what you need to do.”
Shane’s list of “pros” was four points, one of which wasn’t even accurate. (They do not provide free food at band camp.) “It might get better” was his strongest “pro.”
His list of “cons,” though, was massive – 11 very strong, heartfelt points, not the least of which was: “I don’t really like to play the drums.”
But the most telling “con” was: “I’m never excited to go.” I asked him specifically about that.
“Well, I always want it to be Tuesday or Friday so I can play table tennis,” Shane said. “But I am never excited when it’s Wednesday.”
Shane doesn’t like marching band, I realized. It’s just not his thing.
“Gee Shane,” I said, looking up from his list. “You might want to quit.”
The relief on Shane’s face, the relief in his whole body, was palpable. He worried about the money; he worried about my reaction; and he worried he was disappointing the rest of the band. He wanted everyone else to be happy, and he had been willing to march – no matter what – even though it was crushing his spirit.
“Don’t worry about anyone but you,” I said. “And from now on, let’s work on communicating about how you really feel.”