When I was a seventh grader I was in the Cotton Bowl Parade in Texas on New Year’s Day. I didn’t ride one of the floats, I marched with my school band.

The school I graduated from was really small. To give you an idea of how small, there were 37 students in my graduating class counting the foreign exchange student. Because of the small number of students there was only one concert band, which was also the competition and marching band, and it was composed of students from seventh through 12th grade.

It was almost unheard of for a small band like ours to be invited to march in a large, televised parade. That honor was reserved for large bands that were able to practice all year and were comprised of only the best of the best band students.

We only practiced during the summer months, we didn’t have anywhere to go during the winter. Our band was comprised of every band student regardless of experience or skill. If you were in band you also marched, no excuses.

So how did a small town school in Minnesota get invited to march in the Cotton Bowl Parade? Through pride and dedication.

We were given the opportunity to join band at the end of fifth grade. I played my mom’s original wooden clarinet that she used in school; I later switched over to tenor sax. 

The summer between sixth and seventh grade we marched in the junior band, then everyone joined the marching band the next summer. Even so, we were good. So good, in fact, that we won first place in nearly every parade we performed in each summer, beating out even the large bands that came out of the twin cities metro area schools. 

We were good for one main reason – our band director, Mr. Peterson.

By the time I got into band Mr. Peterson had been leading bands for many years and was getting close to retirement. He had spent so much time marching that the toes of his black shoes curled up. He was a small man physically, but he had a big, demanding personality. No matter how much we practiced we were never good enough, and he refused to accept anything less than perfect. None of us wanted to let him down. Pride and determination kept us going.

Other than their instruments, everyone looked the same – hair under the hat, black shoes with white spats, and white gloves. Every single person was in step, and no one looked anywhere but directly ahead of them. It was an impressive sight and an impressive sound, and impressive enough to catch the attention of the Cotton Bowl Parade planning committee.

Leaving a few days after Christmas, we arrived in Dallas, TX after a 27 hour bus ride. I don’t remember much about marching in the parade itself, everything was a blur in my peripheral vision as I looked straight ahead. That was actually a bit disappointing, as participants we didn’t have the opportunity to actually watch the parade.

Today I watch local parades that rarely feature a marching band, or if they do, it’s only the junior band. My oldest daughter was able to march for a couple of years, but by the time the other two were old enough that opportunity was gone.

The loss of marching bands is sad. They were an important and entertaining part of parades for years, and a source of pride for schools and communities. I’m told they went away because students today are too busy to take the time to participate. I don’t believe that. When I was in school students had jobs and other commitments as well, but they managed to fit in marching band anyway. Either schools don’t want to take the time involved themselves, or young people today have a diminished sense of pride and determination. Maybe both.

The benefits of marching band are many. What did it teach me? Discipline, bearing, focus, respect, the strength to overcome hardships (*see paragraph below), self-confidence, and working as a team. The values of commitment and hard work.

I’d like to see it brought back.

*We wore wool uniforms and marched during the summer months. There were no people running around squirting water into our mouths. At the end of every parade the t-shirt I wore under my uniform was literally wringing wet. It was a miracle that we never had anyone faint, or worse.