“Band Queers.”
That’s what they called us. And to be totally fair, some of us were, even if we didn’t realize at the time. However, in my high school,if you played an instrument other than a guitar and were in the band, you were a Band Queer, regardless of your orientation.
I’ve said before that I learned the meaning of irony in high school marching band. You see, there’s something about marching, the act of declarative, deliberate, ritualized walking, that is revelatory. Those who haven’t ever marched in any capacity, be it military, musical, or in protest, just don’t get it. The other kids in high school certainly didn’t, that’s for sure.
But we did. All the weeks of sweaty August nights, practicing on that muddy, bumpy field behind the band hall, slathered with Off to protect against the clouds of mosquitoes that feasted on us, trying and failing, and trying again till suddenly it all clicked: the intricacies of the music embedded in our brains, the mathematical complexity of the formations understood and mastered, turns and counter marches exquisitely snapped off, and a hundred and eight awkward geek adolescents moved as one proud accomplished entity.
We knew how good we were and we knew that the others would never get it and we knew that didn’t matter. We had a job to do, a show to put on, and a school to represent, whether they liked us or not. We were Band Queers. We kicked ass.
All of that, and of course so much more, was why I was in tears when I sawthis news day before yesterday:
We are extremely pleased to announce that the Lesbian and Gay Band Association will be included as a marching contingent in the Inaugural Parade. This is the first time that an LGBT group will be represented in a Presidential Inaugural Parade, truly our chance to make history.