I haven’t had a tornado drill in years. Years. It must have been 1986 when I last did one of those. Elementary school. The principal comes over the intercom and says “Teachers, we will be having a tornaod drill.” Off to the hallways where we huddle down…our heads against the wall. The most uncomfortable and undignified postion imaginable. We’d stay there for a good 5 minutes or longer. Enough time for the principal or TEMA or whoever could time it to see if we were doing it right. Thankfully we didn’t have to do it for real. We were in school when there were tornado watches. But they never resulted in us having to take cover.
Fire drills, on the other hand, are much funner than tornado drills. Walk outside in a straight line in an orderly fashion. Teachers were always concerned about doing it in an orderly manner. They’d always get onto us when the fire drill would ring.
In college we had firedrills during the most inconvenient times. 12:15AM when everyone was back in the dorms. A friend of mine hid under his bed so as to avoid having to go outside in the cold air. It was fairly inconvinent in college. You could expect a firedrill at least once a year during college. If not once a semester.
I remember one time we had a real fire alarm go off. I think it was due to the steam from the showers or something. Happened at 7AM in the morning. And everyone pretty much ignored it.
When the tornado hit downtown Nashville in April of 1998, I was working at Nortel in Metrocenter. We crowded into the stairways to wait out the storm. No damage. My car was still around. And I went home slightly early. The interstate system was backed up. It was something out of U2’s video for “Last Night on Earth.” People getting out of their cars and trying to call on their cell phones. I just wanted to get home to see if my family was ok and if my house was still standing. And it was, thankfully.

I rode the school bus on occasion during elementary school. Always for the ride home. Never to school. Since I lived only a few miles from school, my bus ride was never all that long. Mrs. Davis was my bus driver. Bus #6. I had a few friend who rode that bus. I was the type to sit in the first few front seats. Never had enough guts to sit in the back. Didn’t want to. Didn’t need to. The back few seats of the bus was where all the trouble happened. The bus driver was always yelling at those in the back few seats.
So next came junior high. I rode the bus 80% of the time then. To and from school. That was a real pain since it seemed to take forever to get to school with all the stops. We got picked up at 7AM and arrived to school at around 8AM.
Our bus was truly an experiment in race relations. We started off in the suburbs where we’d pick up the white kids. Then on to Needmore Road to pick up the black kids. Race relations where never all that good on the bus. But no one was carrying a rebel flag or anything. I think we got along as best as anyone. Being the first group that was picked up, the suburban white kids sat in the back, unless you were like me who just wanted to stay away from all the trouble. I sat in the front. That left the middle for the black kids.
The ride home was a free for all. Whoever got on the bus first got first dibs on where to sit. I sat in the front. I carried my trombone with me and got made fun of for being a band geek and being forced to carry around a over sized flute for those uninformed.
Our bus driver was Mary Ann. She reminded me of Whoopie Goldberg. She liked to tell us she was 52 years old, but she looked 20something. She told us to call her “Freddy” as in Freddy Krueger so that she’d come after us with her fingernails. I guess it helped that she knew some of the kid’s parents personally and she could potentially use it as a bargaining tool to get good behavior.
I can remember on the last day of school we had a paper wad fight just as we got out of sight of the school. Everyone had their old papers from school. And they were more than happy to make them into paper wads when our bus driver gave her approval. Great fun. By the end we were knee-deep in paper wads.
Then there were the bus rides in high school. During my sophomore year I caught rides with friends to and from school. I had band after wards so I had to find my own way home on those days. Usually it was my mom who picked me up then. Things changed the summer before my junior year when I got my drivers license. So my bus riding days for the most part were over. Except for those band trips.
We rode the big yellow buses on our band trips. There were always 3 of them. We signed up beforehand on the desirable bus. As I remember it, bus #3 was where you wanted to be. Bus #2 were for drummers, while bus #1 was for those people who signed up at the last minute. It was always chaos on those buses. Between the hassle of trying to change into your band uniform and getting ready for the band contest, it was a wonder we had time to think. And I can remember those buses could get very cold in the wintertime.
It has been a while since I actually rode a bus. About the only time I ride buses is on those Ocoee rafting trips where they load you onto the buses to take you to the river. Roll down the windows going down. Roll them up coming back. Things can get cold when you’re in river soaked clothes.
Those are my bus experiences. Nothing outstanding or anything. Just the bus ride experiences.

It was true. I chose classes in high school, not according to what I was necessarily interested in, but what classes I was most likely to see my friends in. Band was like that. Sure, sometimes I enjoyed the concert music. But mostly it was one big social affair. Physics was the same way. I had no interest in the air speed velocity of an African swallow. My friends were taking it, and it was the next step up in this slew of science classes (right after Chemistry). It was either Physics or AP Biology, where they disected a cat through part of the semester. I had no interest in disection. So it was in my interest to take Physics. And by some strange phenomenon I got the Physics award for having the highest grade in physics during that particular class period. Wow. Never knew I had that in me. And I’ve probably forgotten everything there is to know in that field.
In high school smart people took French. Practical people took Spanish. “I’ll have more of an opportunity to use it,” they thought as they were making out their upcoming schedule with the school counselor. Yep, they were right. I’ve used Spanish way more than French ever was used and ever will be used. Apart from a quick business trip to Ottawa, Canada, there was no reason to use my French. Besides, no one ever really needs anything from a French person anyways. I was influenced to take French because my sister took French. She loved her teacher. He had a doctorate. Should have been teaching at the community college instead of a public high school.
I believe I know more Spanish than French. It was crash course in Spanish during my trip to El Salvador. Nice language. Somewhat easy to learn. I guess.
Practical classes to take. Say….Economics and Typing…were where you’d be less likely to find friends. I took both. Both were dull classes. I am glad that I took typing, because I’m still using it today.

“Man! You smell like phys-ed!”
Chunk to Sloth, in the movie “The Goonies”

Yeah. P.E. Phys-ed. Gym. It was a rite of passage for sophomores. I knew it was coming. I knew I’d have to grin and bear it when I reached 10th grade. In junior high I specifically took band so that I wouldn’t have to change in gym class. By the time you reached the 10th grade you had to take gym. Something about the president’s council of physical fitness meant that we had to take gym sometime in our life. And not just recess. It had to be some kind of organized physical activity. And you had to dress out. Dress out to pass. You weren’t required to do anything else except to put on your gym clothes.
I had it 2nd period. Which reminds me of a Wonder Year’s quote:

“In one of those quirks of scheduling my first class was gym. This meant that I had to wake up in the morning, shower, get dressed, go to school, get undressed, run around, shower and get dressed.”

It wasn’t all that bad. We didn’t sweat much in gym, so nobody showered. And we really didn’t have time. As I remember the showers were pretty nasty, so we didn’t go near them.
What was the usual in gym was that we changed, lined up, and let the coach mark us present. Our gym clothes were pretty bad. The shorts were tight enough to be biker shorts, but without the elasticity. At one point we were writing our names all over our gym clothes because there had been some theft of gym shorts around there. And who would steal gym shorts?

During my elementary school years Jordache Jeans were quite popular. And surprisingly enough my mom found a used pair at a garage sale. Technically they were the boy’s variety (did they even make a boy’s variety?). I’m still asking that myself. So she made an attempt at making me wear them. I flat out refused. There was no way I’d be wearing Jordache Jeans at any point. My mom was disappointed since she knew that they would fit. And having a wardrobe that would fit me (I must have been hard to shop for), was the most important strategy at that point. She did manage to find me some Eastland shoes when they were popular. However those Eastlands were girls variety.
I grew up in Lee jeans. Supposedly Lee fit me better. I envied my friends with Levi’s. But surprisingly enough, at some point in college I switched to almost totally Levi’s. To this day just about all my jeans are Levi’s. There is one pair of Bugle Boys’ somewhere around here.
And I’m proud to say I don’t have any Tommy Hilfiger stuff. Not a dime has been spent on Tommy stuff. I think it was a fad and was never meant to last very long. Levi’s, on the other hand, will always be in style. Kinda like Coke. Quality never goes out of style.
Ocean Pacific? I owns some of that stuff. T-shirts. Couldn’t go wrong with an Op shirt in junior high. Most Op shirts were pretty bright. Sometimes yellow, green, or pink even. Usually had some kind of surfing scene on the back. and then a small Op logo on the front.

We had an end-of-the-school-year party in 6th grade. My elementary school was K-6. Since we were about to enter the unknown world of junior high, it seemed like a good excuse to kick back and re mince about who we were and where we were going. There was a trampoline there and like any bunch of free sixth graders we went wild on the trampoline. I distinctly remember one particular parent having a cow over the unsafeness of the trampoline and the potential trouble it could cause. I remember saying to her daughter (a classmate of mine), “What’s the deal with your mom?” Not thinking at the time, I’m sure the girl was highly embarrassed during that very self conscious time of 6th grade. Probably had a big argument with her mom when she got home. “Mom, you embarrassed me at the party.” Oh well. I wasn’t thinking back then. I was just frustrated that the trampoline was a safety concern. Probably should have used a little tact.
I think they gave out our elementary graduation diplomas and predicted our future jobs. Mine was game show host for “Name that Country.” It was an ok party. Memorable enough for me to re mince almost 20 years later.

Pep Rallies never were exciting for me. When we got to junior high suddenly we were faced with this phenomenon. In elementary school herding everyone into the gym was meant for school wide movies or fund raising spiels. Now it was different. Herd everyone into the gym for screaming and somehow building commitment for going to the football game. And I only went to one junior high football game – the 9th grade homecoming game…and I only attended because I was in band. We played the theme to the Muppet Show during halftime…but that’s another story all together.
Pep rallies usually occured before the first football game of the year…and possibly before homecoming. Usually it consisted of the cheerleaders awkwardly doing their halftime show to an unsympathetic crowd. I distinctly remember seeing the halftimers dance to Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation (1814, you know). This past Saturday MTV had a special titled “22 of the Greatest Albums.” Rhythm Nation was on there. And there’s that controversy about 1814. As it turns out R is the 18th letter and N in the 14th letter. Nothing to do with the date.
Then came high school where we’d have to gain membership in the pep club to be able to go to pep rallies. I went to a few. I remember there were a few fights during the rallies. Mostly girls. Catfights. Put anyone in a crowded room long enough and they’ll find something to fight about.

I watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade this weekend. Which of course brought back memories of my marching band time. I was in band from 7th -11th grade….marching band for 10th and 11th grade. There was a certain degree of burnout since we did work very hard during the fall season. So its no surprise that many of us did drop out during our Junior and Senior years. My dropout was energized by the fact that many of my friends decided to drop out. I remember coming home and telling my parents that I was dropping out of band. They had been heavily involved in band and must have enjoyed much of the social part of it. So they were mad at me for dropping out.
As a marching band our emphasis was directed toward the contests. These were competition events that only the band parents went to. Whereas when most people think about marching bands, they think of football games and Christmas parades….which members of the band put relatively low emphasis on. We really didn’t care too much for football games and parades, only performing good enough to pass for respectable at these events. Yet when it was time to decide how much to give to school music programs, whether or not a band was in the local Christmas parade was a good measuring stick on whether or not the school board/county commissioner/powers that be granted money to the program.
We had some warped rules in band. Mostly it concerned whenever we’d march back to the stadium after competition. We marched back in line…usually without our instruments OR our uniforms. Here we were in street clothes marching back completely solumn…military faced….with our arms crossed….in a single file line. And whenever someone would try to break the line just trying to get through, we were supposed to yell “Don’t break ranks!” Some event ran right over the people. Talk about class. Looking back on that I think it was pretty dumb. It we had been in some type of military uniform, I could sorta understand it. But we were a high school band….and somehow justifying trampling over people and being downright rude to people.
It’s not that I hated it. I made alot of good friends in band and learned alot about life and organization and doing your part for the whole. I just think that it was particularly overhyped at times.

In 6th grade I was assigned to the classroom out in one of the many portables. Some of the parents of the 2nd graders complained that their kid was in the portable, but I don’t recall there being much uproar about 6th graders in portables. But that is another story altogether.
I digress. I was out in the portable. That being the case it was away from the rest of the school. We usually didn’t get much news from the outside…like the usual gossip that permeates throughout elementary school…especially in the teachers’ lounge.
Kids who arrived early at school were sent to the gym in sorta a holding pattern. Somehow the teachers union had worked into the contracts that said they didn’t need to see the kids until 7:30AM. That’s it. So anywhere from 6:45 to 7:25, we were sent to the gym to wait until school actually started. Not me. I lived approximately 1 mile from the school (maybe less, I could have walked it). So I had my mom drop me off at around 7:15 or so. And I’d go straight to the portable. No gym for me. No crowded gym with kids yelling with nothing to do. Nope. I acted like I was going to the bookstore to buy something, then I headed off to the portable. Usually another girl and I would be the only ones in there. Once our teacher caught on and said “Y’all are way too early. They haven’t let you out of the gym yet.” But nothing ever was said of it. I’d get some peace and quiet to myself without the self conscious act of walking into a crowded gym thinking everyone was staring at me. That was a big deal back then.

Junior High and High School Band class was supposed to be either for the musically inclined people OR people who wanted to get out of PE class. It was usually populated by the non-jocks. It is interesting to note that even in band class, which was a haven for more or less non-popular people, there was a pecking order.
Some examples. During away football games and marching contests in high school, bus sign up sheets were posted for us to choose our bus. It was vital for me and my friends to get on bus #3 for some odd reason. That supposedly was the cool bus, at least in our minds. Buses 2 and 1 were filled with undesirables. Yet once during a trip to Johnson City, TN, we were forced to ride #1 when the bus lists were put out earlier than usual. At the time it might as well been the end of the world. Now I look back at it and think it must have been pretty fickle to worry about. So what if you’re not on the bus you want to be on?
Sure, there were cool kids in band, when to the rest of the school, they weren’t necessarily so cool…or perhaps the better term is…”Not so well known.” Again the phenomenon of the microcosm of band. We were in our own little worlds. Where band took to much time and effort out of you, we rarely thought about any other activities, or non-band personalities. Plus in a 1200 student school, it was difficult to be everything to everyone.
Some of them were liked for their musical ability. Others were liked for their personality. Band directors like me because my parents were hard workers, even though I wasn’t necessarily the best musician in the world. I’ll admit it now. I was in band because I wanted to be around my friends. Not because we necessarily enjoyed performing halftime shows. Maybe that was the case for many of us. Therefore it wasn’t too surprising when my friends and I mutually decided not to take band our senior year.
My sister had musical talent. That was seen in her piano playing in elementary school and then later on in band in junior high and high school. She excelled, getting awards and invitations to MidState and All State band competitions. She paved the way for me. I probably had some talent. I took piano lessons in 3rd – 5th grade, but I never really practiced. Same way with band. Never practiced.
I think I have some sort of musical ear for things. I enjoy certain types of music and can distinguish between good music vs. bad music. But as far as band went, I probably should have sat out.