Since returning to Chicago a week ago, I’ve been hit with the question “So how was your summer?” more times than I care to count; and every time, I’ve given the same quick, easy response. “It was great.” But that’s because Jen Barton was right, once again.
On Semifinals day, she told us people would ask how it was. I mean, they had no idea what we were really doing besides posting pictures in uniform and pictures in basically our underwear from a new state seemingly every day.
She said we’d try to explain it. We’d try to complain about the rehearsal time in Louisiana, and how it felt to swim back to a reset in the thickest air you’ve ever tried to breathe. We’d try to tell the story of Rico getting shat on by a bird during a hot day at Luella about halfway through Spring Training. We’d say things that became norms over the summer, and nobody would laugh at a “yeet everything” and, normal people would get annoyed when we agreed with them by saying “well you’re not wrong.” We’d never be able to properly justify our hatred for Kansas to someone outside of drum corps. We’d never be able to forget how it felt to take the field at Mile High. We’ll never forget the sense of relief after a windy warm-up in San Antonio, knowing that our first dome show, (perfect conditions), was just moments away. We’ll never forget the hornline age-outs waking us up on the Atlanta regional day with Georgia. We’ll never forget the sadness after Allentown, when we realized we only had a week left with “Out of the Ashes,” and the 2015 Delta Diamonds. And hardest of all, we’ll never forget raising our white flag for the very last time in Lucas Oil Stadium, as the last note rang out, Brandt announced us one last time, and we collected our equipment and marched off the field. For the very last time with Spirit of Atlanta 2015.
[Something Creative] 