Essay #10
My parents never played Mozart pieces while I was in the womb, and I don’t remember ever attending a professional classical concert, so I’m not sure where my passion for the clarinet originated. A few of my fifth-grade buddies told me they planned to play an instrument in the school band, and they urged me to join them. I didn’t want to be that one kid left out. My decision to play the clarinet instead of all the other enticing band instruments was sort of random. Our band teacher told me it was easier than the trumpet or the trombone, and it meant I wouldn’t have to sing in the chorus, which was an unappealing option while puberty wreaked havoc on my voice.
When we moved from Maryland to Florida at the end of 8th grade, my enthusiasm for playing the clarinet intensified. At Riverview High School, all new freshmen who planned to participate in the band program had to attend summer marching band camp, which was a bit intimidating since I didn’t know a soul. I considered quitting, but thank goodness I didn’t because band camp changed everything. Don’t get me wrong. I had no idea what I was doing on the field. I struggled to play even a few accurate notes in succession while coordinating my feet to march in the right direction, but for the upperclassmen, these complicated multitasking skills seemed effortless. They marched like seasoned soldiers while playing the music with extreme precision. The notes coming out of my clarinet sounded like a dying animal, but mesmerized by my talented classmates, I felt inspired to improve. My lofty goal was to play in Riverview’s wind ensemble, two levels above my freshmen ensemble, and one of the best bands in our district. When I asked the band director, Mr. Dubbert, if I had a shot, he looked at me as if I’d asked if I could play at Carnegie Hall. Still, his honesty didn’t discourage me.
Around February, he described what would be required for the audition in three months, which would coincide with the stress of final exams. The clock was ticking, so I worked with a senior to learn the demanding audition music. Thanks to my dad, I commuted 40 minutes twice a week to work with a professional clarinet teacher. My notes sometimes sounded like nails on a chalkboard, but she must have seen potential in me, and eventually, my embouchure, tone quality, and rhythm improved, making the music more melodic. By May, she thought I was ready to go up against the sophomores and juniors competing to get into the wind ensemble.
One week to go. Final exams. Shaky practice sessions. Restless sleep. Running on adrenaline. Deep breaths. Gaining confidence. 24 hours. Bring it on.
When Mr. Dubbert asked who wanted to audition, I was as shocked as anyone that my hand shot up first. My classmates applauded, and a senior led me to a practice room, turned on a tape recorder, and disappeared. I began tentatively, but after a few scales and a couple minor slip-ups, I found my groove. When our teacher posted the results a month later, a crowd of eager musicians packed the hallway, and I couldn’t even see the list. When my buddies told me I made it, I didn’t believe them until I saw my name. I was the only freshman clarinet player to get into the wind ensemble that year.
Although I don’t know yet whether I’ll play the clarinet in college as part of a formal ensemble, this memorable achievement gave me the confidence to set high expectations for myself in whatever I do. I realized that even as an underdog, I had the discipline and diligence to persevere through the grueling audition-prep process. This type of commitment will serve me well in my academic work, extracurricular activities, and eventually in my career.