Mar 23, 2023 4 min read

In fourth grade, I began preparing for what I thought might be my life’s work. Three uncles and my mother’s father had all been musicians. My journey started with a pair of drumsticks given to me by my Aunt Mildred. Within a very short time, I had graduated from lessons at school to private lessons. By seventh grade, I was marching in the drum section of the high school band, and in eighth grade, I switched from drums to the trumpet, and things really took off for me.

Over the next five years, my passion for music grew exponentially. You see, I was never a great athlete. Dad had been born and raised on a farm, and his dad, an Italian immigrant, never taught him any of the traditional American sports like baseball, basketball, or football. Hence, my lack of athletic abilities became evident at a very young age. Even though I played all of those sports in sandlots, the neighbor’s yard, or on the playground at school, when the star athletes selected their teams, I was usually picked last, or nearly so. Luckily for me, I had a strong sense of humor and an okay self-image, but much of that confidence came from belonging to a different tribe.

You see, I was an outstanding musician, and when I was with the other band kids, I was a star, and that gave me a sense of self-esteem. That esteem was the result of our receiving applause at concerts and assemblies for the amazing music we were making. It also resulted in my not being beaten up on the playground or chased by bullies because I had stature. I was someone. Even though my talents did not shine on the athletic playing fields, my classmates gave me credit for being darn good at what I did.

Now that we’re seeing young men, usually lost souls, arming themselves and attacking their classmates, or teenage girls taking their own lives, my former band director self reflects deeply on the thousands of kids I taught in elementary, junior and senior high school. I see their faces and wonder which of them might have gone off the deep end had they not had access to their own personal tribes.

When professional football stopped airing halftime shows, and bands committed to being competitive, two things happened. Being a “bandie” dropped in popularity, and competitive perfection became a requirement that washed out droves of young musicians who weren’t committed to practicing as if their lives depended upon it. Rural school bands went from 150 to 20 kids or fewer, and plenty of those free-range kids got lost in the crowd. That’s when, I believe, some of them turned to the dark web, to self-destructive and sometimes mass-destructive activities that might previously have been avoided if they had been with a group of their peers who respected them.

LGBTQ+ was not a label when I taught, but by sixth or seventh grade, it was clear that some of those kids had found a home in non-traditional activities. Be it choirs, bands, theater, dance, or visual arts, they were welcomed and protected from what we see now as outright persecution. They were accepted by the open-minded kids who didn’t care if they weren’t exactly like them. Their uniqueness added to the creative power of the groups that embraced them. Live and let live was the motto.

So, when you wonder if cutting the arts, shortchanging or eliminating the time the kids have for band, choir, art class, or dance has any impact on society, think about this article. Try to imagine being one of those kids having to live through those challenging years without your tribe. Remember the fun you had making music, or dancing, or being in plays, and then thank your school boards and school leaders if they’re preserving those opportunities. They may be life-or-death decisions.

Nick Jacobs is a Windber resident.