An Open Letter to the Person Wearing My Uniform

Wearing my marching band uniform was not something that I took lightly. When those bibbers went on and those wings folded out, I was bound in blood with my fifty brothers and sisters. For a person who is twenty years old, 5 years of your life is a long time, and that’s how long I spent in that uniform.

It knows me and I know it better than anyone else on this planet. It holds the unfortunate stains of my past (like the time I spilled grape juice down the front only minutes before taking the field and that time I did the splits on the fifty and had a mud stain clear up one leg and down the other). My uniform was there with me the day my first boyfriend broke my heart and it was there again when a tornado ripped my school apart. It was there during prom season and the Run for the Roses. It was there with me through every important stepping stone a person experiences in college.

But now it’s yours.

I hope that when you march off the field at your last show, you smile a watery smile and when you put those bibbers back on the hook for the last time (folded at the creases, of course), you remember the sweat, tears, emergency sewing jobs, health center visits, photo shoots, and award line-ups you’ve been through together. From the times you swept the contest, to the days when you were lucky to even have made it off the field in one piece, they are all precious and when you look at that uniform for the final time, all of those memories are going to come flooding back. And it’s going to be overwhelming. The only thing I can tell you to do is sit back, let the feeling envelop your, and thank whatever deity you care to for the chance you’ve had to wear your nearest and dearest friend every steamy, rainy, snowy, muddy, miserable Friday and Saturday night for four whole years. Because I promise you, you’re going to miss it when it’s all over.

To some, that ugly grey and white winged overcoat will make them cringe years into the future and say “I can’t believe I was every caught dead in that.”, but for myself, and hopefully you as well, dear friend, the hideous attire that you donned through four years of yearbook candids and Facebook memories will remind you of some of the best times you’ve had in your entire life.

So, from me to you…I beg you. Take care of that uniform. It will be with you through everything. When you look back three or five or ten years down the road, I hope you see yourself, beaming from ear to ear with that uniform on and you remember all of the good times you had because believe me, there will be plenty of them.

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