Sometimes my brain decides to think in German. Or, auf Deutsch!, as my high school teacher, Herr Lelko, would say. It’s been more than a decade, and, frankly, closer to two at this point, since I’ve been in high school but his voice is imprinted in my mind. I’m well aware that I’m a dork. Welcome to my dork-dom. Ain’t no shame in being a nerd–marching band and all.
I wouldn’t have labeled myself a band geek back in the day (because band was cool in my school!), but I have to admit the truth: I attended band camp. And not any band camp. THE band camp. That’s right. My band camp inspired the American Pie movie franchise.
There wasn’t a whole lot of crazy frisky business going on at camp. Usually I just wanted to get it over with. The weather was hot. The food sucked. We showered in oversized outhouses. The dress code was not attractive. At Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp, the dress code had to be embraced: navy shorts, light blue top (with camp logo), sweet knee-hi’s for the girls. The navy shorts were always a pain in the ass to find.
But the music was good. And that’s why I was there. Guess who else was there? Hint: I married him. That’s right. We are a couple of band nerds. Back in the day, the husband was one of THE guys at band camp. He loved it there. Me? Not so much. According to my parents that when they’d come and pick me up after two weeks of picking at the nasty food, I looked “like a skeleton.” Not really but they’d whisk me away and immediately take me out for a huge stack of flapjacks.
I’m getting side-tracked. Back to the story. Apparently, the husband and I were at camp the same week and made it into the same band (Symphony!). I never met him at camp but when we finally met in college, my best friend from high school found a picture showing the whole trumpet section. She was first chair. And who was sitting right next to her? None other than N. Good god. I must have spoken to him in some capacity. In any case, our paths crossed as teenagers.
And again as young adults at a frat party. In an uncharacteristic for me move, fueled by alcohol no doubt, I approached him with this cool line: “Hey, I know you.” He looked at me like he didn’t know me from the man in the moon. Sweet. We finally figure out that we had 2 small English classes together and that we literally sat across a table from each other in the one. I’m glad to have made such a distinct impression (although he did remember me as the girl who could not get off her winter coat–another story for another day, my friends). That night we figured out the band camp connection and the rest is history.
14 years later we still aren’t sick of each other. This week was our 11th wedding anniversary. Elf jahre. How do 11 years slide by so fast? Probably due to silly ridiculousness. Our happy anniversary became N saying, “Here’s to 11 years of fornicating without sin.”
Good thing we’re having fun.