For the past four days, I’ve been on a coach bus with high school band students as a chaperone on a trip to Colorado. The crick in my neck insists the trip was longer than that, but (checks calendar) it was really only four days.
This trip was a bit of a homegoing for me, since I lived in Colorado a long time ago, when I was a newlywed and my husband was studying for a master’s degree. Now, my husband is a high school band director in Illinois. Colorado has become part of the rotation of band trips, which also includes Disney World, New Orleans, and Memphis.
Seeing the mountains was a huge draw for me, but I quickly realized that what was even more exciting was watching several of the students catch their first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains. A hush went over the bus as kids, in various stages of sleepiness, neck pillows worn like regal collars, sat straight up in their seats to watch the morning sun hit the front range.
I was once a high school student who took trips such as these with my choir: once we traveled to New York City, another time to New Orleans. These trips not only solidified some long friendships, but it also opened my eyes to how large the world actually was, and how small I felt in it. There was something exciting and daring about being in a new place, especially at that tender age when childhood slowly melts to reveal the hard shell of adulthood underneath.
This time around, I was the adult, one of a handful of chaperones charged to keep up with 88 loud, active, but sweetly curious students. We were facilitators, charged with counting heads, repeating warnings about staying hydrated in the higher elevation, and answering questions — mostly “when will we get there?” and “when are we going to eat?” I dutifully carried wet wipes, band-aids, snacks, and Tylenol in my purse in an attempt to be ready for any situation that might present itself. All the while, we were humbled by the huge red rocks at Garden of the Gods, the impossibly blue sky, and the misty purple haze that seemed to settle over the mountain range in the distance.
Our tour guide, Linda, also used to be a band student. She told me that years ago, she took a trip like this during high school. “It opened my eyes,” she told me. “I didn’t stick with music, but I became a tour guide for students because of those band trips.”
By the end of the four days, I witnessed a lot of bonding on that bus. Students got to know me, and I got to know them. They asked me questions about where I lived in Colorado, and what my favorite things about it were (answers: the dramatic thunderstorms in the foothills and many weekend hikes in Rocky Mountain National Park). They excitedly showed me souvenirs they’d bought, and shared pictures they’d snapped with their friends. One girl was overheard saying, “This doesn’t feel like a band trip. It feels like a family trip.”
There was a noticeable increase in what I would call dreaming out loud, like students saying, “I want to live somewhere warm when I’m older,” or “I’ve always wanted to visit Spain.” This is what Linda, the tour guide, meant. This was the sweet sound of eyes opening to the endless possibilities offered to a teen at the cusp of adulthood. As much as I embarked on this trip with the selfish goal of returning to a place I’d loved, by the end of the trip, a new purpose had emerged. Eighty-eight precious souls were left in our care, and in exchange for keeping them safe, we were rewarded by seeing them witness natural beauty like they had never seen before. I even think many of them were changed by it.
At Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, we learned that Katharine Lee Bates, a poet and professor visiting Colorado in 1893, composed a poem as she stood at the top of Pikes Peak, which later became the lyrics to “America the Beautiful:”
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
I can’t wait to see what will become of those 88 souls. I hope they continue to be curious, loud, and sweet. I hope they are not afraid to explore new places and meet new people. Most of all, I hope they remember to pause and wonder at the beautiful views along the way.
