Gauntlets Over Sanity

From Summer Break to Summer Breakdown

Once upon a time, summer meant something. It meant coffee that stayed hot, pants with an elastic waistband, and the sweet sound of absolutely nothing at 7:00 a.m. I was a teacher back then—one of the chosen ones who had June and July to recover, reflect, and maybe (maybe!) clean out that one mystery drawer in the kitchen.

But now?

Now I manage marching band uniforms in the summer. For marching band directors. For Show Ponies. For Premadonnas.

Let me take you behind the scenes.

The Band Director's Summer Calendar

June 1: “We want to go minimalist this year. Black pants, black jacket. Super clean. Super easy.”

June 15: “Actually… we were thinking about Renaissance-meets-SpaceX with LED lights in the gauntlets. Is that doable? Also, we want them reversible for the ballad.”

June 18, 10:12 p.m.: “Attached is a 47-page Google Slide deck titled ‘Vision.’ Let us know by morning if you have questions.”

June 22: “Also, the kids don’t want to sweat. Can the fabric… breathe but also sparkle?”

Why Are You Crying? It’s Just a Mockup.

Ah, yes. The “sketch.” A term band directors use to describe a small, innocent PDF that will eat your soul and return it wearing epaulets.

I send it off to the manufacturer. They give me a timeline, a quote, and a polite-but-firm warning about rhinestones and mesh panels. I pass it along to the director, who replies:
“Looks good, but could we add a gradient fade and also remove all seams?”

So I call the rep. I update the mock. I chase down approvals. I decode what “more drama in the sleeve” actually means. I become the middleman, the go-between, the translator of musical madness.

I do not sew. I facilitate dreams. Which is code for I email 11 people and pretend I’m not sweating through my keyboard.

Heat Stroke, Velcro, and Diplomacy

While the average American is sipping sweet tea by the lake, I’m fielding calls about plumes, bibbers, and whether the drumline can have “a slightly different vibe but still match.” I'm tracking shipments, coordinating fittings, and making peace between a color guard instructor and a visual designer who haven’t spoken since 2022.

It’s 106 degrees outside. My inbox is at DEFCON 2. The vendor just told me the custom buttons might not arrive until September. And I’m currently explaining to someone why “denim jackets for the woodwinds” might be a logistical nightmare.

Can We Get Them by Band Camp?

Oh, sweet child. You mean the band camp that starts in 9 days? The one you emailed about… today?

Yes, I can try. I’ll just call in six favors, rearrange a factory schedule, and spend the next week glued to a FedEx tracker like it’s the Super Bowl. All while smiling politely on Zoom and saying, “No problem at all—we’ll make it work.”

Because I’m not just managing uniforms. I’m managing expectations. Emotions. Timelines. Delusions.

Will I Survive the Summer?

Unclear.

But I’ve learned to live in the moment. To find joy in the chaos. To appreciate the poetry of a fourth urgent email titled, “One Last Change,” which—spoiler alert—is not the last.

And someday—when I see a band take the field in a look I helped wrangle into existence—I’ll smile through the trauma. Because that’s the life I chose.

Or rather, the life that chose me when I stepped out of the classroom and into the glitter-fueled frenzy of marching arts logistics.

Pray for me.

Author’s note: If you’re a band director reading this and thinking, “Wait… is this about me?”
The answer is yes. It is. And I’m still coordinating your epaulets.

But next time you want gold brocade on moisture-wicking stretch knit… maybe call in April?