Twenty Five Years Later...Perspectives On A Day In Winterguard: Lessons For Us All

"I remember our last show at the WGI Mid-East Regional. It was a show we didn't know would be our last, but it was the show of a lifetime."

“Take a plain piece of white paper and lay it flat on the table.  Right now that piece of paper is perfect.  It sits there unscathed as it is void of holes, staples, eraser marks, and scribblings of any kind.  It is in essence perfect.  It can be anything that it wants to be.  It can become the start of a novel or a child’s paper airplane.  It can be used as art or used as the next top secret document.   Now, take that same piece of paper and start to poke holes in it.  It doesn't matter the size.  They can be little holes or big ones.  Take an eraser and aggressively mark it from one corner to the other, tearing the paper from end to end.  This piece of paper is now tattered and unable to be used.  At best, it can be crumpled and thrown in the trash. This paper is human. It is you and it is me and our lives are made up of those holes that are made by the events in our lives. For every hole made, creates a new piece of paper…it creates a new person. It creates the story that we call our lives.”

Perspectives On A Day

It was March 13, 1988.

It was a Sunday.

There were 3 vans.

There were 19 students.

It was a school related event.

We were returning from a Winter Guard International regional competition in Ohio.

There were 2 dead.

There was an accident.

I was 18.

We were a winterguard.

Our last show was on March 12th and we had no idea that would be the finale'.

We were McGavock High School

We were kids. We were young. We were innocent. 

In one moment in time we grew up and we were never the same again.

These statements are fact. The rest of the story is perception. It is my perception.

Somehow it should have been me.

I can't screw life up.

It must have been my fault, because after all I'm bad luck.

I feel guilty. I feel sad. I feel my life must mean something.

Don't screw it up!

What happened on the side of the road that day? It is a multitude of perspectives and a multitude of lives.

Who died? Who lived? It's all a matter of perspective, as life and death is also just a matter of perspective. Not everyone who lives is really alive and those that die, the ones we love with our very soul, live in our hearts and minds forever. It's all perspective and that day on March 13, 1988, my perspective changed forever. My life changed forever.

One day can change your life forever. One moment in time, a split second decision, or luck of the draw; it can change your very fiber and you will never see it coming. For most of us, the impact of random moments in time aren't really understood until years later and for some there are no answers except to say that life is random and to prepare for the unexpected. Everyone has them. Everyone has “moments in time,” that force us to literally stop and take assessment of our life in the here and in the now. Those moments force us into the present.

My perspective of March 13, 1988 is a day that I spent years trying to hold on to. Why did it happen? Why wasn't it me? Why was it me? “Hold on to this memory Shelba. Never forget. You  lived they didn't Shelba. You have to be a good person. You have to be a great person. If you aren't  then it should have been you.” Hold on to it. Hold on to it! Never forget!  When a random act of death occurs, you spend a lifetime trying to figure out why. Why us? Why me? Why them? Why? Why? Why?!!

The perspectives are many. There were three vans filled with kids and adults; parents and teachers. Being in the first van meant you saw nothing. The back van meant you saw it all. The middle, well the middle was a matter of life and death; injury and breath. For every event of our lives there are perspectives. You are a participant or an observer…oftentimes you are both. On March 13th, I was both. We all were. What we saw and how we responded made our perspectives and created new lives for us all. I didn't realize it then, but for the first time in my life I felt alive, because life in all its absurdity comes with passion and emotion no matter how horrifying those emotions are. I will never forget my first thought as it was told to me that two girls in the guard were dead because of a random, senseless highway accident. The thought haunted me for years, because it’s a selfish thought. For years I thought that I deserved everything bad that happened to me because of that one thought in that one brief second. So that thought was, “So are we not going to get to go to nationals now?” HOW AWFUL!  Who thinks up something like that? What self centered person actually thinks about a national competition, when two girls lay dead on the side of the road? Who?  On that day my mind raced with thoughts at lightning speed. "This isn't real." "Is this real?" "What is happening?" "Is this a dream?"  I remember staring silently out the window of the front seat of the van as my mind kept asking these questions. Finally a question was asked of me. "Shelba...are you o.k.?" I started crying. I wasn't o.k. and I wouldn't be for a very long time. In the midst of tragedy, your mind will take you anywhere, but to where the reality really lies. Your thoughts become bizarre. That moment helped me understand that grief, our perceptions and the human condition is unique and personal. Knowing this helped me develop...

"EMPATHY"

In my perspective, I sit here writing today because I randomly chose one van over the other. Some call it fate. Some would call it the hand of God. I just call it life. Life hands you gifts wrapped in boxes you would never expect or realize as it’s happening. For example, the week following the wreck was one of tears, hugs, confusion, funerals, burials, and music. Yes music. Both funerals had very deliberately selected soundtracks. The music for the funerals was scripted much like music for a movie. I remember the music like it was yesterday. “Somewhere,” by Barbara Streisand, “Friends,” by Michael W. Smith, music from the movie “Out of Africa," and “Send in the Clowns.” I remember the song on the radio when the accident happened. It was "Father Figure," by George Michael. Because of the wreck on March 13th, fate handed me the gift of music. I already had an intense and deeply felt love for music. After March 13th however, I understood music. I understood emotion. When I listen to music now,  I hear the words as if they were written by Shakespeare. I hear the feeling of the musicians as each note is played. I hear their joy and their pain. I’m incredibly mindful of music on the radio, in a restaurant, in an elevator, and even the street musician asking for change. My awareness of music is palpable. I couldn't live without it and I can’t deny the randomness of that gift on March 13th.

Because of March 13th, I feel an intense connection to anyone involved in an incident that gains media attention. I feel a connection to the families of children who die young. Mostly though, I feel connected to people who see life through the eyes of death. They are living, because they know that time will always be the victor. They know that every beginning leads to an end and that end may not be when we had hoped.

Every winterguard season begins and every winterguard season will end. How are you using your time as a performer, instructor or judge?

I can remember March 13, 1988 like it was yesterday. Twenty five years later and I can still smell the flowers at the funerals. I can still feel the lame’ flag that was used in our last show and that was handed to me as I laid it on top of her body before they closed the casket. I remember her casket and I remember the last time I saw her before they closed it. I remember her in her uniform. I can picture my classmates and I remember every emotion I felt from the moment of shock, to the moment of anger at the media who couldn't get the story right. I remember sitting at WGI when the announcement was made for a moment of silence. I remember trying to hold back the tears.  I remember mostly though, the survivor guilt. “Why them?” I remember the moment when I knew that life would never be the same again. I remember trying to be stronger than I was and I remember the moment when I first saw life as this clock constantly moving forward and how I couldn't stop that clock no matter how hard I tried. I can remember the moments where all I wanted was to be that tattered piece of paper thrown in the trash.

I remember our last show at the WGI Mid-East Regional. It was a show we didn't know would be our last, but it was the show of a lifetime.

After I graduated I went on to perform in other programs. I've taught numerous guards. March 13th, gave me a gift of what I like to call, "Remember this moment. It will never come again." Every show I performed in after March 13th, was like the performance of a lifetime. I never took it for granted. Every guard I taught I tried desperately to get the performers to understand this simple concept. Someday this will all be just a memory. You will never get this moment back."  It's a simple fact of life. You never know when the hands of fate will hand you change and adversity. You never know that your last rehearsal or last show could be today. When I judge, I'm very mindful of the performers and their hard work. From a mile away I can spot a young person who doesn't give it their all or the kid beating themselves up for not being good enough; even though they are just fine. So many times I desperately want to yell from the top of my lungs, as loud as I can from behind the recorder, "DON'T YOU GET IT! THIS IS SO COOL AND  LIFE DOESN'T GIVE YOU THESE CHANCES OFTEN!"

In this world we live in, horrors enter our lives through our televisions, computers, and cell phones on a daily basis. We no longer live in a time where our connections to our fellow man is relegated to just word of mouth. We are intertwined in the lives of people who live thousands of miles away from us. Every day we hear about lives torn apart and lives changed forever. With every mass shooting, natural disaster or senseless act of violence, we are connected. March 13th connected an entire activity and made us all take a good look at the value of this art we call pageantry.

March 13th was real to me. It was real to every performer, every parent, every teacher, and every life that was touched on that day.  In my perspective, I realized that the clean white paper that was once me became a tattered rag that would transform into someone who sees life three dimensionally and  spherically. It took me years to understand that. It took me years to understand that the holes in my soul inflicted by the faceless hand of fate was not a death sentence, but the opening to a life of new adventures. With all the guilt and all the pain, I learned that I could never go through life desensitized and unaware of the beauty around me.

We all have holes in our soul. We are all a tattered piece of paper that has been aged and worn. We are a book and many of our chapters end and begin with the random act of death. The random act of violence. The random act of life. It's how we respond to it and it's how we respond to each other is what allows us to live in peace.

In the 25 years since the accident I have tried to forget it and I have tried to hold on to it.  I've tried to run from it. I've tried to run toward it. I've tried to stay with it and on cold nights and use it as a blanket called self pity to wrap myself in. There have even been times when I tried to run away from me; flaws and all. In 25 years though, I've learned that life IS March 13th and everyone has their own March 13th. It doesn't make me special, but my March 13th makes me unique and human. Your March 13th might be the day you were diagnosed with a disease or the day you lost a parent. It might be the loss of your pet or a grand scale event that connected us all such as 9/11 or Sandy Hook. It's a moment to moment connection to every soul around us and to be mindful of that which allows us to live, even when that moment involves death. Life is a gift. Every second to breathe is a chance to be alive and a chance to become a better person. It's a chance to give back and chance to empathize with your fellow man. It's a chance to say, "Today is a new day and it is a day to change the world. Today I will make it better than the last. Today I will try to walk in the shoes of my fellow man." We can do this because we live. 

The take away is this.  Over time, our soul which starts as this clean white sheet of paper will

become filled with holes and will look tattered. You cannot repair this paper. It wasn't meant to be repaired. It was meant to be cherished, because our holes are what makes us who we are and it makes us uniquely human. What we must learn, is that the paper of our souls is not trash and not meant to be thrown away; not by us and not by others. If we can see one another by the holes in our soul, then we can finally start to see a road to peace and finally, we will start living. I encourage all performers, instructors, judges and parents to see each show as a special moment that cannot return, but a moment to connect us all into the beauty we call pageantry. In the end, every season begins as a clean piece of paper; free of holes and markings of any kind.

By Championships the performers, the staff, and the show is tattered and worn by the stresses of time and the opinions of others. Those holes however is what makes the beauty of your art and ultimately the beauty of you.

*It is hard to appropriately tribute such an event and one that occurred 25 years ago. This post is dedicated to all of those performers, staff members, and parents who created their own perspective that day. It's dedicated as a memory to our friendship and an affirmation of living life the way it should be lived...spherically and in three dimensional form. It is my hope that through this post I served the memory of March 13th with dignity and love.