When It’s Not About You

It’s been a fascinating two weeks since my last blog post, with several happenings that might seem disparate at first, but which have elicited some thoughts for me when juxtaposed against each other. I’m still basking in the glow of graduation, one of my favorite live-announce jobs of the year. Father’s Day is approaching, so I take heart in having helped raise two wonderful young men, and I know that one of the favorite annual traditions of my earlier years is also near: drum major camp. (More on that further down the post.) Against the backdrop of those very positive things lie some decidedly difficult observations. First, I came across a fellow PA announcer who posted video of himself introducing the visiting team in a comical, derogatory manner, which is 100% disrespectful, not just to the visiting team, but to the game on the field. I came across another fellow PA announcer who recently booked a high-profile job and posted a photo of an actor on-stage while referencing “my biggest stage yet.” And just this week, I learned of someone who passed away suddenly in his sleep, and now a family member of his is trying to upstage everyone’s shock and grief apparently to hog the proverbial spotlight. What do all of these more troublesome events have in common? Call it what you wish: Egomania. Narcissism. Solipsism. Conceit. Self-Infatuation. Vanity. Characteristics that sit in stark contrast to what makes both voiceover and education fulfilling.

This post was originally intended to discuss my thoughts on and memories of drum major camp, so let’s begin there. Forty years ago (!!!), I auditioned for and captured a position as Drum Major with the University of Texas at Arlington Marching Band. It was the spring following the cancellation of football at UTA, in preparation for the band’s first season as “Ambassadors of the University” later in the fall. I’ve written about it before in two parts, so I won’t spend any time in this space providing background. But I can say that this achievement literally changed my life. I had initially planned on leaving Arlington to attend college, but seizing this honor meant I would stay in-town and attend college while living at home. Over time, my involvement with the band would eventually take me toward the world of voiceover. But before that, my role as drum major would lead me to teach the UTA Drum Major & Leadership Camp, eventually inspiring me to enter the world of education. The UTA Drum Major Camp began then, and still begins, on the Sunday coinciding with Father’s Day. It’s a week filled with hard work on a variety of topics pertaining to the role of the high school drum major: conducting, marching instruction, leadership & group dynamics, and showmanship. Mornings outside in the heat working on physical activities, afternoons inside for conducting and discussion, evenings featuring light work and usually something more fun. I taught exclusively at the UTA camp for 3 years before expanding my involvement to include East Texas State University’s (now East Texas A&M) camp. I eventually stopped working the ETSU camp, but I remained with the UTA camp for a total of 16 years, including serving as the Principal Instructor for 8 years. For those final 8 years, I was in-charge of developing a revised curriculum that brought the camp into the 21st century. You might be surprised how much the typical high school marching band evolved from 1986 to 2001, and the nature of a band’s leadership had to evolve with it.

I learned at drum major camp that I love teaching. I love inspiring students to find skills and strength deep within themselves. I love breaking down complex ideas for students to assist them in accessing and mastering those concepts. I love helping students tap into and hone physical abilities they didn’t previously have. I love exploring both philosophical and practical approaches to leadership, and assisting students as they determine what will work for their personality and/or the personalities within their ensemble. I love the camaraderie of working with an elite team of instructors, collaborating in ways that enhance the learning of an entire group. Many of the cool buzzwords and ideals that you hear from educational administrators when they discuss teaching and learning were right there in action for me at, of all places, drum major camp. It made sense, really. High school bands sent us their best leaders, we hired people who were excellent leaders and teachers in their own right, and everyone gathered together for an unforgettable week growing together. Students didn’t just learn; they bonded with leaders from other schools, with so-called “competitors.” It probably sounds too-good-to-be-true, but it actually wasn’t. It was 100% a fulfilling week, every year. Even after I started teaching in a “normal” classroom, where I wasn’t always working with the best and brightest, I looked forward to drum major camp because it showed me just how cool and productive the education process can be when bright, committed individuals come together and cooperate in service to something bigger.

One underlying idea during every camp was the drum major’s true role in the ensemble. Sure, the average observer of a band sees the drum major as the public leader. The student(s) wear a different uniform, they salute the judges, they stand on the podium and conduct, they show all the visible signs of leadership and showmanship. But the real value of a drum major to a band is established behind the scenes, in how the drum major carries him/herself off the podium, in rehearsal, during warmup, on the bus, at school. Some of the most critical leadership a drum major can exhibit might happen on a random Tuesday in September, when the band is struggling through an afternoon rehearsal on a day that’s hotter than it should be. The public never sees that. But the drum major sets the tone for how everyone in the band is expected to act. When I led the UTA camp, we even had an oath: “I am the band. What I do, the band will do. What I say, the band will say. What I am the band will be.” And even though the oath literally says, “I am the band,” the irony is that if you’re the drum major, it is never about you. It’s about the band. Sure, the drum major gets to be out-front, salute the judges, acknowledge the crowd, etc. But a drum major who looks phenomenal doing the showy things in front of a poorly-performing ensemble doesn’t garner nearly as much respect as a drum major who might be less proficient as a showman leading an ensemble that performs impeccably. In the end, the drum major cares most about the show on the field, and the performers creating it. That’s what it’s about.

You know who else should care most about the show on the field? The PA Announcer. I’ve written about this before. The person announcing a contest, or a halftime, or any other event has one job: Make the ensemble on the field look good. Speak at the right time. Pronounce any names correctly. Show same enthusiasm for this group as you have for every other group. It doesn’t matter if it’s the defending champions of this festival, or even of the state marching band contest, or simply a small school performing its first contest show in five years; the ensemble on the field deserves your professionalism in this moment. Those students deserve your best work. And yet, no one actually came to hear you speak; they came to see and hear those students perform. Now, let’s take those same principles and apply them to a sporting event…High school softball. College baseball. Pro basketball. International football. There may be 70 people in the stands, or 70,000. They came for the event, not you. To your credit, you booked the job and are in the booth, but make no mistake: you are decidedly not “on-stage.” People actually pay to see the stage actor. For this event, they paid for an experience. You were hired by the organizers and ultimately can contribute to the fan experience IF you take the right approach. Are you exposed? Absolutely. Just an open mic and perhaps a script. So don’t suck. Say the names correctly. Do your best work. But realize this: Only a chosen few in the crowd will make note of how good the PA announcer was. Most attendees or viewers will only remember you if you’re bad, or if you do something disrespectful, like intentionally trying to make fun of the visiting team by playing cartoon music under their introductions, using some silly voice, or saying their names in a mocking style. They might notice you if you deliberately call attention to yourself, but that won’t be a good thing. It’s not about you unless you make it about you. And if you make it about you, the memories made will be unpleasant.

You know when else memories become unpleasant if you make it about you? Milestones of living. Often times, those are graduations, weddings, holidays, or other big occasions. Sometimes, it’s death, and funerals. And I get it: everyone grieves differently, and sometimes irrationally. In the case of the death I mentioned at the outset of this post, the primary emotion of the family is basically shock. This death was unexpected; the cause of death has been revealed by medical professionals, but no one knew beforehand about any impending risks or problems. Everyone in that family is simply trying to process the event more than anything right now. Yet here comes an individual with a history of narcissism and mental instability, a person who has essentially estranged himself from the rest of the family, and now he’s using the occasion to…well…make it about himself. Make demands of his parents. Insist on “talking it out,” which is his way of indicating that he’s got grievances and wants to be heard. But he’s not that interested in listening, as everyone in the family well knows. I won’t bore you with details; just know that this person has Daddy issues, and Mommy issues, and sibling issues, and rabid insecurities, all built upon a foundation of malignant narcissism. It is a river of dysfunction that has found a new tributary through which to flow, now seeking to exploit a sudden death for selfish reasons. But here’s the thing: it’s not about you, chief. The deceased was extended, not immediate, family. No special bond was severed, no tragic accident occurred, and no poignant wise words were uttered in the final moments. It simply happened. Right now, the concern is about the untimely death itself, and the immediate family working through the aftermath. If your takeaway is that life is short and family needs to come together, cool. That’s something to discuss in the future. But now is not the time. Read the room, respect the situation, and above all, stop making it about you.

Now, this post isn’t meant to suggest it is never about you. There’s certainly plenty of room for things like self-care. Take time off from work, get that message, have that dinner with friends, go on that vacation. Do something for you, especially if you’re working a daily grind for a long time. And there are definitely days, and events, and situations, where each of us, as individuals, truly do “take the stage.” We may literally star in a show. We get married. We receive awards and achieve other milestones. We celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. And on those occasions, yes, it is entirely about you. And of course, we live in a capitalist economy, where self-interest is the driving force behind our economic choices. But capitalism has always been about “win-win,” where both parties in a transaction receive benefit. Mutual self-interest generally means cooperation and collective growth. In the past half-century, the system appears to have evolved to a point where self-interest comes at the expense of others; a “win-lose” mentality. And too often, we seem to be living in an era where people seek the spotlight in a gratuitous or performative manner. They misinterpret circumstances or ignore them outright in an attempt to gain notoriety. For attention. For social media likes. To “build the brand.” Or perhaps because the individual is simply selfish and entitled. Perhaps All of the Above. Either way, I am not here for it, at all. Individualism isn’t absolute. Branding has its place, but sometimes that place is elsewhere. Sometimes self-interest and self-advocacy interfere with what’s necessary. That’s the hallmark of both of the careers which I have pursued. In education, it’s obvious, because the teacher, administrator, counselor, or other individual involved in the profession does their work to serve the students. An educator on a power trip or a journey for recognition is typically bad at the job, because the job is about the students. Similarly, a voice actor who is primarily interested in the limelight is looking in the wrong place. Voiceover is about the message, the story, the event…in other words, anything but the VO talent. The voice actor serves the project and brings life to it without ever overshadowing it. I think that’s a major reason I gravitated toward VO as I wrapped up three decades in education. I’d rather play a part in service to something bigger, because it provides a great outlook on life. When the point is the overall group, or someone else, or something bigger than yourself, taking a step back and simply serving offers far more satisfaction than looking for a way to seize any spotlight.