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Last Will and Testament

Trey Reely | May 2019

    When I was in high school, the last edition of the student newspaper each year would have a section titled Last Will and Testament where graduating seniors would bequeath various school-related items of questionable worth to underclassmen. It is with that in mind that I provide this document upon my impending retirement.
I, Trey Reely, leave:

To the school:
    The words and music to the school fight song and alma mater, both of which I composed. May the alma mater bring just the right amount of cheesiness to every pep rally, game and graduation.

To my fellow teachers:
    My Tuesday morning duty to anyone who likes experiencing how it feels when time stands still.
    Teachers’ meetings, Professional Learning Community meetings, and required inservice. Sorry, not everything you get in a will is pleasant.

To my assistant director:
    My plan book, even though most of it is obsolete almost as soon as I write the plan.
    My bus driving skills. May you not leave strips of yellow bus paint on every corner pole or sign in the county.
    My baton – if I can find it before I leave.
    My lucky Spider-Man notebook that has all of my drill charts and arrangements in it.
    The remaining balance on my lunch card.
    All the chipped reeds. You will still find them on beginning band mouthpieces.
    All instrument repairs. (I gave those to you years ago; this just makes it official.)
    My clear, plexiglass music stand. It is unique, so it is never commandeered by students without me knowing it.
    The music library. You may wonder why there are some real killer pieces in there that have never been played. What can I say? I’m an optimist.

To future band directors presently in the band:
    My ability to call out the wrong rehearsal number.
    My inability to read jazz fonts on jazz charts.
    My beginning band book. Re­mem­ber, it all starts with fundamentals.
    My podium. It’s the closest you’ll ever come to being put on a pedestal.
    My mouthpiece disinfectant and spray bottle. Good luck in finding something that smells and tastes better.
    Demo recordings dating back to 1985.
    My scores of Louie, Louie, The Horse, Land of a Thousand Dances, Seven Nation Army, and Hey! Baby. May they live forever.

To my administrators:
    My apologies for my inability to see the “the big picture.” (It’s just that I love the small picture so much.)
    My curriculum maps.
    My lack of computer skills.

To the coaches:
    My ability to win the school March Madness pool every year.

To parents:
    My enduring thanks for your countless hours raising money for your kids.

To my students: 
    My love of music. (Your loyalty should be to music, not me.)
    To all my students: My large plastic KFC cup full of Jolly Ranchers, Starburst candies, and leftover croutons from lunch.
    My Digimet III metronome, on the condition you will not destroy it.
    My parking spot to one “senior of the week” so at least one of you will be on time.
    Guitar picks. You will find them in every nook and cranny of the band room.
    All of my band shirts. That should be about two per person.
    My stash of trumpet mutes with missing corks that I never had time to replace. 
    Sixty drumsticks. None of them match.
    My stash of brass and woodwind mouthpieces. Almost all of you have used one at some time or another when you have misplaced or lost yours; we might as well keep that opportunity open.
    My jokes. Remember that timing is everything.
    My multi-pocketed cargo pants for marching band practice. I hope you can endure the numerous snide remarks about a lack of fashion sense and the like.
    My incentive spirometer. When your sound gets wimpy, pull this trusty tool out and use it to check your air flow – whether you like it or not.
    Leftover chocolate bars from the last fundraiser. They are all dark chocolate.
    My prayers before halftime performances.
    My love.