Reflecting on my days as a high school band director, I am filled with gratitude, love, and a deep sense of purpose. For me, and I suspect for many of you, it was more than a job; it was, and is, a fundamental part of my identity.
I remember my students fondly and think about the short and long-term impact I might have had on them. My memories are vivid and rich; I remember it all like it was yesterday. When I think of these days, I become nostalgic, remembering the well-oiled machine and the perfectly synchronized musical and visual unit we were. Even twenty years removed, I am bathing in the glow of excellence and achievement - feeling like I was a part of something truly special.
At least, that's how I remember it.
I revisited some old recordings this past weekend and faced a very different reality. The recordings painted a very different picture than I remembered and described above.
At first, I wrote off the less-than-stellar marching technique as lousy camera angles and inopportune moments. I passed off the transgressions of tone to being thirty-year-old and poorly placed shotgun mics. And yes, the drumline was a bit dirty and simplistic, but that was before Kevlar heads and modern drum tuning.
But as I continued to watch, I could no longer ignore the harsh reality that the band I was watching was not the band I remembered.
The spotless drill in my mind? In reality, it was solid technique with some spacing issues.
That Carolina Crown-esque sound I remembered? It seems to have stayed in Carolina.
The grandeur of the guard? Well, it lacked integration and execution.
And while we're at it, what happened to my hair?
This is crazy. How could my memory be so disconnected from reality? How could I be so disassociated from the truth? How did I forget everything wrong in favor of what went right? Was it early (or not so early) onset dementia? Am I in an alternate universe?
No.
Fading Affect Bias (FAB) is a psychological phenomenon where negative emotions associated with past events fade faster over time than positive ones. This means we often remember the positive aspects of memory more vividly than the negative ones, even if they occurred simultaneously. In their infinite wisdom, our brains have deleted the misery and left us nothing but a highlight reel of glory. And my highlight reel was exceptional - or so I thought!
Let me give you a real-life example.
This being my son's first year in high school, I wanted him to be excited about band camp. I shared my (twenty-year-old) camp memories with him as a joy-filled time of laughter, camaraderie, and heartwarming moments of self-discovery. I explained that through this life-changing experience, he would grow as a musician, bond with his section, and learn life lessons to help shape his future.
That is exactly how I remember it twenty-one years ago. That's not exactly the way he remembers it from twenty-one weeks ago.
(Think of this like you would the Close Encounters skit on SNL with Kate McKinnon)
At the end of camp, he would have described his experience as an eight-day real-life version of Survivor, set on the face of the Sun and designed by someone who definitely trained and possibly killed Navy SEALs once upon a time.
He complained about the long days, the stench of sunblock and body odor, and would swear the spaghetti he was served was leftover from last year.
Now, months removed, he remembers less of the struggle and more of the experiences, the friendships he created, and the rewards of performance.
This doesn't just happen to students; FAB impacts teachers as well.
Fading Affect Bias explains why we are excited for next year in May, despite swearing the previous November never to do this again. It helps us understand why we are fried at the end of the school year and excited at the start and why next year, we will once again select contest music that is too hard on a timeline that is too short!
Our brains protect us by gently sweeping the bad stuff under the rug like a responsible parent hiding the real ingredients of dinner so their kid doesn't realize they just ate spinach.
In the end, what remains is the transformative power of memories. The heat, the exhaustion, the pain—all of it fades. We remember the rush of hitting the final note in a perfect arc, the weight of the medal around our necks, and the ridiculous late-night diner stops where we laughed until we cried. We remember the people, the moments, the why—even if the how is lost to time. These memories inspire us, reminding us of the joy and camaraderie that made it all worthwhile.
Yes, we remember the good things, but those memories are born of the bad. The weight of the medal is evidence of the long days spent in the broiling hot Sun. The twelve-hour bus rides are proof that our ensembles are worthy to compete on a national scale. What makes us laugh until we cry is the ridiculousness of the activity. You can't have one without the other. It's a bittersweet balance that shapes our recollections of this life-changing activity.
We remember what went right because of what went wrong.
So you can keep your tape of my band, and I will keep my memories. I know they exist because of one another, but Fading Affect Bias teaches me that my memory of the tape will fade, but my memory of the kids and experiences will live forever.
Have a great week!
Scott