Daniel and David's High School Experience

 High School Memories: Marching Bands, Track Meets, and Finding My Voice

By Daniel Gillespie

We both attended Iroquois Jr./Sr. High School, and let me tell you—it was an experience like no other. There were good memories, but it also came with some complicated moments, especially for me as someone on the autism spectrum.

My brother David and I were in the Iroquois Marching Band. I played clarinet, and he played trumpet. We enjoyed playing fun songs, traveling to competitions, and marching on the field with our band friends. Band gave me something to look forward to, and I am sure David can say the same. It helped me feel like I belonged somewhere, especially on days when I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere else. One of my favorite memories from band was when I hopped on my brother’s back and he gave me a piggyback ride across the field. That moment still makes me smile—it was one of those little things that made a big difference.

I also did track and field. I competed in the long jump, triple jump, and sprinting events like the 100 m, 200 m, and even the 400 m dash. I liked track because it allowed me to challenge myself physically and stay focused on something outside of my head. My favorite memory from track was during a long jump meet. I fouled on my first jump, then hit 17 feet on my second, and finally 18 feet on my third. That moment was huge for me. I used to foul a lot, so landing those jumps gave me a real sense of accomplishment—like all my hard work had finally paid off.

There is a funny marching band memory I remember. It was competition night. The year was 2013 & the show was called Black Symphony—which sounded epic and dramatic, like something out of a superhero movie. We were ready to make magic. Only one problem: the field was soaked as ever. Rain had turned it into a wet, squishy mess, and no one seemed all that concerned… until it was too late.

We took the field, instruments in place, minds locked in. I was marching confidently, trying to stay in time, when suddenly—boom. I slipped. Hard. Like a cartoon-style slip, legs in the air, brass to the side, body straight down. My pride didn’t even have time to react.

But then—it started happening to everyone else. One by one, people behind me started going down too. It was like watching bowling pins fall in slow motion. The clarinets, then the trumpets, and even a snare or two. I had accidentally triggered the Great Band Collapse of the Year.

The next day in band class, we watched the competition footage. Our band director, Mr. Chase, paused the video, trying not to laugh. “This,” he said, pointing at my fall like a coach breaking down a play, “is what we now call The Domino Effect.”

We all lost it.

At least we were in sync?

As someone on the spectrum, I used to be really sensitive to how I was perceived—especially in public. A fall like that? I would’ve stressed over it for days. But that day, something shifted. Everyone slipped. We all laughed. And instead of being embarrassed, I actually felt… part of something.

Moments like this taught me that it’s okay to mess up, to laugh at yourself, and to just be human. My autism makes me process things deeply—sometimes I feel things more intensely than others. But in that moment, I learned that sometimes, connection comes from chaos. Even if that chaos starts with your feet flying out from under you during Black Symphony.

But even with these moments of joy, high school had its challenges.

Being on the autism spectrum added another layer to everything. I was always quiet—not just because I was shy, but because I processed the world differently. Loud noises, crowded hallways, sudden changes—they all affected me more than people realized. I often kept to myself because sometimes I just needed space to think and reset. That didn’t mean I didn’t have friends—I did. I actually got along with a lot of people and made good connections. But even then, I still felt different sometimes. It’s like I was part of things but always aware that I moved through the world a little differently.

There were times I felt like I was misunderstood by teachers who didn’t really know how to support someone like me. Even though I had support from my family and friends, I still had moments where I felt like I didn’t fully fit in. I wasn’t trying to be distant—it’s just that I experienced things in a way that most people didn’t see. But that doesn’t mean I was broken or needed to be fixed. It just means I was being me.

Band and track helped me find my rhythm—literally and emotionally. They gave me a place to grow, express myself, and feel proud. And having my brother David by my side through it all made things easier. We didn’t have to say much—we just understood each other.

Looking back, high school wasn’t perfect—but it helped shape who I am today. I made it through with strength, joy, and quiet determination. Being autistic didn’t hold me back—it helped me see the world in a way that’s uniquely mine.

David’s High School Experience

High school was a journey full of highs, lows, and lessons that stuck with me long after graduation. Like Daniel said, we both went to Iroquois Jr./Sr. High School, and we both were in the marching band. I played the trumpet, and some of my favorite memories were performing at football games, traveling to competitions, and just laughing with friends on the bus rides. Band gave me a place where I could be myself. It wasn’t just about music—it was about belonging.

Daniel and I didn’t talk all the time, but there was always this unspoken bond between us. I remember giving him that piggyback ride across the field. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but seeing how much that meant to him later on reminds me that the little moments matter the most.

While Daniel found his outlet in track, my challenges were more behind the scenes. I’ve had flat feet my whole life, and in high school, the pain started getting worse. Some days it felt like I was walking on fire, but I didn’t always talk about it. I didn’t want people to think I was weak or looking for attention. I just pushed through it.

That pain followed me after high school too—eventually leading to surgery and a long recovery process that changed my life. But even back then, in high school, I was already learning how to lean on faith, push through pain, and trust the process. I didn’t have all the answers, but I knew God had a plan for me—even on days I didn’t understand it.

Being the older brother came with pressure sometimes. I wanted to protect Daniel, even when I didn’t always know how. He went through things I didn’t always fully understand, but I admired his strength. He may not say much, but he’s one of the strongest people I know. Watching him grow into his voice has been powerful.

High school wasn’t easy—but it was part of the journey that shaped both of us. The band taught me discipline, friendship, and leadership. The challenges taught me patience, humility, and faith. And through it all, I carried one motto with me: Trust the process.