My hobbies have no rhyme or reason. I found interest in things that required meticulous and delicate work. I found enjoyment in painting on very small canvases, crocheting, and building–but never finishing–miniature houses that I would find on Amazon. My interests were never limited to inherently visual art but spread to the art of music. I’ve always been drawn to music: listening and playing. I used to own an MP3 Player that played songs from my favorite Disney show, Phineas and Ferb. At the age of seven, I was picking apart the songs- instrument by instrument- in order to single out each rhythm. The rhythm that always stood out most came from a drum. Nothing made me happier than when my dad would ask, “Who wants to play Rock Band?” I’d jump up from my seat to call dibs on playing the drums. I always made sure to internalize each song's tempo, so I'd hit the drum at just the right time to not let the band down. These very moments helped me realize that drums were the most important instrument to any song. They hold everything else together and keep the music grounded. I knew I had to get my hands on a set of drumsticks. I wanted to be the person that kept a group strong. That’s why, when I marched up to the white table with a trombone, a flute, a clarinet, and a trumpet, I decided that I didn’t like any of them. I knew what I wanted to be the day I put a band on my schedule, but little did I know how far out of reach my goals were. As soon as I got to middle school, I wasn’t actually told that I couldn’t play drums, but it certainly felt like I wasn’t supposed to. Every day, when the band director would pass out parts, I'd get a glimmer of hope that the words in the corner of the page would say snare drum, but they never did. Deep down, I knew exactly why I was never given the snare drum part. It was more than skill and capability; I had to be a boy. I jumped at the chance to take private lessons to become better. I was excited to prove that I was worthy of playing any part that was “for a boy.” As soon as I held my hand out to grab the paper that read snare drum, a wave of confidence and value overflowed in me. With my sticks poised above the snare drum, I am hit with the realization that with the right ambition, I can achieve just about anything. While being a percussionist is only the first chapter in what will be a long fight against the patriarchy, I will always remember how it felt to finally receive the part I deserved. In the future, I’ll hold my scalpel in the same manner and be reminded of what started it all–a single pair of drumsticks.