by Chase Giddings, Director of Bands at Conroe High School

For nearly 15 years, Spring ISD in Houston, Texas was more than a place of employment—it was home. I arrived as a student teacher, wide-eyed and eager, and grew through the ranks as an assistant band director, associate band director, and eventually head band director. Those years shaped not only my professional identity, but my sense of purpose. So when the time came to say goodbye, it was anything but easy.

Leaving my position there at Dekaney High School was painful precisely because of what had been built. Relationships with parents, community stakeholders, and—most importantly—students had been forged through countless rehearsals, performances, victories, and disappointments. These weren’t surface-level connections; they were bonds created through shared struggle and shared success. Walking away from that felt like walking away from a piece of myself.

Yet, the reality of public education in today’s political climate began to take its toll. The challenges were relentless. Policies shifted, resources tightened, and morale was constantly tested. Despite a staff that poured everything they had into overcoming uphill battles, each small step forward seemed to be met with another obstacle. The passion was there. The effort was undeniable. But the weight of systemic difficulties became heavier with each passing year.

The moment of clarity didn’t arrive suddenly or dramatically—it came quietly, during a serious heart-to-heart conversation with a colleague and friend. In that moment, I realized something profound: I needed to give myself permission to let go. Permission to acknowledge that staying, simply because I had invested so much, was no longer serving the students—or myself—in the way I hoped it would.

No, I hadn’t accomplished everything I set out to do four years earlier when I became head band director. The program had been deeply affected by the COVID-19 pandemic, which disrupted momentum and fractured participation across the district.

Compounding that challenge were School of Choice programs that locked students into schedules that left little room for band, further shrinking an already small 6A program. Numbers dropped. Opportunities narrowed. And despite tireless effort, rebuilding felt like swimming against a powerful current.

Accepting that reality required humility and grace. I had to be okay with releasing something that had been such a central part of my life. That was not failure—it was acceptance.

What drew me initially to the Dekaney program was its ability to defy the odds. It was a place that produced high-level musicians and strong academic students despite operating in challenging environments. That resilience inspired me. It reminded me why I entered this profession in the first place: to serve students, especially when the path forward isn’t easy.

That same sense of possibility led me to my current role at Conroe High School. Taking over the Conroe band program has been a refreshing and affirming transition. The community has been welcoming, the shift relatively seamless. What I immediately recognized was a program filled with enormous potential—strong numbers, eager students, and a clear need for nurturing, care, and intentional leadership.

At its core, band is about more than notes, drills, or trophies. It’s about people. It’s about relationships. The old adage remains as true as ever: students don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care. That belief guides my work every day. Knowledge and expertise matter, but they mean little without trust, empathy, and genuine investment in students’ lives.

Leaving Spring ISD will always carry a sense of loss. But stepping into Conroe has reaffirmed that growth sometimes requires letting go. By giving myself permission to close one meaningful chapter, I opened the door to another—one filled with opportunity, hope, and the chance to love and nurture a new generation of students through music.

And that, ultimately, is why we do this work.