When Kids Quit Band

It’s that time of year again — the calendar’s a mess, summer’s creeping closer and then your inbox pings. It’s an email with “Next Year Band” in the subject line. The parent is polite, maybe a little sheepish: “Thank you for everything, but we’ve decided Johnny won’t be doing band next year.”

Back in my rookie years, I took these emails personally. I’d overanalyze every interaction with that kid. Did I say something wrong? Was I too strict? Not strict enough? Was it the music? Was it … me? I’d carry it around like irrefutable evidence that I’d failed.

It didn’t help that sometimes the parent would add a line like, “He’s had a great time but just needs a break.” I’d reread the email 10 times, looking for clues — did he really have a “great time” or was that just code for “he hates your class”? Sometimes, I’d scroll through old attendance records to see if there was a pattern that I should’ve caught. (Spoiler: There never was.)

I used to keep a mental tally of who left, when, and — if I’m being honest — whether any of the “leavers” happened to be good players. I’m not proud of that, but if you teach long enough, you start to develop a sixth sense for which losses are going to hurt musically versus the ones that just sting your pride.\

If you feel personally attacked every time you get one of those emails, here’s the good news: You care. Bad news: You’re going to be toast by October.

(Side note: I just realized that a lot of my articles start with me checking my email and something bad happening. Maybe I should just stop checking my inbox? Something to think about.)

It’s Not Personal. Seriously.

Most of the time when kids quit, it’s not about you. Maybe they want to try sports, maybe it’s scheduling, maybe they just want a study hall or maybe they just want to sleep in. And I know this may come as a shock to music teachers, but there’s also a very real possibility that they just don’t like performance music classes (I’m sorry).

We tell ourselves we’re running a music program, but a lot of kids are just figuring out who they are and what they want to do. Sometimes that includes music. Sometimes it doesn’t. If you treat every kid who leaves as proof that you suck at your job, you’ll run out of gas fast.

It took me a long time to really believe this. I used to think that if I just tweaked the music, or the seating chart, or spent more one-on-one time with kids on the fence, I could save everyone. But that’s not how it works.

Some kids just don’t want to do band anymore. I’ve had students leave to focus on competitive bowling. I had a clarinet player switch to FFA because they wanted a career in agriculture. Sometimes, they just want one fewer thing on their plate.

Other times, it’s totally outside of your control: a family move, new after-school job, medical stuff or some mystery scheduling conflict with a required class that you only hear about in the exit email. Doesn’t matter how “magical” your teaching was — sometimes, it’s just time for them to go.

Of course, there are always a few who leave for reasons that make zero sense like wanting to “try high school without an instrument.” There’s no fixing that. And honestly? It’s not yours to fix.

Don’t Burn Bridges — Let Them Leave as Fans

Forcing kids to stay in music rarely ends well. You can send the “please reconsider” emails, promise that next year will be more fun, or even try to make deals. But it almost never works the way you hope. Instead, the kid just gets quieter, starts showing up late, brings less energy, and, before you know it, the whole section feels off.

Nice job. Instead of a future fan, you have a kid who avoids you in the hallway.

I’ve tried all the moves: guilt-trip emails, pep talks in the hallway, promises that “next year’s music will be more your style,” etc. I’ve even tried the old “give-it-one-more-semester” speech. But in my experience, no student has ever decided to stick around long-term because I made a passionate case in a 9 p.m. email to their parents. If they do come back, it’s usually with one foot out the door.

I’d rather have a kid leave early and still root for us than have a student stick around and poison the well. I have plenty of former students who left band after a year or two but they still come to concerts, post our flyers and bring their friends to shows. Some even send their younger siblings my way.

A real-life example involved a trumpet player who quit sophomore year to focus on wrestling. I thought he’d never set foot in the band room again, but three years later, he showed up with his little brother for Freshman Band Night. Turns out, he’d been telling his brother stories about “band trips” and “Stinson’s forehead vein popping out during concert week.” He just didn’t want to play anymore — but he liked us.

The ones who left on good terms have done more for our reputation than a dozen forced “retentions.”

Some Teachers Can’t Afford to Lose Anyone — And That’s Real

Let’s pause for a reality check: Some teachers are in situations where every kid counts. Maybe you’re in a small school, or your schedule is tied to enrollment, or you need those numbers to keep your job full time. I’ve been there — I get it.

It’s one thing to say “let them go” when your job isn’t hanging by a thread.

There was a year where we were told if our band numbers dropped below a certain threshold, we might lose a class section — and possibly full-time employment. That’s not a hypothetical stressor; that’s real. I remember running through rosters, trying to figure out who might leave, who I could convince to stay, and whether I’d be able to pay the bills if I ended up losing 20% of my salary.

If you have to keep every kid, do what you need to do. Recruit, cajole, pull out every trick you have. But just know that it comes at a cost — to you, to the culture and sometimes to the kid.

Honestly, the “retention-at-all-costs” strategy doesn’t feel good. You end up spending your energy putting out fires and managing drama instead of actually teaching music. Plus, the kids who really want to be there can feel the difference — they’re not blind.

If you’re holding on to every single student just to keep the lights on, it’s not a personal failing. It’s the system. (And yes, the system is broken.)

So, if you’re feeling trapped by numbers, that’s not you “failing” at teaching. That’s just you trying to survive.

You’re Building a Place to Belong, Not a Prison

Your job — when you’re allowed to do it — is to make band somewhere kids want to be. Not somewhere they’re trapped. This is harder than it sounds, especially if you came up in a program where “band is family” was code for “never leave or you’re dead to us.”

I try to remind myself (and sometimes my section leaders) that every kid who leaves is not “betraying the band.” They’re just making a choice. The kids who want to stay will make music with you. The ones who move on might be your best cheerleaders, not your critics, if you let them leave with dignity.

Every year, a handful of “quitters” turn out to be our biggest fans. They show up to concerts, help with fundraisers and send the best “I-miss-band” emails.

My favorite is when I get an email from a kid two years after quitting: “Mr. Stinson, I hope the band is still awesome. Sorry for dropping out. I still remember the Tennessee trip!” That’s not a loss. That’s the mark of a program that did its job — even if this student’s time in music was shorter than you hoped. We’d like to think it’s a three- or four-year commitment, but this isn’t always the case.

There’s a clarinet player who left band after freshman year. She was always quiet, never a problem, just didn’t love it. She ended up joining the stage crew instead, and now she’s the first to volunteer for set-up and tear-down at every band concert. She has way more friends in drama than she ever had in band. She just needed the chance to find her people.

Let the Door Swing Both Ways

Some kids will leave. Some years, a lot will.

If you spend all your energy chasing after everyone who’s on their way out, you’ll have nothing left for the kids who show up every day, ready to work.

It’s really easy to get wrapped up in retention panic — I’ve spent hours staring at spreadsheets, doing the “if-these-three-quit, but-these-two-freshmen-join” math. At some point, you must step back and ask: Am I spending more energy on the ones walking out the door than the ones already in the room?

Welcome students in. Let them go without drama when it’s time. And keep the door open — for playing, for listening, for just saying hi in the hallway.

Turns out, more kids root for you from the bleachers than you think. And, you’ll actually have the energy left for the ones who stay.