Sam Parker

Tornado Sirens Are My Jam.

A beat up car pulls up to your house, and a boy hops out with a truckload of cameras, setting up camp uncomfortably close to your front door. Alarmed, you decide to question the boy, asking what he’s doing on your property. You’re confused when he says that the tornado siren overlooking your one-story house is about to go off for its monthly test, and he wanted to record it. Wanting more information, you ask him, “Why?” to which he replies, “It’s a hobby. The siren next to your house is a rare siren and I called the city to see when it goes off, and today is that day. So is it okay if I record it? I won’t get you or your house in the shot, I swear!” Reluctantly, you let the kid do his thing, and no harm was done.

Hi, the name is Sam, and tornado sirens are my jam, so much that I used to own my own Federal Signal Thunderbolt 1000, an industrial grade siren from the 1950’s that could be heard from over a mile away when it stood on its forty-five foot pole. I received it from another kid who snagged two decommissioned sirens for free because he had special ties with the Houston Fire Department. You may be wondering, how did I meet him?

It was a sunny Wednesday morning as we pulled up to the siren site, parking in the gravel parking lot adjacent to a baseball field. Sitting at the end of the field, a Federal Signal 508-128 siren was minutes away from going off. As cars passed by, I wondered if they wondered what I was doing. Suddenly, another car pulled into the parking lot. And out he rolled, acknowledging my presence for a split second. Before I know it, I’m at his apartment later with my dad, hauling away a five-hundred pound siren.

As I ran into more like minded kids, we started going on siren adventures together. However, we usually didn’t plan ahead well, and our parents started holding us accountable for that. Few acknowledged how much gas costs, so I decided to plan our adventures. I’d map out our journey, lunch, and relay all the information back to them. Because I’d always have a backup plan, the parents counted on me as a liaison between them and their kids, often telling them to follow my lead, especially if sudden conditions caused plans to change.

As we got older, our priorities shifted. As I entered high school, my free time quickly filled up with extracurriculars. I had never played saxophone before, but I joined the band, and my anxiety was relieved as I walked into band rehearsal. Hearing them blast a Bb chord, I made the connection that sirens are technically instruments and are closely related to saxophones.

Since my freshman year, I’ve applied my love for loud sounds, music, and planning to the band. I organized pep bands for school events that never had music before, and team building outings for the band. The feedback and reassurance that this was my calling was apparent, as many band underclassmen say they look up to me, call me their inspiration, and thank me for involving them in band plans. The band directors certainly noticed this, and in the spring of 2021, they approved my Drum Major application.

Sirens helped me discover what I call my “passion alarm,” a loud, unmistakable calling that tells me to take initiative and to continue persevering. It doesn’t matter what form passions take, I commit myself to what they’re calling me to do. Opportunities are just like sirens and saxophones. Sirens and saxophones are two different objects, but their job is the same: to be heard. The same goes with opportunity and passions. It doesn’t matter what form they take; they deserve to be heard and acted upon.