Homecoming Week

Bee Gees Song of the Day: Nights on Broadway

Here we are. In a room full of strangers
Standing in the dark. Where your eyes couldn't see me
Well I had to follow you, though you did not want me to
That won't stop my love for you
I can't stay away

I interrupt my narrative to talk about high school.

It is Homecoming Week. Sport Enthusiast Day, Pep rallies, bonfires. I remember those days. My graduating class, Frankfort-Schuyler's Class of 1982, due to the amazing artistic gifts of those talented people, our float took first prize every single year. It was such a fun time.

I haven't been a Maroon Knight for 25 years. Seriously, in one's personal novel of life, high school holds just a few chapters. But the color in those chapters is so diverse, so full of drama and yearning and pain and joy and fun that they are not to be missed or read over carelessly.

I went to my daughter's Powder Puff football game last night. The Junior Girls versus the Senior Girls. The Seniors won – that was sad. But what was wonderful was the energy and the fun that IS high school.

The Senior side of the football field was quiet overall. Parents coming to the event were sparse; few and far between. I strolled over to the Junior side of the field, weaving in between students holding hands, boys horsing around, girls talking about the boys horsing around, kids eating hot dogs, drinking soda, lined up outside the bathroom. As I approached the Junior side of the field, the noise level increased. The bleachers were full of parents. The crowd screamed and cheered. Six boys were on the track doing cheers, egging the crowd on. I named several of them. One was "Hairy" , which is self explanatory, as is "Knee-hi" and "Spaz". Knee-hi wowed the audience with his back flips. Nothing was spared in an effort to pump up the crowd. Spaz just kept running back and forth screaming.

At half time, four senior boys got on to the middle of the field and lip synced something that sounded like the Back Street Boys. It was cute. A young lady was then called to the field. "Will Melanie Blah Blah please go to the middle of the field?" Nothing more embarrassing than that. "TO THE MIDDLE" as she tried to stay near the sidelines. "Melanie, will you go to homecoming with Jason Blab Blab?" Squeals, shrieks, she covers her face. "Is that a YES?" She nodded, and everyone applauded. It was fabulous.

I got to meet my daughter's beau. I was sophomorically pleased at seeing how cute he was. My daughter's friends and I all squealed with delight at his cuteness. And it warmed me that her friends are so happy for her. I was introduced to the young man and was pleased at the clear and honest look in his eye. Indeed, I liked the cut of his jib. I tried to appear casual as they walked off the field together to get her bag. She's 16 now and according to house rules, able to date. I can now only hope that 16 years of drilling appropriate behavior and self-respect have done their job and she's prepared for this toe-dip-in-the-water foray into adulthood.

While I am thrilled and shrieking with delight at prospect of her first date, I'm already preparing for her first real heartbreak. As a parent, one has to be eight steps ahead of the ball. Her brothers and their friends will be down in mere hours to break his legs if he hurts her. I have it all worked out.

Homecoming game on Friday. Dance on Saturday. A young lady growing up. These are days that will fly for her. These are days I will never get back. So I write them in my book and I keep the pages special. I mark the chapters, so that if she ever comes back to read them after I'm gone, she will know how privileged I felt that she shared them with me.