Homecoming King

This post doesn't involve a cute picture of our kids. It won't have a witty retelling of an embarrassing moment. What it does contain, is an inspiring and touching story of some great kids from Montivideo, MN.

This story aired on our local news tonight. Lady Di and I both had trouble keeping our eyes dry.
This video shows the love and respect this student body has for one of its classmates. It makes me proud to live in the same state as these kids. And inspires me with hope for the future. A future of acceptance and empathy. I would feel blessed if our kids grew up to be as compassionate as the kids from this school.
I'm sure many parents will connect with this student's parents.
Here is the link if you are interested.
http://www.wcco.com/video/?id=67796@wcco.dayport.com

Friday Night Lights

October is a wonderful month for many reasons. The change of seasons, colorful foliage and, of course Halloween are just some of the benefits enjoyed by our tenth month.

Another reason, and one of my favorites, is football season.

I enjoy football at all levels. I, of course, put aside my requisite 2 to 3 hours every Sunday to follow the Vikings. Although, sometimes I only use about 1 hour to actually watch the game and fill the rest of the time with a nap.

On Saturdays I like to spend the day in the yard or garage listening to multiple college football games on the radio.

But the best football, in my mind, is played on Friday night. I love high school football games. I was fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to play football in high school. Along with all of the bruises and sore muscles, I received many memories and enjoyed many friendships from those four years long ago.

Our high school football teams had our up and down years, but I valued each year equally high. My high school was rather small compared to most. My graduating class had an enrollment of thirty. With such a small talent pool to choose from, our teams gave our athletes their money's worth of playing time.

Our numbers would fluctuate so much that we would switch back and forth from 11-man to 9-man football every other year. One year we even played an 8-man game. In my sophomore year, our team was still in rebuilding mode and suffered more injuries than usual. On the last game of the season we travelled to our opponent's field with thirteen players to play an eleven man game. So simple math will tell you that all but two players started and played on offence and defence. And out of the two players left on the sidelines, only one of them could play because the other freshman forgot his hip pads at home. Luckily, he didn't have to play. But we did have one injury in that game that required our last eligible player to enter the battle. Across the field, the other team lined up with around thirty extra players. They had plenty but wouldn't loan any to us. We did pretty well that game but still lost 6 to 0.

I was lucky enough to avoid any serious injury during my playing days. I did receive an opponent's helmet to my chin which required some stitches, but that just gave me a scar to prove to my kids that I actually played back then.

Back then, playing sports was pretty nerve wracking for me. I had certain rituals for good luck. I wore the same t-shirt under my uniform for every practice and game for four years. It was an orange t-shirt with a Kit-Kat candy bar logo on the front. And occasionally, I would let Mom wash it when it stood in the corner by itself.

Because I would get so nervous before games, I would fail to enjoy them much. I concentrated too much on what I was supposed to do, that I wouldn't stop and take it all in. I hardly ever celebrated on the field and rarely heard the crowd cheer when we made a good play.

So these days, I am making up for lost time. When I take Number One Son and Sweet Pea to our local high school stadium, I try to notice everything that is going on.

The first experience that brings back the glory days for me is hearing the pep band play as we walk across the parking lot.

The closer we get to the gate, the smell of concession stand popcorn reaches our noses. That mixes with the smell of newly mowed grass from the football field. Sometimes I stop and inhale deeply through my nostrils in an attempt to turn back time.

Once in the stands, I survey the entire field of green with precisely spaced white yard lines and numbers marking where rows of players do their pre-game calisthenics. They do the same jumping jacks and stretches that I did so long ago.

The noises of the game also bring back memories. A rumble of anticipation comes from the fans visiting in the stands. The cheerleaders shout out their routines mixing with the regular cadence of the players' warm up exercises. And then the silence before the national anthem, setting the stage for a rousing cheer to start off the contest.

Once the game starts, I observe that things look much different in the stands than I remember them on the field. Plays look much less confusing from up here. Today's players also seem to be faster than in my day. Regardless of today's changes, the game is still pretty much the same. The teams and stadiums are bigger. And so is my enjoyment of the game, because I enjoy the little things that go along with the game much more. Little things that I was too nervous to enjoy before.

I haven't kept in touch very well with many of my teammates over the years. But the feeling of being brothers on a team, united in one goal hasn't dimmed in me. When I do correspond with teammates of old, the past rushes back to me and is as vivid as when I first experienced it.

Here we are in our senior football yearbook photo. Quite the menacing group in our home orange jerseys. #34 was an all-state running back for us that year. #23 was a state champion wrestler. #56 is a great dad to three girls. #51 owns his own ice cream business out west and is still the school record holder in the discus. #66 has travelled the world with the Air Force. He is currently stationed in North Carolina. And #82 is still a dork.

English Lessons from Sting

Just recently, I was downloading some Police songs to my Ipod. One of the songs reminded me of a day in my high school English class. I believe it was my freshman year and we were assigned to write a poem about anything we wanted.

So, on the morning of the day the poem was due, I asked my locker mate if his poem was ready for English class. My locker neighbor, who was a character to put it mildly, flashed a sly grin and replied, "Guess what?"

My reaction of 'What' was answered by my friend with an explanation of his 'plan' for English class.

He explained that he didn't want to write a poem last night, so he got an inspiring idea to copy a couple of verses from one of his favorite songs.

With incredulity, I blurted, "No way!"

He said, "Yeah, why not? She's not going to know the difference."

We both thought this was the best idea in the world. The song he picked was very new at the time and was just starting to get popular. But who cares? Teachers don't listen to popular music.

The song he chose was Wrapped Around Your Finger, by the Police. And he chose the first two verses from that song for his 'poem'.

To refresh your memory, the lyrics are as follows:

You consider me your young apprentice

Caught between the Scylla and Charibdes.

Hypnotized by you if I should linger

Staring at the ring around your finger.

I have only come here seeking knowledge,

Things they would not teach me of in college.

I can see the destiny you sold

turned into a shining band of gold.

As you can see, he picked a very poetic lyric. This should be an easy 'A'.

So we arrived at English class and settled into our desks and prepared to hand in our poems. Our teacher had another idea, though. She stood in front of the class and announced, "Who wants to be the first one to read their poem in front of the class?"

A low groan could be heard rippling through the room.

After a little added prompting by the teacher, someone volunteered. She read her poem and we all sat in stony silence. Our teacher then threw us another curve ball. She started asking questions, of us, about our poems. Questions like, "What made you choose those words?" , and "What does that symbolize?". Questions that high school freshman are incapable of fathoming.

The rest of the class time was taken up in this manner. Student after student would slouch their way to front of the room, sheepishly read their poem and then shrug their shoulders to the teacher's questions. Every once in a while someone would agree with whatever the teacher thought our poems meant.

At the end of the hour, our class was asked, "Is there anyone who has not read their poem yet?"

That's when I remembered my locker neighbor had not read his 'poem' yet. I then realized that our assignment involved more than just handing in an innocent piece of paper. I also realized that my friend was going to be unable to explain anything about his thought process or creative inspiration. How could he answer why he chose the words, Scylla and Charibdes? How could he even define those words? I don't think Sting could even answer those questions.

As I said, class was just about to end and our poet laureate had yet to recite. Our teacher looked at the clock and determined we had just enough time for one more poem if we hurried.

I can remember my friend dragging his feet to the front of the room and bowing his head to read his wrinkly page of college ruled notebook paper with torn fringes on one side from the spiral edge. I can remember feeling uncomfortable for him, as he hurriedly rushed through his lyrics in a language slightly above a mumble.

When he was finished, I don't think he even looked up, as if hoping that everyone would forget he was there. His head bowed as if praying for a miracle.

And a miracle was granted. The class bell rang before our teacher could ask any questions. My friend rapidly handed in his paper and darted out under the cover of noisy desks and freshmen.

I'm not sure if our English teacher knew the truth or not. I didn't ask my friend what kind of grade he got and we never talked about it again.

Until now, that is.