Friday Night Lights (and other musings on high school)

I parked at the grocery today next to a Dodge Dart.

Which reminded me of high school. Lots of kids I knew - at least five - drove Dodge Darts. They would have been 15 years old or so when we were 16, so they were economical, still in relatively good shape, and a car that no teenager felt cool driving. Perfect.

(The one I parked next to was in remarkably good shape. Just thought I'd mention that.)

I was also reminded of high school when I attended the Jeff Homecoming game Friday night. Like many high school students, my Friday nights in the fall were spent at football games. Hanging out with friends, marching in the drum and bugle corps (big thing where I grew up, though I don't see them around here much), watching the game. My kids are doing the same thing.

Alison had on what I thought was a ridiculous get-up - she was outfitted totally in red and black, short skirt, black knee-highs with red tennis shoes. Then I got to the game, and I realized she looked fairly normal in comparison. Go school spirit!

It was cold out there on those bleachers. I had planned ahead and dressed warmly; my kids were a little chilly. Well, I say this about Sylvia - you don't think Maddie and Alison were sitting with us, do you? So we stayed through half-time, saw the king and queen crowned, watched the band, and headed home to hot chocolate.

The band did their entire competition show, "Sounds of Africa." We especially enjoyed the part where the color guard grabbed rifles to twirl - Gary wondered if that represented the white man invading. I kid you not - is the irony totally lost on them?

My high school didn't have a marching band - we were too small. But we did have the afore-mentioned drum and bugle corps. We were ... well, we were really pretty bad, as I recall. We actually had kind of cool uniforms - resembling those of Yeoman warders more than anything, only in blue and gold - but we were so small that is was hard for the group to make much of a statement. And no one had any real training in playing the drum. Or the bugles. Or the cymbals. Our baton twirlers did not know how to twirl (and consequently didn't); our flags did nothing. Our marching formations were lame. We were directed by an over-taxed music teacher who really knew very little about what we were to be doing. Try-outs were run by the girls in the corps, and positions were handed out as if they were for patronage.

The Jeff marching band was, by comparison, quite good. They have the advantage of a much bigger student body, and I'm guessing they have directors who actually know what they are doing. We were so small that everyone in the drum corps was already in 10 other activities; at bigger schools, kids can really commit to band, practicing 90 minutes a day. We didn't have that sort of dedication.

It is eye-opening to see what bigger high schools can do. I could share horror stories about stupid stuff that went on at my school, votes that were tightly controlled, administrators and teachers not allowing the democratic process, other grievances. Doesn't matter now. But I do know what it taught me. And I will be more vigilant for my own children.

I can't undo my own high school experience, one that I realize now was lacking in more areas than I care to admit. I'm glad my own girls are exposed to more opportunity, more teachers, more diversity. They'll be better for it.