The Exhausted Dad: First-time homecoming
I don’t want to be divisive.
However, I must speak my truth.
I don’t care about football. Either type. Sorry. I’m a baseball guy. Go Twins! Oof, I mean, go Mariners!
I can watch the occasional NFL game and pretend to be knowledgeable about Patrick Mahomes and that guy who dates Taylor Swift. But high school football? No, thank you.
Up until this fall, I attended exactly one high school football game in my entire life. I worked the concession stand for the DECA club at one game during my junior year. I remember being extremely annoyed about it because I didn’t want to miss an episode of the Norm MacDonald sitcom that aired at the time.
Because my 14-year-old daughter performs in the marching band, I’ve now been to two more high school football games ... with more to come. Sigh. To sit somewhere where I could see the band perform, I had to arrive at the beginning of the game, meaning I’m required to sit through two quarters of high school football before the band’s halftime show.
Misery.
During the first game, I tried thinking about that fantastic TV show, “Friday Night Lights.” I watched every episode because of the smart storytelling and fantastic cast. It even managed to make football passably interesting.
Sadly, no coach Taylor roamed the sidelines at my daughter’s school. No Michael B. Jordan, Connie Britton or Jesse Plemons either. That show ruled.
The second game of the season also happened to be homecoming at the school. Man, talk about something I care even less about. I never attended any homecoming either, not in high school, not in college, not anywhere. I never even went to a dance until my junior prom, and even that was under moderate duress.
At the homecoming game for my daughter’s school, many of the kids seemed to cherish the opportunity to make lasting memories. My wife, my other children and I sat in a row just above the student section, where I witnessed several groups of teens taking pictures and performing secret handshakes.
Aside No. 1: These kids need a class on creating memorable handshakes. So unimaginative! Most of them had two to three moves tops, and too many kids used the Arnold Schwartzenegger-Carl Weathers handshake from “Predator.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s a legendary handshake, but I’m not convinced these kids know the origin of the most iconic arm embrace in cinematic history. You gotta respect the pop culture roots!
Aside No. 2: Surprisingly, many of the kids used digital cameras instead of their cell phones to take selfies and other photos. Are digital cameras the new nostalgic fad? Or do these kids’ parents heavily regulate their screentime by forcing them to use flip phones instead of smartphones? If so, I want to talk to those parents, because I want my kids to use flip phones and I couldn’t find a functional (and cheap) flip phone to buy anywhere.
OK, no more asides. Err, actually, I don’t have anything meaningful to say about homecoming. Football is boring!
To pass the time before halftime, my two sons and I tried to photobomb as many pictures as we could. We happened to be sitting right behind multiple groups of kids taking copious amounts of selfies. I can’t be certain, but I’m hopeful that several of these photos contain a 41-year-old, a 12-year-old and an 8-year-old making giant, goofy grins behind the memory-making teens. We also flashed some enthusiastic thumbs ups and made a few “Blue Steel” poses from “Zoolander.” Because the kids need to understand the roots of important pop culture!
What did the other parents and grown adults do at this exciting homecoming game? I don’t know. Some of them seemed real excited and yelled at the referees a bunch. I didn’t hear a single person talking about that new album from that one football player’s fiancé, and so I didn’t feel knowledgeable enough to strike up a conversation with them.
After halftime, I went home and dug out my DVD of that Norm MacDonald sitcom. Turns out, homecoming really does bring up cherished memories.
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Tyler Wilson is an attorney, freelance writer, and a parent to four children, ages 8-14. He is tired. He can be reached at [email protected].
The Exhausted Dad