Yes dear friends, it's that time of year; dust off the letterman's jacket and pull out the photos with the frayed edges to show your kids, who incidentally, don't want to see them except to say, "What's with the weird hair mom?" Or, "Oh my Gosh, is that you?" Really? Am I that unrecognizable? Whatever it was, whatever it is, another homecoming weekend has gone and most of us are left to ask that age old question once again, "Where the hell did that year go?"
25 years ago, when I was 17, there I was, standing on the grass with my dad who, in the photos, is younger than I am now and we are waiting, waiting, waiting, seemingly forever... The frenzy that surrounds the crowning of the Homecoming Queen is much like the Hollywood "It" girl of the week; I mean, do you remember who "the next big thing" is from week to week? If you do then fuck you I'm not writing this for you, but if you are often as in a haze about the celebrity status quo as I am, then this monologue is right up your alley so, read on...
"Hey mom, what's that thing called? You know, the thing, the flower thing that I'm supposed to get for her?"
"What? What are you talking about?" I'm trying not to smile as Jake is frustrated and desperately playing one of our verbal games called, Let's guess what the hell Jake is talking about? Even when I guess, I usually egg him on for a few minutes anyway; it's in the maternal contract. Says right on Page 3, line 57, "...psychologically torture at will." Hey, I'm just doing my part.
"MOM! The thing with the wristband that I'm supposed to get for her for the dance."
"Nope, no idea what you're talking about. Is this some kind of a new fad or something, a bracelet, like those Save the Boobies ones?" Now I'm really trying to keep a straight face as he looks as though he is about to implode,
"Forget it, when is Dad getting home?"
"Oh like he's going to have a clue what you're talking about" Jake turns to walk away when I pretend like I'm thinking and I go,
"Hold on a sec, are you talking about a ... corsage?" I swear, the kind of relief that flooded his eyes and his face as his expression passed from one of anxiety to one of contentment while he nodded was the exact same kind that I felt when I was once so engorged that it took me FOREVER to get that little bugger latched on properly, but when I did, Hallelujah! The Heavens parted. Jake's face reminded me of that moment, same intensity.
"Corsage, yeah, we need to get her one"
"Okay, I'll order one"
"Yeah?" He seemed to think that was it, but he should have read further in the contract, Page 3, line 62 "continue torture as needed to procure desired reaction..."
"Yeah, no problem" He started to walk away,
"Hey Jake, but don't you need something to wear too? A flower that goes on your shirt?" The screwed up face returned when he realized that I was right,
"Oh, what's that called?" Can somebody say commercial interruption because there was no way in hell that he was going to get boutenniere...
Yes, I am mean (never said I wasn't)...
My senior year, there were 5 girls out on the field, as is customary: Jenny, Carolyn, Julee, Monica and myself. We were all standing in the freezing cold wind, adreneline pumping, surrounded by the drill team and the band, grasping our father's arms as they stood there, warm in their suit jackets, waiting... What is it with waiting, the prolonging... ah, I'm sensing a theme here with the torture thing, but you already caught that. Anyway, our senior year, the class president, who I've known since we played softball together starting at age 11, always had the craziest and really, the most awesome ideas. She was, and still is, a damn smart and creative thinker and she came up with the idea of getting the blimp to fly over at half time and to have the ticker tape reveal the name of the Queen. Fucking genius. Who would have thought of that, I mean, the blimp? How crazy cool is that? So, here comes the blimp and we're all like chickens, lolling our heads around, looking up, pointing, reading the letters in red as they begin to scroll... The 1986 West High Homecoming Queen is...
The doorbell rings last night and it's time for Jake to take pictures with Mia; it's also time for just a second of "This has indeed come full circle" for me since Jake is a freshman at my alma mater and it is surreal to see him, all dressed up, ready for his first dance in high school, with a gem of a human being on his arm. So, there's a little bit of fuss, I think we all did quite nicely, considering the group, Thalia and I primarily, of not humiliating the two of them and, we sent them on their way. There were a few collective, "Aaaahhhs" but overall, not too bad as Jake would confirm later after I picked the two of them up from the dance. I have to admit though, when he came down the stairs a bit earlier, I got a little teary eyed. No smirking... read Page 88 of the contract and cut me some slack.
I think the most wonderful moment and really, the moments of Homecoming are the shared memories that people have when they return to the school or a school from their youth. Even walking through an old school can evoke a flood of strong emotion and memory that is more powerful than the time when the person was actually attending classes there. Nostalgia and sentiment are powerful bedfellows and they do not like to be asked to go home too soon after they take over. Kinda like that girl you picked up last week at the bar down in Hermosa, just checking to see if you were still paying attention. This year, there was a dedication ceremony for Coach Pete and the revealing of the plaque in his honor, along with the renaming of the West High Stadium that will forever bear his name. Rightfully so, everyone agrees. The man was a Warrior in more ways than one and those of us who share that distinction, well, I haven't met anyone who isn't proud to have graduated from West and there is a camraderie that permeates this community. As a result of that, I am glad that my son is now a member of that pride and of that sense of belonging. I hope that he treasures it as much as I do.
I also think it's interesting the concept of the Homecoming "Queen" and of the "King" for that matter because it isn't something that you work for or that you earn really; it's just something that's given to you for really what reason? You were the smartest? The prettiest? The easiest? The Best at whatever it was that the majority of kids happened to like at the time? I mean, is popularity the criteria? I guess that's the universal answer, but what does it mean to be "popular?" Well liked? Respected? Feared? Hated? I mean in John Hughes movies, the popular kids were cruel and sometimes without feeling toward anyone else. If that's the case, then the Homecoming Queen is a real bitch. It's like Miss USA; really? Yes it's a contest, but it's not really a contest. Miss America, now THAT'S a contest; at least there's talent in that one. Not to knock Miss USA, but I just don't get it, never have, never will. Besides that, it's so unbelievably drawn out; just call out Texas already and get it over. Well, California sometimes too, but Texas man, you'd think that a state that produced W. wouldn't have any beautiful women, but whoa... there will be no political commentary here, none whatsoever. Besides, I'm digressing again,which, as you already know, is normal par for the course...
So there we stand, looking up, craning our necks as we hear people begin to read the words as they appear on the tape; it's this collective voice, unified, like a vocal drumroll, but then, when they get to the name, there is no name read because the crowd bursts into this kind of quasi-yelling, screaming mass of insane parents and friends and classmates and there's clapping and whistling as the former HQ moves to crown her successor. There are hugs and congratulations, roses and a robe and, of course, a tiara, more hugs, a glance upward to read her own name on the ticker tape and to laugh at the fun of it all. Tears come even though she told them not to and she feels very awkward and happy and silly all at the same time as her dad takes her arm and leads her to the car to drive around the track... and all the while she's thinking. All the while I'm thinking... how did that happen?
I pulled out the pictures last night to show Jake and his response was expected, mostly at our choices of 80's attire and hairstyles, but he smiled too as he asked me questions about that night. Then again, he is a boy so there weren't all that many questions. He got up and moved to walk away, but he stopped, turned back and asked,
"Hey Mom"
"Yep?"
"Is your picture still up in the ASB office from when you won?"
I thought about it,
"Yeah as far as I know"
He nodded, "Cool" and walked away. For the mom of a 14 year old son, that was pretty much the equivalent of winning the gold medal... cool.
It's not something you put on your resume or something that ever comes up in conversation; it's not something that I even tell people except in certain contexts. But the reasons why I don't say it aren't because I wasn't happy or because I feel a certain way about being chosen. I don't say it because there is no need to say it. When you win a game, you don't walk around telling people years later that you won. You might tell details or share in the joy of having experienced it, but you don't do that; it spoils the authenticity of the moment. Geez I sound like Dr. Phil, but, sincerely, when you have moments like that in your life, they remain precious because they are close to your heart, made for you, by you, with the help of others and oversharing them is to minimize their importance. Like when Jake put the corsage on Mia's wrist and she said "Thank You." It's all in the gestures, the background, the moments, and, that's the way it should be.
So once a year, I, like many of my fellow Warrior alumni, come home: to visit, to share, to remember, to help pass on the traditions to a new generation, to our own children. "What was it like to be the Homecoming Queen?" Somebody asked me that at the game this year and I guess, really, my answer to that question was everything that I just wrote here, but that would have been too much to say, so instead, I just simply said,"It was an honor" and it still is...
Welcome Home everyone. Go West!
