Tim’s dad passed away the same week I began rehearsals for the last play I directed. The day before his funeral, my closet interior fell apart and all of my clothes ended up in unorganized piles on the floor. It has been a hectic and emotional time, so once the play was done, and the closet was redone we decided to go to the beach for the first time in over two years.
When I booked the trip, I had us staying 3 nights until Tim reminded me that we have come to a place in our lives where we don’t have as many obligations and although usually busy, we don’t have to rush home. I added another day to our trip.
Then Homewood High School, the school my husband and son both attended and played football for, won their playoff game. That sent them to the next round in Saraland, down near Mobile, not far from where we would be at the beach in Destin on the day we planned to come home. I suggested we find a hotel in Saraland and go to the game on the way home from our vacation.
We debated it all week while at the beach- it was forecasted to be cold and possibly rainy so we just couldn’t decide if we wanted to drive a couple of extra hours to sit in the cold for a football game.
Now don’t get me wrong! We are both avid sports fans, especially football. And although I rarely go to high school games (it’s often my only chance to be alone and do “girly” things like facials while watching silly things on TV) I do love to go to football games in general.
We decided at the last minute to go, booked a room less than a mile from the school and headed that way. We put on all of the warm clothes we had packed, grabbed a burger at the local Mugshots and headed out to cheer on our team.
When we got there and found a seat, someone giving away red bells handed me one. Although it reminded me too much of the Mississippi State cowbells that has driven me nuts in the past, I slipped it over my gloved finger on my left hand so that every time I cheer, clapped or moved, it rang out. It fit so well over the back of my hand that I almost forgot it was there.
The game seemed out of control in the beginning. A 21-0 lead right off of the bat made me think we had made a mistake coming. You support your team no matter what, but it certainly is disappointing to come so far and watch them losing such a one-sided game.
The game continued and at some point, the Homewood guys decided that they weren’t going to give up without a fight. They began to come back, and although the other team continued to put some points on the board, Homewood answered back more often. By the last minute, the game was within reach and Homewood only had to score once and kick the extra point to tie things up.
Score they did! But instead of the extra point, the coach chose to go for two. It meant winning or losing right there- no overtime in the cold, just a one play chance to move on or end the season.
The ball was snapped, handed off and the player pushed across the line. We cheered until the official said NO! He had not crossed the line! Our cheers abruptly stopped, and our side became quiet as the bleachers on the other side erupted into cheers.
The player who had carried the ball just sat in the end zone, not crying, not angry, just stunned. His wasn’t sure what had happened, how to react, but he knew that his season was over. He also knew he had given it his all.
Although one woman in the stands decided to go on a tirade of profanities about the situation, for the most part, once the shock wore off, all we could be was proud. Coming from behind, fighting back over and over, putting out their best and almost beating a team who was favored and eventually ended up winning the state championship a couple of games later, showed that the team had learned what they were supposed to learn- to be their best and never give up.
(And although high school doesn’t do replay. the pictures and videos later showed that the young man did break the plane and Homewood did win the game. Nothing could be done after the fact- just saying.)
Tim and I walked to our car, and he noticed the red bell still slipped over my finger.
“You kept the bell?” he asked.
“Of course!” I answered.
In working at Tim’s dad’s house since he passed away, I am seeing all of the things that he acquired during a lifetime. I have some older friends who told me the other day that they have started clearing things out of their houses in preparation for a time when their children will have to go through their stuff. I have said before that when I lost my mom, getting to go through her things, remembering stories associated with items, times she wore certain outfits, finding memories in her closets and jewelry boxes, was comforting to me. Even with my dad, there were small items that I unearthed and kept because of memories the items brought up.
The red bell will be one of those things that will probably get thrown away someday when I am gone, but for now it sits on a small table in the hall and every time I walk by, I remember that I too should give everything I have every day. That I should push myself to do everything I can to do the very best I can. It tells me that life isn’t always fair, but it shouldn’t deter me from trying my hardest to cross the goal line. And if I get judged harshly, wrongly, it doesn’t change that I know I did everything I could.
Almost every item I see as I walk through my house has a story, a lesson, a person tied to it. I will go ahead and apologize to Jon, but I don’t plan to clear out my “stuff” any time soon! I hope that he is as sentimental as I am and when the time comes, finds some comfort in looking at the things that meant something to me and that maybe he smiles.
Are there lots of things at Tim’s dad’s house that just seem like “junk” to us? Yes. Are there things here that no one will ever see what they meant to me? Of course! But like an archeologist, I find the dig interesting. Although things aren’t the most important part of our lives, they can be special to us. They can give a glimpse of the lives we have lived, the things that caught our eye or touched our hearts.
Someday Jon will find the red bell on a table or shelf somewhere, shake his head wondering why his crazy mother saved a cheap little noise maker like that. He might remember this story before he throws it away or he might just toss it in the trash bag with an unsure smile. Either way, for now the bell stays! I know what it means to me.
