About Last Night or Friday Night Lights

Dinner had run late. And I was supposed to be "coaching" photography. Which means on the field, gesticulating wildly at some kid with a camera to get down and get the shot. Yearbook kids are always afraid to get their jeans dirty or something. Perhaps that is why they are yearbook kids . . . and not football players.

As I pull into the farthest parking lot possible . . . because I am a half an hour late . . . pull on my school ID badge because I want to impress my boss and I might need my keys, put my purse in the trunk and notice that there are two boys sitting on their skateboards in the middle of the parking lot. They are not in high school, not my students . . . but boys, they do not usually sit on skateboards. There is usually motion. At least wiggling as they are talking or something. These boys are not moving at all.

"Is everything all right? You're taking a break?" I say.
The boy in the longer hair answers, "I think I just broke my arm."

I go into Mom mode. Check his fingers. He can move them a little. There are no bones protruding or sticking out. Good sign. Might have just cracked his wrist. Thank goodness I have my school ID on . . . I ask who to call. There is discussion between the boys, whose parents to call. "No, no. Who is in charge of you?" I ask the broken one. I call his grandmother. Explain that I am a teacher at the high school and the injury. Give directions. She will come.

As we wait, I feel that we have to chat. It's pretty glum. Another school employee brings some ice and we talk about skateboards until his grandmother shows up. His trucks are loose (maybe why he is falling off the skateboard?) and I tell them to go see my former student at the skate shop. "Have him fix this. Tell him I sent you." His grandmother somehow misses us and is driving aimlessly around the parking lot, so I have to run, waving, to get her. It's a van with two small dogs running loose in it. And a giant pink bag of dog food. She doesn't sound like she is going to take him to the hospital (often people do not have insurance in my district) and so I add my two cents . . . tell her to at least get it x-rayed. The bones in the wrist could be cracked. Say goodbye to the boys. Tell them that I'll see them in two years when they get to the high school.

So now I'm an hour and fifteen minutes late.

And I love to talk to everyone at football games. I become the super extrovert . . . waving, smiling, chit-chatting. "Ooooh, how are you? How's school? How's your mom?" As I am standing next to the only other teacher there, I strike up a conversation with a parent. I don't know her son. A freshman and I no longer teach freshmen. "Oh, but I know you . . . " she says and proceeds to tell me how her neighbor has told her all about me. In a tone that is not good. Tells me that there are only two teachers to avoid and I am one of them.

Who does this? I'm at a football game. Wearing school colors, waving and smiling. She tells me who has given her this information and also tells me that she knows that the source might not be all that credible. And evidently, after I left (because who stands around for that?) she turned to my friend and said, "Well, she seemed really nice."

And the game was awful and I don't know why. They lost. And we used to be used to losing. But we have a new coach and he is great. Doesn't swear at the kids. Respects them. Tells them to be respectful. And I don't know if this was a big game, or if the players just didn't want to disappoint him . . . but there was a whole lot of crying. I've never seen so many men crying at once. Big boys, who are normally mean bullying ______ at school, blubbering. Which was hard to look at. And I definitely couldn't take pictures of it.

At the end of the game, my very earnest boss, wanted to invite us out. She is very nice. Young. About ten years younger than I am.

I was one of two teachers at the game. And there is a rule. The rule among thieves, as it were . . .no going out with the bosses. Harder than one might think. Two of them used to be the gym teachers at our school. And you know how gym teachers are with the reindeer games, so they were regulars. And think they can now just be the same. And it's not the same.

Emily: "So what did we just do? Why are we going out with them?
E2: "She was trying so hard. Did you hear her? She must have asked a dozen times. We have to go."
Emily: "But what about the rule?"

(to be continued)