Cold Truths

It was Friday Night Lights for us, never mind a temperature well into the 40s and a winding tearing out of the west. If my son-in-law’s Lake Park Lancers won their game against Wheaton Warrenville South, they pretty much would have their ticket punched to the state playoffs. Did I mention it was cold? A high school football game is marked by perpetual motion and sound, starting with the students. Groups and couples are forever walking or running, and laughing, or whispering; what the players on the field are doing at that particular moment is of little import to the groups and couples assembled. Adolescents need to see and be seen. Then there’s my grandson. If electric vehicles ever find a way to possess just half the energy Leo does at twenty-six months, we’ll all be going electric any day now. His three grandparents took turns chasing him around the end zone grandstand, from the opening kickoff till halftime. (Coaches’ families prefer sitting there because, that way, they won’t hear parents in the home stands complaining about their kids’ coaches.) Around and around we went… “Grandpa, chase me!” What choice did I have but to obey? The only thing that could make Leo stop was the band; my grandson is fascinated by music, especially when the musicians are marching. Want to get on my daughter’s bad side? Offer to buy her son a drum, better yet, a drum set. Somebody in her family keeps rhythm by pounding things. Gene Krupa, Buddy Rich, Keith Moon…. What with the running and listening Leo finally drained all his batteries by the third quarter. Daddy was losing his game; there’d be another shot at the playoffs next week. Time to go home and to bed. For grandparents, too.