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I’d never been so happy for school to start. Yes, I was able to hang out during the day, but everyone knew all the fun happened at night. Being a fifteen-year-old girl, I was devastated, thinking I was missing out on everything fun that summer.
My only saving grace was Thursday nights when the team would come over. My dad made it very clear that I was off-limits to every single guy there, so I was lucky to have simple conversations those nights and nothing more.
“Grandma’s here!” Aubree yells, jumping up from her seat.
Since she was at work when we arrived, we planned on just meeting her here at the field.
Aubree runs down the bleachers with Tommy right behind her. I glance up to Mollie, who goes right back to her phone, choosing to wait until Grandma comes to us to say hello.
Aubree brings her back to where we’re sitting, and we all say our hellos. Mollie finally puts down her phone for long enough to give her a hug. She’s never missed a birthday of one of the kids, so we actually see her pretty often, especially since Tommy’s birthday was just last month.
“Mommy, what are they all doing?” Aubree asks as she points to the field, where everyone is running out to the goalpost.
“They’re getting ready to welcome the varsity team on to the field,” I respond.
I watch as all the JV football players as well as the cheerleaders and drill team line up on either side of the goalpost, getting ready to welcome the team.
But first, keeping with tradition, is the carrying of the bulldog.
When I check the sideline and see the four players hoisting it to their shoulders, a tear comes to my eye. My dad would be so proud to see that they still use the same hundred-pound dog that he commissioned a local artist to make before I was even born. The thing is crazy heavy, but guys actually fight over who gets to carry it down the field. To them, it is the biggest honor you could have and one I’m sure my husband remembers doing to this day.
I catch his attention and nod my head toward where they’re getting ready.
He grins at me when he notices what I’m talking about. “I can’t believe it’s still here.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
He rubs his hands down his jean-covered legs, and I know he’s reliving his memories of carrying it down the field. Shoot, I even remember the first time he carried it. It was a big deal then, and I love the expression he’s wearing as he takes in the moment surrounding us.
I often think about what life would have been like if he hadn’t left that night.
Could we all have eventually gotten along? Would he have been involved in all this production?
Maybe …
I have to tell myself that we were led on this path for a reason, and we have a wonderful life together, so I can’t disregard that in one bit.
Bell chimes ring overhead, playing the familiar song “Hells Bells” by AC/DC, and instantly, I sit back and smile at the memories racing through me.
I turn to Heather. “They seriously still play the same intro?”
“Girl, you know not a damn thing has changed around here. This school is all about tradition, down to the damn songs they use. At least your dad chose good ones back in the day. I’ll still rock these songs in my car if they come on the radio.”
We all stand up with the rest of the crowd to pay homage to the bulldog statue.
The bells and guitar from the song continue as the four chosen guys carry the statue across the entrance to the field and in between the long line of guys and girls who cheer on either side of them.
The choreography is timed perfectly with the song for them to make it all the way down to the fifty-yard line and then to the front of the audience, where they set the statue, and then race back to the rest of the team, who is waiting behind a huge banner the cheer and drill team made for them to run through.
That’s when “Back in Black” by AC/DC plays with its tsk of the symbol beginning, marking the countdown for the players to bust through the sign, and then the guitar riff pumps everyone up.
The entire crowd goes crazy as cannons go off around the stadium with bursts of fire spewing into the air—a new addition to the pomp and circumstance. JV players run alongside the players holding flags that spell outdogsas everyone gets hyped up for the main event.
I can’t help the tears that form in my eyes as I watch everything happening around me.
These nights were my everything for most of my life.
I tried to forget how much all this meant to me after my dad died. We don’t even attend our local high school games. I wondered if we would when Mollie started high school, and I guess after tonight, we’ll fully be able to answer that question based on if tonight brings back all the good memories or the ones that we’ve tried like hell for the last twenty years to forget as we went on with our lives.
