The Perfect Catch

As is true in most small towns, the town I grew up in had a street that we always called "the main drag" ... we called it that because most of the important places in Red Bank, Tennessee, were located along that street ... Dayton Boulevard. Red Bank Baptist Church was on Dayton Boulevard ... Shoney's was on Dayton Boulevard ... the Dairy Delite ice cream joint was on Dayton Boulevard ... the Red Bank Hardware store was on Dayton Boulevard ... the Red Bank Drugstore was on Dayton Boulevard. All of the important places in Red Bank were located on Dayton Boulevard, including the high school I graduated from in 1977 ... wow, I am old, eh? I'm sure many of you think the high school you once attended or currently attend are special places, and I'm sure many of them are. But Red Bank High School was an extra, extra, extra special place ... the building was filled with character ... the kind of character that often comes with older buildings ... the kind of character that lived in every old metal locker, every piece of creaking wood, every dripping faucet, every rumbling metal radiator, every stone and every brick.

Earlier this year, Red Bank High School (which had actually become the middle school several years ago) was torn down. When I first read about the scheduled demolition of the old building, my eyes immediately filled with tears as quickly as my mind filled with memories. Memories of special teachers and extra special friends. Memories of simple things like coat racks and the smell of the biology lab. Memories of events like homecoming and sock hops and senior prom. Memories of my brother Jerry and basketball games, and of a beloved principal who suddenly passed away. Memories of wooden hallways and leaking windows, and of old metal lights and carvings in the desktops. Memories of blankets and the Red Bank Lions football games, and of hidden kisses under the bleachers. So many memories of times spent in that old building ... so very many sweet and tender memories indeed.

There's a high school close to where I live here in Kansas City, and behind the school is a long drive that runs along the edge of the football practice field. Sometimes I get bored with taking the same route time after time when Ollie and I head out for our evening walks, so occasionally we walk down the long drive and up another drive that cuts between the high school and the middle school. We've been walking that route quite a bit lately, in fact, and for the last couple of weekends, there has been a good-sized group of teenagers playing football on the practice field. It's a mixed group of guys and gals, and each time they are there when we pass, Ollie stops walking and stands next to the fence watching the young people as they play ... which means I stop walking and stand next to the fence and watch them play as well. The kids always wave at us and say, "Hi, wiener dog!" and they seem to be especially delighted to see us when Ollie is sporting one of his cute sweaters.

I've been restless all day today ... one of those days when I felt like if I had to stay in my house alone for one more minute, I would most definitely lose my mind. Thank goodness it way a beautiful day, so Ollie and I went for a couple of walks, with the second one being an hour or so before sunset. Ollie saw the kids playing before I did, and by the time we got close to the field my little wiener dog was practically dragging me along. He raced up to the fence and stood in his now regular spot, ears perked up and tail wagging like crazy. We had been watching for a few minutes when one of the young men ran over to the fence and said, "Want to play?" I shook my head and laughed and said, "Thanks, but I wouldn't be able to keep up with you young pups. You guys are pretty good, you know." The young man smiled and said, "Come on, just one play ... my girlfriend wants to hold your dog." I finally agreed, and walked onto the field with the young man and handed Ollie's leash to his girlfriend. All of the kids greeted me politely as the young man said, "This is Terrie ... she's on my team."

As I crouched over in the huddle with the young high school athletes and heard the youthful quarterback say that he was going to pass the ball to me, I said, "Oh, no, you don't want to do that ... I haven't caught a football in more years than I want to say ... don't throw the ball to me." The kids winked at me as he informed me that it would be the perfect play because the other team would never expect him to throw the ball to me ... I think that was the young man's polite way of saying the other team would never believe that he would do something so incredibly stupid as throwing the ball to an old gray-haired walk-on like me. I'll spare you the details of the play, but I will tell you this ... that kid threw a beautiful spiral pass, and I caught it ... yep, yep I did. The young quarterback made a perfect pass, and I made a perfect catch. With age does come some wisdom, and I knew not to press my luck on a second play so Ollie and I bid our goodbyes and began our walk toward home.

There was a rather unusual sculpture on the front of my old high school ... a brick rendition of a boy and girl student that was built into the building in 1955. (That's before I was born, by the way.) When the former students of Red Bank High School discovered the building was to be demolished, they raised funds to have the brick boy and girl dismantled brick by brick and rebuilt in a location where it could forever hold its place as a part of the history of both Red Bank High and the city itself. Brick by brick, the sculpture was taken apart and put back together ... brick by brick by brick by brick. They didn't have to do that, you know, they could have just let the statue be torn down with the rest of the building ... but they didn't. They cared enough to come together to do something about it. Those kids didn't have to ask me to play with them today, and all evening I've wondered why they did. Maybe the next time I see them, I'll ask them ... or maybe I'll just thank them ... maybe I'll thank them for being a part of helping me to reassemble the bricks that make me ... the bricks that make me, me.