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Going home

The joy, awkwardness and dredged up anger during one night at an awards dinner back in the hometown.

I recently made a visit back to my hometown to attend an athletic hall of fame ceremony held by my old high school. My younger sister’s 1994 soccer team was inducted having been the most successful in the school’s history. It was heartwarming to see that they’ve all remained tight and to see the impact their achievement had on the town all these years later.

Of course I continue to wait on a nomination for the 1989–90 boys basketball team. We were 3–0 at one point and well, I’m sure we did something else that was HOF worthy. If anything, we deserve recognition for withstanding those ridiculously short uniform shorts.

Beyond the girls soccer team, there were five additional inductions. A former teacher of mine, a former administrator I knew well and three other past athletes.

For a small town like ours, this meant a bevy of familiar faces, sort of familiar faces and a bunch of I know I should know who that is faces. I’m generally not comfortable in this environment.

Many glasses of wine helped.

Have you ever seen that Lifetime movie where the hometown portrayed seems way too good to be true? Everyone has lived there for their entire life, everyone knows each other too well, certain last names carry serious cache and those who leave are frowned upon.

Don’t criticize the writer’s room. These places exist. I grew up in one of those towns. It was kind of ideal, yet odd and incestuous and never lacked for stories, gossip and oodles of comedic fodder.

With this information as a backdrop, I now give you 9 things that stood out during the four-hour dinner/ceremony.

I apologize in advance to anyone from MP who may be offended by what I’m about to share. No ill will is intended.

Not that I could’ve done either of these professionally. I can’t be “on” all the time. I couldn’t withstand all of that social interaction. The responsibility would be overwhelming.

The first complaining parent would be the last. I’d quit on the spot. I’m weak.

But to hear the stories of how they impacted the lives of others made me want to quit my job and go back to school. While brutally stressful, I’d kill for that reward. I’d kill to know I could and would make a difference.

It made me want to go buy a clipboard and a whistle.

Relationships with others is everything.

I’m not good at it but I want to be.

We are seven years apart. As she was going through her formative years, I was in college and joining the real world. I was caught up in myself. I didn’t see one of her games. I didn’t call and ask about her life at that time. Most of the names of her teammates were foreign to me.

I need to remember to remind my son about this as he gets older.

Stay in touch with your sister.

Stay interested in her life.

Step outside of yourself on the regular.

I am honest with myself and worship authenticity to a fault. It may sound honorable but it isn’t. It’s what has made me so fucking cynical.

As each inductee was introduced through a well-prepared speech, I couldn’t stop thinking “They’re not this awesome, right”? “Where are the flaws”? I knew them back in the day, they’re not perfect.

I understand that this wasn’t the time and place for a detailed character study as it was a time of celebration, but I still craved it. I wanted each positive countered with a negative. Even if it was in joking form. That feels real. That feels human.

I want that when I watch the Academy Awards and when I read an obituary.

Here’s how I would induct high school basketball player me:

Doesn’t that feel more appropriate? Oh it’s just me?

The message was the same from 1985 through 1989.

Short on top and on the sides. Leave it lusciously longer in the back. Keep some of the curls. Girls dig the curls.

Translation: give me a mullet.

The woman who cut my hair would follow these orders but would always throw in a surprise at the end.

A dab of mousse.

A new gel product.

A curling iron to finish things off.

Red, white and blue paint on the curls.

That last one freaked out an introverted boy in 1988. I didn’t realize it until I was leaving the shop. I was terrified for anyone to see me and terrified to tell her to take it out.

I ran to a pay phone by the library and called my mom. I didn’t leave the phone booth until she arrived. My mom washed it out and the ordeal was over.

The haircut lady was at the ceremony. She gave me the biggest hug and laughed about her attempts to torture this unassuming and quiet boy.

I’m glad she still remembered me and remembered the highjinks.

A certain coach I had in high school had a way of knocking me down through sarcasm. Sarcasm, plus this smug stare that still gnaws at me today. I would have preferred a tongue lashing.

Tell me I suck. I can deal.

I haven’t seen said coach for twenty years plus. He was at the ceremony as was that familiar look on his face.

I decided to avoid the face. If he found me, so be it. I wasn’t going to proactively seek him out.

The face found me as we were about to vacate the hall for the evening. A few words back and forth seemed to suffice as catching up and I expected to survive the encounter without any deep seated anger resurfacing.

Nope.

I work for a certain company that is famous for deploying a blimp at big TV events. I informed coach that I worked for this company. He asked if I had ever been in the blimp and I countered with a weak “I wish”.

He then replied with this exact quote:

A. What?

B. Come again?

C. Oh I get it. That’s a reference to my lack of ups or jumping ability as a basketball player. This white man in fact couldn’t jump.

D. Would this reveal actually garner me any good will with the blimp people?

E. Is it possible that this was this a carefully orchestrated planned joke that he came up with earlier in the night?

F. Should I replied with more than “Ha Ha”?

G. Would this have been a sufficient retort?

I ran into my 3rd grade teacher.

I said “Hi Mr. [blank]”. How are you?”

He said “Good”.

It ended there.

I don’t know if he had any clue who I was.

We used to call her Large Marge.

Not in a derogatory way.

She was our bus driver to and from every game. Her name was Margaret. So logically, being the late 80’s and all, we named her after the truck driver from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.

Marge was tough as nails. She kept all of us in line and wasn’t afraid to raise her voice when needed.

She was also a loyal fan of each and every one of us. She took a liking to all of the students. She was the biggest fan of all of our teams. She sweated out the wins and losses with us.

If we had rumbled with a rival school bus, we would’ve won easily. We were well protected by Marge.

She was simply good people.

Marge was at the HOF dinner. I didn’t recognize her immediately. She softened over the years but still carried that big personality.

Marge was invited as a special guest as one of the inducted coaches. He referenced her in his acceptance speech. She openly wept and wore and enormous prideful smile the entire evening.

I had completely forgotten about Marge.

I’m happy to have remembered.

She won the evening.

I’d puke for days if I had to give an acceptance speech.

I’d fear boring everyone to death.

I’d fear forgetting people to thank.

I’d fear crying at the wrong time.

I’d fear crying when the award wasn’t tear worthy in the first place. You didn’t win an Emmy, John.

But all of the inductees nailed their speeches. Especially the younger kids. How are they so polished? Does athletic success breed social success? Is public speaking all about confidence and is it confidence that carried them all to great heights? Is it because their Millennials and Millennials are awesome?

I cringe at best man speeches. I tune out bad presenters at work out of pity.

I feared the same this night yet not once did I have to look away or hum to myself as a distraction.

Well done.

When you’re inducting someone into any HOF, do not make it about you. Do not load your speech with inside jokes we all don’t understand. Keep the humble bragging to a minimum.

And for the love of God, keep it short and sweet.

Next time, I’ll monitor the crowd and let you know when you’ve lost them.

This time it was about 47 seconds in.

Don’t do that.

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