I don’t recall ever saying “It’s already Friday.” In grade school, each day lumbered into the next, being held up by spelling tests and times tables, bed times, and “but it’s a school night.” When Friday finally rang its last bell of the week, we raced out the doors, jackets dragging, expectations rising!
Friday nights meant a sporting event. Winter meant basketball. As a grade schooler, to watch the high school boys play was no less extraordinary than a professional team on the television. It was the first time I saw the inside of Jefferson Senior High. The long hallway smelled of popcorn and sugar. Kids my age were racing the terrazzo floors, daring their futures to catch them. The open gym doors wafted the scent of sweat and possibility across from the band room where they practiced our fight song. The wooden bleachers filled. Fathers pointed out sons. Mothers traced the stands for wandering youth. The town came together in red and black, and said, for these few hours, we are the same. We are one. Not divided by neighborhood. Not separated by wealth or religion. We were cardinals. MIGHTY, mighty cardinals – we sang. Together. We won and we lost. As one.
I don’t remember exactly when the days began speeding, one into the next, when the future accepted our challenge and raced beside and beyond…when we all started to say, “It’s already Friday.” But it happened. Without our collective permission, the halls of Jefferson Senior high got smaller and smaller, and then one day, they simply had to tear it down.
So why can I still hear the music? A country away? This morning, Glen Miller plays “In the mood” on the radio, and my heart is so happy, because the “halls” are filled and the band is saying, it’s only half-time…there’s so much more to play! Every chance remains. I am a part of something, still — forever. And hope remains…MIGHTY!
