This past weekend was the time for my annual pilgrimage back home to Victorville, California. I go back every year at this time to celebrate my Mom's birthday. Of course, my Mom passed away almost three years ago now, but it still is a time for me to return and pay homage to woman that gave birth to me and to the town that helped to shape me.
After driving for seven hours, I arrived at the cemetery just before sunset. I had purchased some roses at the Costco in Bakersfield so I spent a few moments clearing the grass out of my father's gravestone cup and then proceeded to place twelve flowers in my mother's cup and eleven in my father's cup. Dad got shortchanged today because one of the flower buds had broken off from the stem.
As the sun was setting on the San Bernardino Mountain range, I began to reflect on so many days of long ago and, while looking at the adjoining gravestones of my parents, I began to miss them very much. It has been many years now since they have been gone, but even now the emotions can be quite overwhelming.
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After my time with Mom and Dad, I went and had a bite to eat at a "new" nearby Thai restaurant. The decor was actually rather classy and the food was quite good. Victorville had come a long way from the days when one of the better restaurants in town was the J.I.M. (Jesus Is Mine) Broiler.
After consuming half of my Pad See Ew, I decided to go and check out the football game at my old high school, Victor Valley High School, the Home of the Jackrabbits. For those not familiar with small towns, Friday Night in the Fall is high school football night and for the local high schools Friday night in October is the social event of the week. On this night, it was particularly special because it was homecoming. At homecoming, the game is more important and the half time is more special. At half-time is when the Homecoming Queen and King are crowned and they reign as such for the rest of their lives.
For me, returning was a blast to the past. The game was still held in the stadium where many moons ago the coaches tortured us by making us run up and down the concrete stadium steps to the point of exhaustion. Indeed the cement itself appeared to have begun to finally wear down from the thousands of "stadium runs" that have been performed over the years.
I purchased a program for this special night and, in browsing it, noticed three things. First, I noticed that unlike in my day, almost all of the players were black or Mexican. Out of the 37 faces and names that comprised the Varsity squad only three were white. In my day, it would have been more the other way around. However, oddly enough, and this is the second thing I noticed, while the football team was mostly black and Mexican, the entire coaching staff of six was white. Finally, the third thing I noticed was that at the back of the program the students had inserted an open letter to the head coach thanking him for all that he had done for them. Apparently, the Coach had served as a "father" figure for so many of the young men. Indeed, the Coach had been doing so for the last 37 years at the same school and, to my pleasant surprise, the Coach who so inspired his players was a fellow classmate of mine, a member of the Class of 1971.
Well, in fitting form, the Rabbits demonstrated the speed that rabbits are known for and were able to outrun the Granite Hill Cougars all night. During half-time the Homecoming Queen and King were crowned and, yes, the Homecoming Queen was African American. There was an unexpectedly good fireworks show and the Rabbits came back out after half-time and continued to run over and away from the Cougars. The Rabbits, the Mighty, Mighty Rabbits prevailed 35-20, and my Classmate received the traditional Gatorade bath that victorious coaches all over the country seem to receive.
After the teams had exchanged their display of good sportsmanship, I went down to the field and tapped my classmate on the shoulder. I congratulated him on the victory and on his career. I told him that seeing the game had been a special treat for me. And, in that moment, the Coach, in his Gatorade soaked attire, beamed with a joy that few of us will ever know.
I left that field thinking about the influence my football coach classmate has had on the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of young men and women throughout his 37 years at our alma mater. I paid particular note of the apparent fact that while the complexion of those in attendance at the high school had changed, this man's dedication to them had not. I thought of all this and I began to think that of all of the graduates of Victor Valley High School Class of 1971, it just might be that this football coach classmate is the most "successful" of us all.
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