Sitting on a bench, watching my baby cousins–the next generation of our family–play soccer. It’s an almost Proustian moment. Because half of my academic career before graduating high school was spent in bleachers. It’s a cold night while the game goes on, and the Mosquitos swarm into thick clouds around the stadium lights. This is history. This is nostalgia. This is a certainty that the ways of the past will keep going.
Like so much in life, it’s not found in the big moments. It’s not in the trumpets blaring fanfare, the moments that announce themselves with gaudy flair and demand attention. It’s in the stolen moments, the little things that make life life. It’s in the cold air and the colder bleachers. It’s in the Gatorade bottles waiting with parents on the sidelines.
There’s plenty of time for higher literary pursuits tomorrow. The bigger problems of life will wait. For now, the world is content to he contained within a conglomeration of metal planks.
Tags: Life, Stray Observations
