Last evening I attended the opening home game for my alma mater, Lakeshore High School. When I was in high school, I was in the marching band, and so I never had to pay admittance. Eight years on, an entrance ticket is $5 (formerly $3 when I attended), and my former physics teacher is still manning the entrance gate. For those of you not familiar with the Stevensville community, you'll find that it's very typical of any other Midwestern town: strong emphasis on family values, fair play, conservative aesthetics and values, etc. What impressed me last night about the community in which I spent my adolescence is how financially rich it is. I know there is wealth in the area, I just never knew to what extent.
Last night, the football team got to play their season opener on the newly installed artificial turf. Last spring, LHS, petitioned members of the community to contribute to this new "Field of Dreams." In merely two months time, the community raised $900,000 to cover the cost of the materials and installation. Over the past six weeks, members of the community (my father included) have made the installation of this field a spectator sport, stopping by the field each day, climbing the steps of the bleachers and taking photo shots every day. Some may argue this to be small town excitement; however, as I sat watching the game, talking to my sister and friends from SUMC, and admiring the fireworks after each Lancer touchdown (there were 7), I thought to myself, "Aha! This is it! This is what is beautiful about the Midwest -- a community coming together to invest their money, time, and care into a cause that they feel valuable to the development of it's young folks." In that moment, I felt, for the first time all summer, comfortable and content living in Michigan.
At half time, my sister and I cut out early (the opposing team wasn't able to score any touchdowns the whole night) to watch Obama's DNC nomination acceptance speech. Truth: Obama is a great orator. I was impressed with not only his rhetoric, but his commitment to change and the energy he devotes to what it is that he wants to change, be it health care, giving veterans their due, or serving those who have experienced injustice. When the cameras pan across the DNC crowd, I'm struck by the sheer emotion in faces of the DNC attendees. People are crying, holding their hands up to their faces as if in prayer, holding their signposts with white-knuckle grips, and not blinking a minute. They are so filled with optimism and hunger for the change that Obama-Biden are promising, that I cannot deny them respect and hope in my deepest of hopes that the next president will guarantee them a better society. Obama's words have the power to work up a crowd, to challenge citizens of the U.S. to "be their brother's keeper, to be their sister's keeeper," and to grow backbones and stand up to injustice. Misters Obama and Biden -- I have failed you.
This afternoon, I went with my father down to North Lake to pitch corn bags and share a meal of chicken and biscuits with some of my father's friends -- all male and well over the age of 35. I made the mistake of forgetting whose company I was in, and made mention of watching last night's DNC speech. The conversation volleyed back to me was a true awakening into the psyche of the provincial mind that has not seen much past the borders of it's own county let alone state or nation. This past summer, I was confident in Ireland when I argued with strangers and assured them that America was ready for a black president. I stand corrected. Not all of America is ready for a black president. In an effort to defend my father's friends, I would attempt to say that these men fear a Democrat in the white house more than a black man. But I would just be protecting them in vain. I sat there, at this picnic table, and said nothing when they claimed that if Obama were elected, they would lose all faith in the American people. I barely raised an eyebrow when one said that Obama will win since every coon in the U.S. will vote for him. And I swallowed hard and kept my eyes straight on the game when one asked me which corn bag I preferred: the yellow or the black. I took the yellow because it was bright. He took the black bags, commenting that he'd take the Obama bags.
If I were to get a re-do of this afternoon, I would like to think that I would have had some witty defenses to their commentaries, but I know that I would probably act the same way in which I acted in real time. I have no problem going face to face with my peers or parents on politics. But when it's with my father's friends, I allow them the slack I think my elders deserve. If I don't have the backbone to change the opinions of three men, what kind of keeper can I be towards the strange brothers and sisters of greater society?
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