You know, like Purple Tuesdays... only not.
There is just way too much purple on my memory card these days. It's all due to my daughter attending a high school that is slightly akin to a cult. Where the drama of life and death unfold on the "Indian" football field. Where season tickets are willed to family members upon death, and where "Cut me! I bleed purple." is heard at least once a week during the fall.
I wasn't exactly "Miss School Spirit" back when I was a teenager. I must have slept through the pep rallies because I don't even remember them. I never wore purple on Fridays- it didn't even occur to me. I was definitely in my own world. I did, however, learn the fight song in French, which you can imagine has taken me far in life. I think I can count on one hand how many football games I attended back then. But now I'm at most of them, squinting through glasses to find the ball. I even know what a "down" is.
I'm there for my girl, but I also love to people watch and it doesn't get any better than grown men half-crying/ half-screaming in THE most southern accent you will find, "Come on D!!!"
So without further explanation or disclaimers, I present a bit of my Friday nights.
(You can't have Friday without Dairy Queen, day 255)
the marching "I"
So, I guess I officially have "school spirit" (this has to be said with a lisp, don't ask me why) because I'm finally a season ticket holder. Each Friday I don my purple and white rasta hat and move my arm up and down like a tomahawk while chanting with the rest of the crowd when the game is tight. Once in a while the people around me might even hear a few words in French:
"Scalpez Indians, Scalpez!"