OU/Texas, October 10, 2015

Oh, everyone who knows me, stop acting like you’ve fainted! No one, least of all your humble servant over here, thought I would ever write anything about a football game. I know! But I have to say something about this.

The most important background about this situation is that the three following events are the only three times I’ve ever cared about a football game:

First time: When I was in 10^th grade, I was on the pep squad (why? I don’t know) and thus forced to attend all the school’s games. The only reason I cared about the game then was that I was newly in high school (back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth in Austin, Texas, high school started sophomore year) and wanted to be like all the other kids in high school. One remarkable evening, I even heeded the call of our pep-squad leaders to take off my socks because we had won games when it was too hot to wear socks with our Keds™ and now that it was cooler and we were wearing socks, we were losing. Some kind of superstition going on there, but I complied, even though I didn't understand how lack of socks would help or why several of the girls were crying.

Next up: When I was 18 or 19, the guy I was dating took me to his family’s home in the countryside outside Dallas for the weekend football game. His brothers were also there with their wives or dates, and my date paid for me to be in the football pool even though I said flat-out that I wasn’t interested. But it was a family tradition, so Jeff put money in for me. I was a total smart aleck and took the opposing team over the Cowboys. I never expected “my” team to win, but I did care a bit about the game’s outcome when it began to appear the Cowboys were goin’ down. In the end, I got the whole pot ($100, which was a fortune to me) even though Jeff had put in the money, because he and his family were so amused that I was so horrified, and they refused to let me return everyone’s cash.

Third and final: OU/Texas (or as they say in Austin, Texas/OU) game 2015.

Yeah, that last one’s recent, and it’s why I’m writing this. I actually was cheering for a team in this game. Fortunately for my sanity (and my reputation with my friends!), I think I have figured out why I gave a hoot.

Being an Austin gal in Oklahoma City, I have friends on both sides of the Red River and I follow a bunch of them on Facebook. Interestingly, even a couple of my most diehard Longhorn-fan friends told me Texas was doomed this year. Oklahoma hadn’t lost and Texas had won only once all season. I didn’t care. Big whoop. Meh. Whatever.

Then, suddenly it was the week before OU/Texas weekend, and my Facebook notifications increased exponentially. All the OU fans I follow were mostly silent about the upcoming game, even though their team was the favorite and the comments I did see were all “rah-rah OU, Boomer Sooner, we’re awesome” comments. All the Texas fans, however, were blowing my Facebook up dissing not only the University of Oklahoma’s football team, but OU in general, the whole state of Oklahoma, and everyone who lives here. Seriously! It was almost funny at first, but then it started to be not quite so almost funny, and by the time the weekend rolled around, I had begun to look forward to the game and to be ready for Oklahoma to roll right over Texas. (Boomer Sooner!)

So, finally, it was Saturday. The game was at 11:00 (in the Cotton Bowl, in Dallas, for the uninitiated). I didn’t care. I didn’t turn on the TV.

I did, however, do some errands around town and about 3:00 I wandered over to Qdoba™ for a snack. Qdoba™ has televisions in every corner, and I noticed the game was playing on one of the TVs, so in order to keep abreast of current events I sat facing the game. That was when I noticed the score was some crazy thing with Texas ahead. That was a surprise, given everything I’d heard about the two teams, but while I was sitting there, OU scored, and a Sooner win was still an option. Then I noticed there weren’t too many minutes on the clock, so I put down my book and actively watched the game. That’s when I saw the OU quarterback be sacked twice within five minutes! I was very unhappy. I texted Lisa and initiated what turned out to be a rather lengthy conversation about the game. I wanted Oklahoma to win. I very much wanted Oklahoma to win.

Then, it was over. OU lost and I almost started crying in my guacamole. Believe me when I tell you, I was more shocked that I cared about OU’s loss than I was about the actual loss.

And right then, Friends, was when I realized that while I absolutely did not care about the football game, I absolutely did care – and was a little ticked off – that the Texas fans were trash-talking my state and, by extension, everyone I love in Oklahoma, and me. Good-natured ribbing is one thing, and I laughed hard when one of my Longhorn friends posted “#owho?” after the game. Sadly, that friend was in the minority as far as good-natured Longhorn posts go, and even now, two full weeks after the game, truly ugly comments about Oklahoma (both the school and the state) are still coming across my Facebook newsfeed with amazing regularity.

So, here’s my point: Have some class, football fans. No one but you and your fellow fans give two hoots about your team’s win/loss. Your team may (or may not) be the best football team in your state, your conference, and/or the whole fabulous world of college football, but the fact is, your opponents love their own school and team with the same pride and ferocity with which you love yours. Just because you are a Longhorn or a Sooner or an Aggie or a Cowboy (or a fan from, Heaven forbid, some state besides Texas or Oklahoma!) does not make you and your people better than the people who support a different team. Show courtesy to your opponents. Don’t be unkind about the teams and people in other states. That's before and after the game, by the way.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t rib the other team or toot your own team’s horn, but you shouldn’t be mean spirited about it. When victory is yours, party on! Shout it from the rooftops that you rock! Do that for the rest of the weekend and then  . . . .  hush. Sure, post your “Hook ‘Em” or your “Gig ‘Em” or your “Boomer!” Support your team! But let last week’s game go – yes, even the Red River Rivalry game – and get fired up about your next game. Politely.

And while you are practicing being a good sport, I’d like for you to remember this, too. College football players are kids. They have the emotions of kids. Their actions and decisions are governed by immaturity and lack of experience. Maybe they were too cocky coming into the game and freaked out when the opposing team was tougher than they were expecting. Maybe they were disheartened when their opponents scored twice in the first ten minutes. There are probably at least a thousand things that can throw young players off their game. Don’t be so hard on them. They are kids. If they are good athletes, they will learn from their mistakes and will make you proud next time. Show them some grace. Give them a chance to improve.

BOOMER SOONER!

OWHO?

Whatever.

P.S. I'm not trying to dis the Longhorns here, and I'm not implying the Sooners are more sportsmanlike. I've seen all kinds of rotten behavior on both sides of that rivalry through the years, and a bunch more by other teams in Texas, Oklahoma, and other states. The OU/Texas game this year just happens to be the one that finally sent me over the edge.

My friend broke up with me!

My LOL friends and I used to have a friend, another avid cross stitcher, whom I will call (for the sake of anonymity) Eileen. Eileen was just as nutty as the rest of us, and a lot of fun. I met her when I first moved to Oklahoma, and since she was also a divorced old lady – my exact age, in fact – we hung around together quite often, even without the other LOLs.

After we’d all been friends for a couple years, something happened that made Eileen stop hanging around with the other LOLs. She and I did still hang around, though; we went for a walk every morning, sat up late on weekend nights playing games or stitching (and laughing), etc., just as we always had done.

Then one day, Eileen decided she and I couldn’t be friends. Boiled down to its most basic cause, we could not be friends because I was still friends with the other LOLs. I was shocked and sad. My feelings were hurt. I felt bereft.

At that time, the LOLs met every Wednesday to stitch and laugh. Eileen quit being my friend on a Monday, and when I met the other LOLs that Wednesday, I was still upset that my friend no longer wanted to be my friend.

When I told the LOLs “Eileen broke up with me!” they laughed and laughed, not at the end of the friendship, but that I said we broke up. To this day, anytime Eileen is mentioned (which is not often, but she was a big part of our lives for several years, so she does come up), someone will say, “She broke up with Jackie Lucy,” and laughter results.

A few years ago, a group of LOLs were at a stitching retreat and Eileen showed up at the retreat. She pointedly refused to look our way again once she saw us, and was unfortunately so obvious in her avoidance tactics that a lady we had just met and with whom we were sharing a table queried us about Eileen and her behavior. Someone explained we used to all be friends with her, especially me, and said, “But she broke up with Jackie Lucy.” The lady laughed just as hard as the rest of us at that – which is part of how she became our new friend!

I’ve never seen Eileen since that retreat, although I have read her blog and have seen her comments on the Facebook pages of cross-stitch shops we all frequent. I doubt she’s read my blogs, but if she has, I hope she remembers the LOLs in the good old days when we were all friends and all had such great times together.

Eileen, if you read this and recognize yourself, Hi! I wish you hadn't broken up with me! And, just so you know (and feel free to laugh about this) I still haven't woven the ends in on that baby blanket. Yeah. I'm rolling my eyes, too.

Thoughts on a High School Reunion

This is the year of my 40-year high school reunion. Yes, that is four-zero. Forty. Yikes! Somehow turning 58 last week didn’t make me feel as old as realizing it’s been 40 years since I graduated from high school. 40 years!! That’s two generations ago. Good heavens!

When I first heard about the 40-year reunion, I was not enthusiastic. I went to the 10-year reunion and found it to be pretty much a rehash of high school, with all the same people mostly hanging out in all the same groups. I found that I still didn’t like the people at the reunion whom I didn’t like in high school – seriously, two of the guys who were most annoying in school were still trying to look down my shirt at the reunion. Pffft. (And really – why? I was as flat-chested as could be at 18 and still so at 28. Move along, you dorks, there is nothing to see here!)

In addition, even discounting the ogling dorks, I was mildly uncomfortable at the 10-year reunion. Few of the people with whom I had been close attended, I had nothing in common with those who did attend, and I felt as out-of-place at the reunion as I had done in high school. In the end, I escaped to a local restaurant to eat and laugh with a few select people; we caught up on each other’s lives and had a rockin’ good time, but that extracurricular event didn’t give me warm fuzzies about reuniting with my fellow ‘75 graduates ever again.  

Given all that, my initial reaction to hearing of the 40th reunion was somewhere along the lines of “It’s been 40 years, folks! I haven’t seen most of you in at least 30 of those years, so why would I want to see you now? And, by the way, it’s stinkin’ HOT in Texas in August. Are ya nuts?”

Guess what, though – I’m going to the reunion, and I’m pretty excited about it, too! Let me tell you why. First, we’re all almost 60! Good golly, surely we have grown up some! Second, one word, Facebook!

Some fabulous soul(s) created a Reunion page on Facebook where we can see information about the reunion events, read updates from the planning meetings, and more. Some talented folks have uploaded (and tagged!) yearbook and class photos from elementary through high school, individual senior pictures, and snapshots taken at parties and at the lake, all for our entertainment and viewing pleasure. People have posted open-ended questions, requesting input on everything from “What was the worst trouble you got into in high school?” to “Tell us about your family” to “Who remembers Chapel Hill (the “parking” place)?” and on and on.

Here’s the interesting and fun part: people are commenting on the photos and responding to the questions. No guile, no embarrassment, no cliques; just honest replies that are giving us new information about our classmates and their lives, both then and now. I’ve laughed while reading hilarious stories involving contraband on school-sponsored trips, “papering” of people’s houses, and horrifying first dates. I’ve cried over the stories of people who at the time seemed to have the world on a string, but who have now revealed the insecurity or sadness or frightfulness of what their lives really were back then.

This sharing has given me new insight regarding my classmates and has made me think a little differently about my high-school experience. My family moved into the school district in the middle of my 7th-grade year, so I didn’t have friendships in high school that went back to kindergarten. I came from a military background where everyone was new every school year. I was unprepared for a bunch of classmates who already had all the friends they needed. Sure, I made plenty of friends through the years, but I never felt as if I truly fit in with those people who had known each other forever, and I was much too shy to just leap into the fray and get to know them better (or at all).

Now, though, I am not so shy and I am getting to know the people who post on the 40th-Reunion Facebook page. Some classmates have sent me “friend” requests so I see what they post on their own pages, too, and they comment on the posts on my page. I’ve also emailed, texted, and/or spoken on the phone with some of my high school friends and acquaintances. Interestingly, even when we remember that we were all there, we don’t all have the same memories of high school happenings, friendships, events, and so forth. I guess we, as teenagers, were so spectacularly self-absorbed that our memories are skewed based on our own individual viewpoints at the time. That’s pretty funny from my perspective as a 58-year-old! I can’t wait to hear more stories that completely conflict with my own memories. What a hoot!

Yup, I’m enthused about this reunion. This year, I betcha we will all stroll in, look around at the chubby, balding, and/or white-headed crowd, and feel good in our own skin. There will be no adolescent, self-absorbed worrying about what anyone thinks of us or if anyone will like us or if we’ll be able to make new friends. So many of us have already connected or reconnected that no one should feel uncomfortable walking in the door. And, I suspect this time we will all take away the same memories.

Oh, no! Ow! Ow! Ow!

A couple years ago, Carolyn invited me to join her and her family at the local high school football game. Her oldest son was in the marching band, and they were performing a “light show” – securing light sticks on their uniforms and marching in total darkness. That sounded like a cool deal (it was!!!), so I accepted the invitation. Then she invited me to join the family for supper before the game so we could all go in one car and not have to look for each other at the game. I volunteered to furnish dessert.

The recipe I made is called “S’more Cake.” It is a chocolate cake, cooked in the microwave, topped with marshmallows browned under the broiler, and then sprinkled with graham crackers and drizzled with melted chocolate. (Yes, it’s yummy.) It’s best eaten right after it’s made, and since it takes fewer than 10 minutes to whip up, I made the dessert at Carolyn’s house.

An important part of this story is that no one in Carolyn’s family ever, ever cusses. Her husband is a pastor and a chaplain, her daddy was a pastor, and once when she was in junior high school, trying to be cool and said, “damn,” her friend told her, “Don’t even try to cuss, Carolyn. You weren’t made to cuss.”

So, back to the dessert situation. I cooked the cake. I put the marshmallows on top of the cake. Carolyn and I confirmed the broiler was ready and the rack was in the lowest position in the (electric) oven. The marshmallows need to be under the broiler for about a minute to brown. I put the marshmallow-covered cake into the oven and I swear to you, I turned my back on that oven for 10 seconds and when I turned back around, the marshmallows were on fire! Flames were shooting up from the cake! Naturally, being me, I shouted, “Oh, shit!” Carolyn’s husband and her seven-year-old stared at me from the kitchen table. Her husband had a small smile on his face, was looking down, and shaking his head. The seven-year-old had eyes as big as saucers.

Carolyn started laughing and said, “You said shit!” Then the conversation went like this:

Jackie Lucy: The marshmallows are on fire!

Carolyn: What should we do?

Jackie Lucy: I don’t know. I think it has to just burn out.

Carolyn (opening oven door, which causes flames to leap up): I think I can beat the fire out.

Jackie Lucy (closing the over door, agitated and um, loud, voice): No, no! Close the door!

Carolyn (opening oven door): No, really, I can beat the fire out with this spoon.

Jackie Lucy (slamming oven door): Don’t open the door. The fire will stop on its own when there’s no oxygen in the oven.

Carolyn (opening door and whacking cake with spoon): See, there you go. Fire’s all out.

And so it was. We scraped the charred marshmallow goop off the cake, put the graham crackers and chocolate on, and ate it anyway. (FYI, the cake wasn’t as good without that browned-marshmallow flavor, but it was edible.)

But wait, there’s more.

We went to the football game, we watched the light show, we went back to Carolyn’s minivan. The seven-year-old and I had our places in the back seat, with him behind his dad (the driver) and me behind his mom. The automatic sliding door is on the passenger side, so I was getting in through the big sliding door.

Well.

I guess I’m slow, because everyone else was already in the van and buckled up and I was still climbing in. I guess I’m also uncoordinated because I had to hold onto the metal support piece between the sliding door and the front passenger door, whatever it is called (door jamb?) to get into the van. Whatever that thing is called, I had my hand wrapped around it when Carolyn closed her door – on my hand. The door slammed on my fingers between the back of my hand and my knuckles.

Naturally, being me, I shouted, “Son of a BITCH!! Ow! Ow!” as I yanked my hand out. And this is what happened after that:

Carolyn’s husband turned around and looked at me in alarm.

The seven-year-old stared at me with eyes as big as platters.

Carolyn said, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” in a panicky voice.

I said, in a small voice, holding my still-bent right-hand fingers with my left hand, “You closed the door on my hand.”

Carolyn said, “oh, no!” and started opening her door.

I said, “It’s okay. I yanked my hand out. I’m fine. Really.”

Carolyn’s husband got a very, very tiny almost-grin on his face, and turned back facing the steering wheel..

The seven-year-old cut his very-wide eyes toward his dad and then turned back to me.

Carolyn apologized over and over and I sat holding my still-bent fingers and saying I was fine, while thinking, “Oh. I just said son of a bitch.”

My hand was not seriously injured, although it was sore for several days. Carolyn was so sweet and worried about my hand, but it really was fine and no big deal to me.

I have never gotten completely over all the swearing I did in front of Carolyn’s family, although of course, being me, I have told the story to all my friends, and they have laughed themselves sick over it.

Carolyn has told every one of her family members and every one of her husband’s family members and every one of her childhood friends this story. She says they all laugh soooo hard.

Awesome.