Homecoming
Homecoming wasn't one of those things that I really got into when I was in high school.
I wasn't cool enough for the homecoming court. I wasn't into sports enough to care about the game, and I wasn't inclined to want to dress up enough to make a big deal out of buying a homecoming dress. It was fun, but it wasn't the epitome of my high school career.
I don't think it was for many people. You just don't hear people sitting on the sidelines of life going "Man, if only I would've danced to that one song at homecoming back in '97. Man. Things would'a been a lot different."
So none of this explains why I had to fight back tears on Friday night.
Yes. In public. There were no actual tears shed. More of an overwhelming feeling of "OH CRAP, tears are coming!" and then I'd look at the sky and think about marshmallows until the feeling passed.
My outpouring of emotion wasn't for a stranger, or for the dance I sat out in '97 (I shoulda danced to that Mariah Carey song. UGH! What was I thinking?!). It wasn't because I only got a handful of candy at the parade, and it was crappy candy -- smashed Twizzlers and melted M&Ms.
It was for my little brother. My tiny, twerpy, nerdy little brother. The kid I used to want to push down a flight of stairs.* The kid who used to kick me just for fun. The kid who never failed to embarrass me, his older, cooler junior high school sister. (I use "cooler" very loosely.) He'd break my cassette tapes. He'd crack my crayons in half. He ALWAYS ate the last cookie. ALWAYS.
He was on homecoming court. And he won. He's homecoming king. He's not even a football player. And dangit, I was proud. Not that I'll admit that to him. Come on. And I wasn't crying. I had something in my eye.
(*For the record, I don't promote pushing kids down stairs, nor do I recall actually doing it myself. What sibling doesn't get a bit angry at another once in a while?)
4 comments:
Uh, do you SEE that giant ROCK on your finger? CRAP.
Hey Erin, I pretty much just wanted to say thanks for keeping me not only awake, but entertained in the early morning hours. Over the summer I had a mental breakdown for approx. 20 mins, unfortunately it was the twenty minutes that I was setting my schedule for fall semester. I decided I'd be cool and take an 8 o'clock class, completely ignoring the fact that mornings are my worst time of day. I pretty much want to shoot myself in the foot every MWF when I look at a clock that says 8:50am and realize I've already been up for 3 hours. However, my need to shoot off my foot decreases significantly after I read you blog. It never fails to entertain me. So thanks agian Erin, if it weren't for you I'd probably have several bullet shaped holes in my feet. Anyway, I'm wrapping this up now (I just realized it said leave your comment, not leave your short story) so tell Dave I said "Hey" and I hope you're both doing well. See you in October!
How cute is he?! I have two younger brothers - it's fun when they make us proud. :)
Your brother looks eerily like Dan Wilson of Semisonic. Closing Time indeed.
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