Not a dry eye anywhere
Published 6:25 pm Tuesday, November 7, 2006
I've made the comment in this space before about how weepy a person I am. I had a friend who told me once that I could cry at the smallest things. I must admit she is right. Not only do I weep about small things, but I weep about strange things, too.
I was once known, in certain circles, as the crazy, crying lady sitting at the computer. I admit that it may have seemed that way to many people. I have received e-mails and letters from friends that had me weeping many times. I'm an easy target. Shoot, I even cried when Andy was so sympathetic to Aunt Bea's feelings, that he poured out the kerosene pickles and replaced them with some good ones just so that no one would make fun of her or criticize her. Good ole Ange.
Recently though I have had some folks think I was crazy for crying at a pep rally.
During the past several weeks, I have attended almost as many pep rallies as I did when I was in school. I attended T.R. Miller's homecoming pep rally to capture images of those alumni and students showing their enthusiasm and pride.
Now mind you I did not attend T.R. Miller when I was in school, but I did cry at their pep rally. There was something about the roar of the crowd, alumni included, that brought back fond memories of my youth. The booming of the drums and the steady cadence of marching feet reminded me of my days as a band member.
When I went to the homecoming parade, I cried again. Yes, I know I should have been neutral concerning the activities of my alma mater's rivalry, but I couldn't help it. There's something about pretty girls dressed in fine clothes and wearing tiaras that breaks me up every time. Oh, to be young again.
Those feelings welled up inside me again this week as I covered events of W.S. Neal's homecoming. This time it was even more emotional for me since I am a member of the alumni.
Thursday evening found me on the W.S. Neal school campus ready to take in the sights, sounds and smells of the annual bonfire. Yep, you guessed it. There was just something about the lighting of the fire, the music from the band and of course the excitement of the fans, football players and cheerleaders that made me choke up.
I was able to see some people that I knew very well during the alumni reception held at the school on Friday morning. I fondly remember some of them with thoughts of how great they were (since I was just a freshman when they graduated). It seems that being in the band was a great equalizer. We were all one big, happy group with little emphasis on what grade you were in at the time.
During Friday's homecoming activities I found myself choked up quiet often. I listened as the master of ceremonies for the alumni pep rally ragged on some folks about their age and the things they were accused of while in school. Even though he jokingly picked at some folks and provided some interesting insights, I still found it to be an emotional event. I remember the line from a famous movie where someone said, “laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” I tend to agree with that statement.
The student body pep rally was fun as well. With the band beating out a tune and seeing the cheerleaders do their stunts and dances brought back many memories and yet again I found myself with a lump in my throat.
When I saw Jessica have the crown placed on her head during pre-game activities, I found myself once again being overcome by that weepy feeling. To see intelligent, smart and classy young ladies representing their classmates as a homecoming attendant made me feel very proud of my alma mater.
From the first beat of the drum on Thursday night all the way to the final buzzer at the end of the fourth quarter of the homecoming game, I have found myself walking down memory lane more than I'd like.
My point is, if you walk into our offices at the paper or see me at a parade, don't think bad of me if you see me wiping away a tear. It's just who I am.
Lisa Tindell is a news writer for The Brewton Stanard. She can be reached at 867-4876 or by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.