Life's Moments...
Posted: Wed Sep 22, 2010 11:07 am
My son just turned 26 and we took him and his GF out for dinner last night.
The conversation ensued..."Dad, I very much appreciate the nice seats in the booster section but we would really like to sit in the cheap seats with our friends. Maybe someday, like you and mom, we will move up."
I looked at him and his very pretty girlfriend, both bursting with the vitality of youth, and flashed back to when his mom and I were going to FSU games at about his age.
We sat with a bunch of other young folks in the old metal bleacher seats near the end zone. Stomping on the bleachers would sound like the roll of thunder. And we would thunder and scream and roar as the smell of spilled bourbon wafted down the rows. As the piano man said, that song was sweet, and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man's clothes. I have great seats now, but I wouldn't trade those years in the metal stands for the President's box.
This weekend I will be whistfully looking over at the young crowd where my boy will be yelling, stomping and, I'll wager, sipping bootleg bourbon.
He was right of course. He will be making his own memories....Now, where did I put that old boot flask I used to carry in?
The conversation ensued..."Dad, I very much appreciate the nice seats in the booster section but we would really like to sit in the cheap seats with our friends. Maybe someday, like you and mom, we will move up."
I looked at him and his very pretty girlfriend, both bursting with the vitality of youth, and flashed back to when his mom and I were going to FSU games at about his age.
We sat with a bunch of other young folks in the old metal bleacher seats near the end zone. Stomping on the bleachers would sound like the roll of thunder. And we would thunder and scream and roar as the smell of spilled bourbon wafted down the rows. As the piano man said, that song was sweet, and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man's clothes. I have great seats now, but I wouldn't trade those years in the metal stands for the President's box.
This weekend I will be whistfully looking over at the young crowd where my boy will be yelling, stomping and, I'll wager, sipping bootleg bourbon.
He was right of course. He will be making his own memories....Now, where did I put that old boot flask I used to carry in?