Foreign Exchange Student at Football

My son's frustrating start to his senior year of high school began at the first home football game.  "I feel like no one cares about me," is his reaction.  He finds out only hours before the game he is supposed to be playing trombone in the band. He has no music and has never played any of the songs, including the national anthem.  No one has taken the time to share important information with him and he is lost. Technically he is not a new student, but a returning student who everyone knows by name. He attended Kindergarten here and is related to more than one member of staff. Where most of the town sees our family as returning home, my son feels like a foreign exchange student after being overseas for 11 years.

We got through the first home game by following the crowd and sitting with the cheering parents. I felt as foreign as my son. I was surprised that I was expected to show up to watch a game where my son was not playing, bring my own chair to sit out in the cold, and pay for the experience!  I had no idea what was going on the field, and worried how my son would do in his half-time performance.
This was obviously a community event with the whole town showing up.  Many were not watching the game, but watching kids who were there to run around and buy hot-dogs. There was a score board full of numbers, ( why not just 2-0?) , an announcer of player's names, and bright lights to highlight the action. None of it was of help to me. Later I discussed the game with my son. He said he sat next to a nerdy band kid who explained the game to him. Well it seems like someone finally realized there was a need to introduce this foreigner to his new home.

So at my next game I decided to play the foreign exchange student and ask for some clarification. I learned that there are nine players on the field, but another 25 kids dressed on the side lines. Why so many? Well, there are injuries and special players for different parts of the game and youngsters hoping to play varsity one day. I learned that when the refs throw a yellow rag down they aren't throwing a fit, but calling a foul. I learned that the "chain gang" on the side line aren't coaches or parents, but officials who mark where the ball went down, or where it should go down. I learned that when everyone "takes a knee", they aren't showing reverence, but rather they are in time-out, waiting to be allowed to play again.

But the most surprising revelation of the night was the story behind the girls all dressed in football jerseys and walking back and forth as a pack on the side lines. From what I could tell they weren't cheerleaders,  but more like groupies. I had to ask. I learned that each girl had asked a boy on the football team if she could wear his number for the season. Then she dutifully wore his "shirt" to each game and called out "We love our boys" in encouragement and support. After a touchdown the whole gang went down to the end zone and did jumping jacks numbering the score on the score board. It sounded very much like the medieval practice of a knight going out to battle wearing a lady's colors.

Family members and friends I was sitting with revealed all this tradition with pride. They themselves had worn a boy's number and shouted about their love. They described the pageantry at bigger schools where bands march, with flags and even guns are twirled!   You could hear the love and pride of mothers and grandparents as they cheer on their sons and grandsons, but never bragging. "He's faster than he looks!" "Was that my son?" The small town home game traditions are old and strong.