Last night I went to a high school football game for the first time since I was a sophomore in high school, back in Lake Havasu City, Ariz. I never attended a football game at the California school where I attended my last two years of high school, and haven't attended one since. Haven't had a reason to. But last night Pam's niece, Kelsey, was playing the sousaphone in the Whitco marching band, and since Pam's Mom and step-dad were out from California, we all went.
They honored the Whitco team that won the state championship 20 years ago. Probably 40 players from that team, along with coaches and various other personnel, including five cheerleaders, were lined up in front of the home crowd during halftime, and the announcer read off information about each one--name, the person's position/role in 1986, where the person lives now, and where he/she works. I was amazed that the vast majority of them still live in the general area, with a large number still in South Whitley. Interesting. Only one guy was wearing his letter jacket, or could fit into his letter jacket, and he was serving in the military in Alabama.
Beyond that, I have no great insights to share. No wise ruminations about then-and-now, how sports brings a small town together, kids today vs. in my era, and nonsense like that. So I'll stop.
Career-wise, I've been hanging around and writing about and cheering on churches and pastors for the past 25 years as my denomination's Communications Director.
Far be it for to be a nagging proofreader, but as a proud graduate of Whitko High School (and I have the letter jacket to prove it -- just don't ask me to put it on), I'll simply bring to your attention that Whitko has no "c" in it.
Sincerely,
Whitko Class of 1980