Concession Duty
Unless there's a fine print I missed concerning parental responsibilities next year at my son's college, my wife and I had concession duty last night for, ostensibly, the last time. No more serving cheese fries, or fanning away flies with a greasy spatula. ...or cleaning the grill that no one else seemed to want to do. Whether it was opening up at 7 or so on a Saturday morning in the earliest Little League years, or staying to clean up in the post mid-night hours of a rain-delayed tournament, there have been many hours spent flipping burgers, hauling ice, and swapping lies and dreams with coworkers. Though not always convenient, I did find that it was usually quite entertaining. ...even gratifying. Like any other task, you get out of it what you put into it.
I'll remember...
...the little round face barely peering over the sill of the window inquiring as to the number of gumballs his fistfull of coins would score for him.
...the day we got to the bottom of the big iced tea dispenser, only to find a frog at the bottom.
...coming home with greasy hair, smelling like a hamburger myself, and pushing the dog away just to get in the door to take a shower.
...nights when "our stud" was throwing against "their stud", and scouts were so thick you could barely see the game.
...little boys who had just competed, coming together for their "game cokes", and so lost in conversation of more important things that you couldn't tell who won and who lost.
Last night's game was a chilly one, at least by local standards, so we moved a lot of hot cocoa. ...and I got lucky. I got to make the hot cocoa, cup by cup. ...some with marshmallows. ...some with whipped cream. ...still others with both, or neither. Although the game was a good one, (still in doubt until the controversial game-ending double play), I've already forgotten most of the games events. What I remember most is the little girl who was a quarter short, but paid off the balance with the biggest smile you ever saw when she got her hot chocolate.
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