Ok, so I live in a small, mostly blue collar town (not to imply that they actually wear a collar) where people still smoke and go to the 7-11 in their bedroom slippers. Front Royal has a supernatural influence over it's residence, even the educated and affluent become sedentary and culturally static over time, like the air outside of town suddenly gets thin for them, sort of the Tommyknockers Syndrome. I live in a Friday Night town with a single Bath and Body Works, Melting Pot Pizza, and Andrick's has two locations for Nascar memorabilia? paraphernalia? collectables? I'm just not sure! The citizens probably aren't certain of the religious affiliation of their President, but they know which Redskins showed up for practice today, am I painting a picture?
I am of that school of thought that childhood is indeed what you spent the rest of your life trying to get over! No wonder I'm not a fan of death defying rides as my whole life has been up and down like a roller coaster ride, so I'm both confused and amused when I run into the middle aged mind reliving it's glory day, which should probably really be their salad days, since their successes would hopefully have been ahead of them instead of behind them since high school? Again, I don't know!
So I'm trapped at my job by a customer I went to high school with . . . in 1979! It was the longest 10 minutes I can ever remember. I was hoping that the woman who asked my three different ways if we had any chewing gum would return! It was like 20 questions in a shooting gallery! What is your name? What year did you graduate? Do you know my name? Do you know my brother's name? Did you know he had 3 wives (you stumped me there!)? All that was missing was a bare light bulb and a boiling pot of lamb stew! I could hardly answer in time. Oddly, I'm sure I went to school with his wife as well, but she never interrupted and he never included her, so I guess it all worked out.
This is a quote from a young co-worker of mine, who would never believe that an old broad like myself would know what a blog is, much less have one, so I feel secure in copying his sentiment here.
Even though some people graduate high school they still wish they were in it.
Since no one reads my blogs I'm going to live on the edge and name my friend Jeremy and my former school mate Frank here, by name. Jeremy, Frank is the guy for you. 31 years later Frank still wishes he was there, and sends you this message --Warren County High School will never have another baseball team like the 1979 team. What do you think about that, Jeremy?
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