I'm surrounded by sounds of one way conversations, loud snores from the chair behind me, the clinking of glasses and plates that are being cleared off tables and counters, the slamming of doors into and out of the bathrooms, and the occasional squeals of little kids antsy to get home or to officially arrive on vacation. The Centurion Lounge at Miami International Airport, the intermediary hub of most of my travels, has become the docking station whenever coming or going from our little tropical island away from it all.
On this morning, I am returning home from a visit to LA to see my big boy, Hugh, for Trojan Family Weekend. I left Lala land on an 11:30pm flight and now ooze my way into Monday feeling a bit fuzzy, but sated with previous unknowns now understood. To visit his world up close, along with other clueless parents traipsing the vast campus in the middle of southern LA, brought attention to how happy I am (mostly) that my oldest has chosen to experience a completely different part of the country, to explore bigger, wider and deeper than his previous educational New England existence.
Glimpsing his visceral movements on a campus of 50,000, witnessing the the arc of his days from lecture halls to a practice room, and sensing the possibility that surrounds him has me holding both both relief and awe. As two newbies to the LA scene, there was a bit of following our noses along with trying to be practical. Lunch at the Beverly Hilton with a haircut afterwards, acid jazz at The Baked Potato, a hike in Malibu at Charmlee Wilderness Park (thank you, Sarah!), a spa treatment in DTLA and, of course, a Trojan football game where the sun set and the almost full moon rose while Traveler the white steed and his rider lit the torch to mark the 3rd quarter.
Until you've been to a USC home game, you really have zero clue what team spirit is all about. I have been to a handful of NFL games, always energized by the commotion of the fans, but sitting in the bleachers surrounded by folks of all ages, colors, languages, and geographies wearing crimson red with golden yellow in more ways than one ingests an entire new raison d'etre when it comes to football. "Fight On!" is shouted over speakers, bleachers and screens. And, the white horse is real- he comes out at every touch down, flanking the walls of the stadium as a trojan sits upon his back and gives high fives to the fans. The marching band is AWESOME as it covers not only the field in insanely syncopated dance moves, but also the songs of Taylor Swift, The Marshall Tucker Band and Mylie Cyrus. USC graduates are celebrated for olympic medals, fundraising for cancer research, and just released publications. Games of catch, find the football, and celebrity doppelgangers are projected onto the screens as time outs dwindle and quarters end.
Probably ranked the quietest pair in the family, Hugh and I wore our SC gear and cheered, clapped, waved, laughed and yelled over the course of a victorious four hour game. And as we walked out of the stadium surrounded by a river of red and yellow clad fans, I left with more awe, more reverence, more fascination for this school my son has chosen, warmed by its tight traditions and contagious enthusiasm. Hugh's got some fun years ahead of him.
And here I am, almost home, grateful for my visit and struggling as I meet my white screen in this jet lagged fog. Recalling the last few days I find myself somewhere between woe and inspiration, efforting to recover my creative flow after time spent away from the practice. I remind myself that all I can do is meet the page, accept that the words seem a bit too far from my reach, and, possibly, do what those spirit heavy Trojans do and "Fight On!"
Yours truly,
St. Sunshine
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