To understand how I spent last Friday evening, there's two pieces of back information you need to have about my family right now.  First, our three daughters have taken my wife away to Vegas for the weekend for a belated birthday girls' weekend. They are treating Sue to, among other things, a Donny Osmond Show on the Vegas strip.) Second, our 14 year old grandson, Michael-Aidan, is playing on the Lake Region High School's football team.  Although he plays on the JV team, the JV players all suit up for varsity games as well.  So last night, when the Lake Region Lakers had a night game, and my wife was on her way to Nevada, I decided to take in the home town team's game.

Lake Region won 52 to 20-something, the Lakers are now the first place team in Maine's Class B league, and Michael-Aidan didn't get in the game (none of the JV players did.)  But this blog isn't about the game.

The lady from the booster club who gave me my ticket didn't bat an eye when I paid the senior citizen price.  Yes, I'm 62, so I qualify for the discount, but I thought she'd at least ask for proof.  Apparently none was needed.  I arrived a bit early, and eventually another guy from my generation came in and sat next to me.  We were those two srereotypical strangers (men) who meet at a sporting event and quickly engage in a friendy conversation.  He asked me if I had entered the rhealm of the retired yet, and somehow  I didn't find this as offputting as the thirty-something mom at the ticket booth who so easily took me as a geezer. When I told him I was still part of the work force for a few more years, he told me that retirement was one of his best decisions he ever made, and I had a lot to look forward to.

And our conversation continued as if we knew each other all our lives, or at least had met a few times before.  Two old guys in the bleachers talking about sacks, screen passes, and referees.  I proudly pointed out my grandson, and he told me his granddaughters were on the cheering squad, which is what brought him to the game.  We spoke - both with much embellishment, I'm sure - of our own high school sports days, although I left out the part where I didn't play basketball my senior year so that I could play flute in the orchestra of "Annie Get Your Gun".  Then, after the cheerleaders finished their half time show, he headed home,  but I stayed to finish the game.

I find it interesting that men at sporting events can carry on like friends, and literally never even exchange names.  (He did indicate that he lived 'over that a-way', and if I was sitting in the bleachers, I could show you which way he pointed.)  But here's the thing; I think I'm content being the guy in the bleachers watching his grandson sit on the bench at our local high school football games on Friday nights. Small town life has a lot to offer us old guys.