Hands

Herself speaks.

Yesterday, I went to the high school football game, in order to watch Offspring the Third in the marching band.  (Side note: I am tremendously proud of him. He gets up in the wee hours of the morning during the week for band practice, and then carries around that gigantic drum. How he does it -- the early waking, as well as the marching backwards and playing that drum, while not stumbling -- I am not quite sure. Yet he does. Good for him.)

Since Beloved Husband is out of town, I went by myself. I opted to walk down to the school -- it is just over one and a half miles -- rather than to try to battle the parking and potential traffic. It was a lovely night, perfect for walking. I am in the middle of listening to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in audiobooks, and the soothing voice of Jim Dale was my companion for the walk.

I paid for my ticket and entered the stadium; I had to pause because I was not sure which side was the "home" side. A gaggle of teenage girls, sporting the high school colors and with paw prints of the school mascot painted on their faces, passed by and headed to the right. Ah, that way.

As I followed them towards the stands, I noticed that they were all holding hands.

It is hard to describe how this is important, or why it is marvelous. It seemed like a comfortable, intimate friendship; whether it was a long-term friendship, or one recently borne of school spirit and youthful exuberance, I do not know. I was happy for them, though. I hope they carry memories of these moments of togetherness with them, always.