Fall

Fall is my favorite time of the year. Maybe it's because I associate it with the change of seasons that happen everywhere except South Georgia. Leaves turn yellow and orange and a certain chill inhabits the air. You can finally take a walk at 8:00 P.M. and not die of humidity although I am still not likely to do that. October rolls in with the challenge of trying to find a costume big enough to fit an 85 pound golden retriever by the end of the month. (Oh, if only it ever got to be "sweater weather" as my friend Katie says.)



When I lived in Douglas, fall was football season. Cheerleading practice after school; Friday night games. Fresh cut grass that resulted in me wearing golf shoes to games because I got tired of getting grass on my shoes. The infamous "hedge" that students jumped over when we beat Valdsota. The sound of the cheerleaders on the sidelines. Students talking in the stands. The players on the field, the sound of their bodies crashing into each other.



I would be lying if I said I didn't miss it. But for me, high school football games are always so much more meaningful if I know the players on the field, the students in the band, the cheerleaders on the sideline. My 8th grade students often ask me if I am going to the LHS football games, and I always say, "No, I have done my time as an ex-cheerleading coach." But maybe next year, when they are ninth graders, I will finally have a reason to go to a football game.



I could care less about college football. Georgia. Florida. I couldn't give a flying flip. (Yeah, yeah, yeah. Adam.) Maybe it's because I'm not from Georgia that I cannot appreciate the thing that is college football. But I did mourn the loss of UGA VI over the summer. Maybe if there was a cute frat boy to show me the way . . . I guess I could be a puma.