I had a good time at Homecoming last night, mostly because of a young man named Isaac Cornelius.
When I was at the school 10 years ago, his father was the head groundskeeper for Heathwood. A year or two after I left, he died suddenly of a heart attack or stroke or whatever it is around the South that kills barely-middle-aged Black men so suddenly. I have vague memories of his son (he was probably in the 8th grade when I graduated, need to find the yearbook) being a still-slightly babyfat guy playing on the JV football team.
Well, he went and spent 4 years in the Navy after graduating from high school, then left because he was tired of being transferred from base to base to base. He now is getting a degree of some kind from Midlands Technical college, working 3rd shift at a plant or factory here in town, and playing semi-pro ball. I need to find out what team. Luckily, we exchanged numbers and emails, so I can ask him.
As I was leaving, the voice in my head whined that I should have given him my home number (which is busy 75% of the time because I'm online) instead of the cell number. I told the voice to shut up and cranked up the music.