Tonight's the night. The night where hopefully the crisp fall air will drown out the smell of musty vintage varsity jackets that have been pulled from attics and basements and wore with pride tonight at our hometowns Harmon Field for the last game.
Since the third grade, I've made the turn on to Seventh street to get home. The field was my neighborhood. I liked it so much that my three boys will now make the turn to Seventh Street for their entire childhood. Friday nights meant saving parking spots in front of our house with lawn chairs, bonfires in our drive way, beers in the garage and friends and family stopping by for chili and Mom's bread sticks and creating memories that you crave to exist every football season. Because that's what changing leaves, cooler air and cozy sweaters means around here. Football season. Tonight is bitter sweet. My stomach turns thinking I wont hear the game from my front yard or see the streets get crowded on Fridays. This is why I moved to this neighborhood. For a few months out of the year to get this Football season feeling.
Harmon Field means more to my family than just a place to play football. It's where I cheered to a crowd that was just exploring the possibility of a student section, which meant crowd participation was at best, "poor". It's where I learned the game of football by watching my now husband, then junior high/high school sweet heart play football for his Dad that was the head football coach. It's a place where there was so much devotion. I watched my father in law work on football plays on his living room floor propped up on a pillow for hours and hours using a black sharpie, ruler and perfect capital letters. Games would end and our family would be waiting by the locker room for a quick hug and comment about the game. My husband, Kelly would come out of the locker room in a cut off tee, sweating insanely and smelling like a dirty locker room. Senior year I always had two "prizes" for him. One was always a gift. A teddy bear with an air brushed jersey, a cookie cake, a homemade picture puzzle my dad crafted.. etc. Then there were the letters. Two always were prepared. One if he won. One if he lost. After the game, that meant a trip to Taco Bell and pizza at home. It was the place in junior high where you hung out with older crowds and wore your older siblings Varsity jacket. Harmon Field was the perfect setting for friends to gather, friendships to be made and games to be played with pure heart and soul.
Harmon Field has brought so many, so much. My three boys may never know what a Friday night at Harmon will feel like but they will know what that place means. Each of my boys have been passed around the stands at a very young age. They've worn vintage Viking apparel that has been passed down and washed of Coke stains. Sat on laps of people that have sat in the hard, cold, tight squeezed bleachers (that I may add are a bit of a heart stopper for mom's with toddlers) for years with the same reserved seats. We love it so much so that my youngest son takes Harmon's name. Thomas Harmon Lewis.
Tonight I'll be doing a few things. I'll be watching the boys on the field play a game that I've come to love at a place that has created a community. I'll catch up with old random friends that I once called my best friends and chat about where life has taken us. I'll be grateful I won't be leaving with my nose filled with black dust and most importantly I'll be taking it all in and remembering that Harmon Field has provided us with a place that makes me proud of my home town, Miamisburg.
