The End of An Era

Last Friday, Fisher DeBerry announced that he would step down as the head coach for the Air Force Falcons. (http://goairforcefalcons.cstv.com/sports/m-footbl/spec-rel/121506aaa.html)

He was head coach for 23 seasons - longer than I've been alive. I literally grew up watching him lead the team through a number of seasons; some mediocre and some outstanding.

Air Force Football was a - I won't say integral - but perhaps... consistent? part of my life growing up. One of my first winter hats wasn't really a hat; it was a piece of cloth fashioned in the shape of a Falcon Football helmet (complete with chin strap...)

When we lived in Colorado, we went to a lot of games. I remember cowering against the bleachers during the fly-bys, trying to find a compromise between hiding from that awfully loud noise and still keeping my eyes on the magnificent ships above - and closing my eyes at the last second when the planes would appear to be WAY TOO CLOSE. I remember a friend of my parents' walking me around the bleachers when I got too tired and cranky to watch the games, and helping me fish out blue and white pom-poms carelessly tossed aside by the fans. My brother and I built up quite the collection of blue and white pom-poms over the years.

The first practical joke I ever played involved a whoopee cushion, a Falcons game on TV, and yelling for Dad to come quick because Air Force was about to get a first down. (I didn't even know what a first down was at that point, but I learned soon after.)

Living in other places, Falcon football seemed like a way to tie some commonality into the vastly different places we'd live. If we were living close to Dad's USAFA buddies or other friends from work, there would usually be a game or two during the season that they'd come over and watch. Same group, same TV, same coach tossing his baseball cap on the ground in frustration and pacing back and forth in his characteristic stalking motion, same jokes, same stories, same food - different location, different job, different climate. There's something incredible about having essentially the same community regardless of physical location.

Living in DC and Ohio meant some trips to Annapolis or West Point for the game against whichever of the other service academies had a home game against Air Force that year. I remember finally getting over my fear of loud explosions at West Point watching Army and Air Force play what actually ended up being a pretty pathetic game on Army's part. (When was the last time Army actually won the Commander-In-Chief's trophy? Anyone?)

I remember going to the Navy game at FedEx field 3 weeks after 9/11. Talk about an emotional game. (Air Force won.)

In an odd happening of fate, the first time in years that I witnessed Air Force losing to Navy was on a weekend in early October during senior year of high school. We drove to DC for the game, staying with some friends who were living on Ft. Meade at the time. When we got back from the weekend on Sunday night, my letter of joy from the DoD-MERB was waiting for me. The only other thing I remember from that night was biting some poor kid's head off online when he asked me for some help on calc homework.

Needless to say, after that weekend I didn't quite feel the same affinity for Fisher or his Falcons. Air Force still hasn't beaten Navy again. I tease Dad about it every October.

I mean - DeBerry is just a man. Just an ex-coach for a team that I don't even follow that much anymore, or cheer for more than sporadically. But it's a name I grew up hearing, yet another figure of things from the past and hopes for the future that never really came to fruition. It's a symbol from Christmas break of years ago and the bowl season, of crisp fall days doing homework with College Gameday in the background, maybe of being young and of thinking that things aren't ever actually going to change that much.

The team's recent struggles (putting it mildly) aside, it seems only natural that he'd step down now. Not a day has gone by recently that I haven't felt - acutely - how much closer I'm inching to being out in that world by myself, trying to make something interesting of my life doing something halfway relevant for the world. It's pretty usual for college kids to feel like this, and I know I've written about it so many times that by now it's passe and worn out.

But. I don't know. It's hard not to worry about it. Thinking back - growing up was a lot of fun. I can't really complain about my childhood - so many experiences, so much laughter, surrounded by so many good friends of the family. I panic a bit thinking about what I'm in the process for carving out for myself. Where will my friends be? Will I ever find a man who actually wants to live the sort of life that I crave, achieve the sorts of things that I see possible (both in terms of family and career)? Is my family going to be able to carry on in the same spirit of adventure that I experienced growing up? I want to live in Colorado again. I want to live in the Southwest again. I want to live places that I've never been, I want to live overseas. I want my kids to have the same sense of identity, of community, of broad experience that I had growing up. The world is too big, and yet also too small not to at least try to experience as much of it as possible.

There was a lot of tension between Tom M. and myself after we were engaged. He fell in love with my spontaneity, my sense of adventure, my willingness to take on the world. And then for some reason he didn't understand why it upset me so terribly when he talked about wanting to settle down in a comfy neighborhood in whatever bland town somewhere near his buddies from work, and just not moving for 25 or 30 years. He couldn't understand why I wasn't comfortable with carving out a mellow, low-key, comfortable existence. I mean - I want comfort, but only comfort in the sense of stability - the sort of stability that I grew up with. I guess what I'm saying is that I don't want my sense of adventure to retire with the old Coach. I want to keep pressing on, as much as I can, toward whatever I can. I'm afraid of things being out of my hands to the point where that won't be a choice I get to make. Blerg.