I never really planned it. It just kind of happened. I guess I can give full credit, or full blame, to the Razorbacks for scheduling the first home game of each year on Labor Day weekend. Whatever the reason, going to Fayetteville for the Labor Day weekend has become a James Family tradition.
Some traditions are planned, others just seem to take on a life of their own. Traditions only last as long as they are recognized. Time will erase an unpracticed tradition from existence the way the surf wipes out your name after you write it on the beach. The tradition begins with me going to Fayetteville early and trying to stake out a spot for tailgating. I showed up at 4 p.m. and, although the sign said nothing could be set up before 5 p.m., most of the prime spots had been taken by the time I arrived. We arrived by mid morning on Saturday to set up and had everything fully functioning by noon.
After a couple of hours of tailgating, it was time for my “walkabout” around campus. These are private times for me, when I wander the campus and reflect on the world. As anyone will tell you, no “walkabout” is complete without a red plastic cup full of your favorite beverage. The trick is making it last until you get back to home base. My favorite place to go on my “walkabouts” is in the area in front of Old Main (the first building built on campus). This is the area where everyone that has graduated from the University of Arkansas has their name put in the cement. I like to look upon my name and ponder the miracles that were required to occur in order for my name to be included among the graduates of 1991, or any year for that matter. It is quite surreal.
After I look at my name, I always seem to make my way to the front door, where the first graduates of the U of A are preserved in cement. Their names were not written in special cement meant to last the ages by machines that made the letters uniformly. These names almost look like they were written in the cement by hand. The handwriting is neat, but it is still handwriting. The thing that intrigues me is the way they are fading away. Some years you can barely read the name and the wear is not uniform. It literally looks like the tide of time has rolled in and started to erase the memory of these former students. It is quite surreal.
This is usually as far as I get before my drink begins to run low. That is the indicator I use to remind myself it is time to head back to the tailgate. The walk back is usually much faster. That is partially due the fact it is all downhill. Of course, the empty cup combined with the fact I have usually been gone longer than I should also pushes me to move a little faster. As I made my way back to the truck, I watched the activity around our area and the children playing. The scene made me smile. As I got up to the tent, I saw the dark haired girl I met at a Razorback game 24 years ago.
What I remembered as I approached, is that of all the miracles that came my way and allowed me to get my name on that sidewalk, she was the biggest and most important one. I walked over and gave her a kiss and thanked her for helping me get my name on the sidewalk. She looked at me, smiled back, at me and gave me a kiss. I love traditions. The thing about traditions is that without people to share them with, they are little more than habits. It is sharing things with others that makes them special. That is true for everyone, even those of us in the CHEAP SEATS!