Hometown Hero

Friday night small town football games are the best.  It's the see and be seen place, the social networking bonanza, the cheap hotdog jackpot. There's a sort of magic under the Friday night lights.

It's also the hangout of superheroes. 

This is Keith.  Keith has been my hero ever since Daughter #1 was in the second grade, which was a loooong time ago. That's when I first met him. Keith adores high school football, and he's a great fan-booster for the team, running down the stadium every time the team scores, waving an assortment of funny message signs, which totally crack me up.

But that's not why Keith is my hero.  My favorite Keith story happened long ago and far, far, away, in Texas.

Keith and Daughter #1 were in high school choir together, and the choir had earned a spot in a regional competition in San Antonio, Texas. It's a long ways from Small Town, Okieland, south to San Antonio. We all rode on a schooooool bus, which are known for their comfort and spaciousness.

The morning of the competition the choir arrived at the designated spot, ready to perform, and discovered there was no piano for accompaniment.  Disconcerting for a group of youngsters already tense about competing. Frustrating for a group of parents who spent 8 hours on a  schoolbus the day before. Snickering from the competition. Delay of game, 15 minutes to find and move a piano into the performance hall.  Choir director, slightly irritated but gracious.

The pianist sits down at the piano and plays a few notes, which makes it immediately obvious this piano has not been tuned in the last five years and will not be used today to accompany the choir. The kids' faces are starting to look a little strained. Jinx. Bad karma. Bad omens. Whatever you want to call it, they are getting psyched out.

The choir director pulls them aside and tells them-you deserve to perform, you earned the right to be here, and by god, we are going to perform. Take  a deep breath and find your places.

The choir director announces that the choir will perform their piece a cappella, although they have never practiced it that way. "Keith," she asks, "will you give us our notes?" Bing. Bing. Bing. The three parts of a chord are sung out in a clear, sweet tone. The director raises her hands, and BOOM.  On cue, every voice, on time, in tune. There is a huge collective gasp from the audience.

You can see the expressions on the kids' faces- they know some kind of magic is happening, but they can't stop to think about it, they have to sing. They don't want to think about it, because the magic might go away. They don't want to get excited, it might jinx it.

When the last note ended and the choir director triumphantly brought her hands down for the final beat, the place exploded. Competition be damned, every person in the place was on their feet, cheering and clapping. Our kids held their composure until they were offstage, then they melted, screamed, hugged, danced, and cried.

All except Keith. Keith stood off to the side just a little, talking quietly to himself. You see, Keith has a couple of special things about him. One, he has absolute perfect pitch. He's one of those rare, immensely talented individuals to whom you can say "sing me an A," and he will do that on pitch, without any instrumental assistance.

Keith's other special attribute is that he is autistic. It was not easy for Keith to be out of his routine, away from his familiar surroundings, in a crowd of strangers at that choir competition. But he did it it, and he saved the day for the choir. They crowded around him, congratulating him on a job well done. Because they knew what it took for him to be there. Singing the notes was the easy part.

And oh yeah, they won.

So Keith is my hero, and even more so now, when I see him out in the stands, rallying the crowd to cheer for the team, having the time of his life, talking and interacting with people. He is the personification of a superhero.

Small town football games.  More than magical, they're superpowered.