My editor’s column is all about reflection—reflection on the events, people, and experiences of my last year writing for The Central Trend but moreover, my last year of high school; I hope to search up thecentraltrend.com in ten, fifteen, twenty years to relive my senior year.

To my last first home football game,

You were rowdy. You were exciting. You were messy with glitter bombs and heaps of flour being thrown into the student section at kickoff.

But you were also sad, sad when we thought we had won the game against a top-tier team.

But aside from all the emotions that contrasted each other that evening, my first home game as a senior was unforgettable.

My team, the dance team, performed for the first time of the season during pre-game and our fifty seconds of fame after the first quarter. Besides our music being way too quiet to hear over the roaring cheers, it was worth it.

It was worth the memories of looking up into the student section at my classmates screaming and cheering just as loud as they were when we scored our first touchdown. Looking up into the sea of students, I saw my friends. I saw my parents, grandparents, and cousins there to support me—and for the first time, I saw my freshman brother, dressed in white from head-to-toe in the very top row of the section. Perhaps he was layered in white for the “White Out” and for me berating him hours before to participate in the swarm of fun, or maybe it was because he truly wanted to. We may never know. But that’s beside the point—I was happy.

I was so happy to be back doing what I love on the brand new Ranger field looking out at all of Ranger country. After my junior season was stripped away, it felt so incredible to not see my peers’ faces hidden under cotton masks; I saw their smiles, I heard their screams, I felt their pride. 

From my bedazzled FHC logo on my game day tank top to attempting to make a toga out of a twin bed sheet in the stadium bathrooms, these memories are ones not to be overlooked.

My green and white poms were soon to be bagged as it was my turn to yell and cheer for the band’s halftime show. It was my turn to be in the very front row of the student section, a place I’ve always dreamed to be, clapping for the football players as we got another ball in the end zone.

Seniors, it’s our turn—our turn to lead our school, the one that in less than a year we will be graduating from, to victory. Even if we don’t end with a victory on the field, or the court, or the stage, we have ended with a victory in bringing our class together for one last hurrah.

And these are the nights we live for—waking up the next morning with little to no voice, glitter still embedded in our hair, and a million memories from a million-dollar night.

Thank you, FHC, for a historic night of memories,

– Avery