At Kinkaid's Field Day, Seniors Walk Out With a Small Buddy

The student paper, The Falcon, wrote up the 92nd Field Day, on April 20, 2017. The morning belonged to the Upper School. The film class previewed films. Teachers and students sang karaoke: "Ice Ice Baby," "Take on Me," "Crazy Train," which won. Four freshmen held a pie-eating contest; the winner earned the right to push someone else's face into a bowl of yogurt. The person in the yogurt reported that it was blueberry.

A new tradition debuted: senior boys' ping-pong. The first match was played to 21 and ran so long that the emcees cut the game to 11 on the spot.

The emcees changed the rules mid-match because the match was boring. That is the most sensible thing I have ever heard of an emcee doing.

Then a student band played, and a Kinkaid alumnus, the singer-songwriter Wrabel, surprised everyone with a concert and a Q&A. His advice to aspiring songwriters, according to the paper, was to try not to think about what people will think.

After lunch, the seniors regrouped with their advisories and walked over to the Lower School to meet their buddies. Then came the long march to the field, the Pledge and the national anthem, and the Purple and Gold teams' annual rivalry. Gold won 255 to 253, clinched by the seniors in the tug-of-war.

Two points. And a whole school of small children who will remember, mostly, walking onto the field holding the hand of somebody enormous.

For one walk across a field, somebody's teenager is somebody else's grown-up.

At our house the middle one walks the youngest to her classroom on mornings when I drop them both. He holds her hand until the corner and then lets go, because his friends might see. She knows exactly where the corner is.

Last week it rained and he forgot to let go. She told me about it at dinner as if it were the best thing that had happened all year. He said it was because of the puddles. She said, "Sure."