Field Day

Somebody call Norman Rockwell and send him to the field day currently taking place at the intersection of Route 16 and Walnut Street in Wellesley, Massachusetts.

In a happy twist of fate, I was forced out of the office during lunch to run to the ATM machine. On my way back, I drove past what appeared to be a school's field day. There were about 20 to 30 kids behind a fence on grass field adjacent to a school, playing kickball. Huddled around a table behind the backstop, stuffing their swollen faces, and likely chattering away with their well-fed mouths full, stood a group of about 10 mothers or teachers. Play on the field had ceased. Two boys, who appeared to be taller than most of their peers, were beating the living shit out of each other. At first glance, I thought maybe the exchange was merely a tussle between friends. As I applied pressure to the brake, however, I realized I was mistaken. Furious facial expressions accompanied ample hair pulling, while frantic punches were thrown in all directions. This was personal. The thirst of these warriors could only be quenched by blood. Swellesley style. It was awesome.

As their peers stood by and looked on, frozen in place but wide eyed, and their keepers continued to engorge themselves on anything and everything they could get their hands on, the blood letting continued.

Americana.