Last weekend, we had family road trip to Hockley, Texas, to watch my brother’s lacrosse tournament. I thought it would be fun watching lacrosse, eating out, and spending the night in a hotel. Unfortunately, we woke up on Saturday morning to find that the entire drive would be rainy and drizzly. The high temperature that day would be 42*.
After two hours driving towards Houston, we made it to the fields. Normally, a tournament is festive and fans wear their colors and fly their team banners. All we saw was miserably cold people bundled up in jackets like it was dead of Winter, District 12 in The Hunger Games. My brother started his game and the drizzle became a constant soaking rain coming from all directions. I was under a tent, with two blankets, shivering and feeling miserable. The game slowed down and it seemed like the teams were playing lacrosse under water. The final whistle blew and we ran to the car just to get our blood pumping again. I felt like a wet sock that had been left in the middle of the road for three days. In fact, we did see a sock left on the road but no one bothered to pick it up because we were so COLD and it was “every man for himself” to get warm.
My Mom cranked the heat on high in the car. My brother’s lips were blue and he couldn’t feel his fingers. We knew we needed to dry out before the next game, so we ended up going a wash-a-teria (laundromat). I’ve never seen so many industrial-sized washers and dryers in one place. We peeled off all of our wet clothes and changed into dry clothes. Our soggy layers plus my brother’s uniform tumbled in the hot stainless steel vat. The warmth and heat of the room finally thawed me. The even better news, some of the other team parents were also at the washeteria and we got the message that the rest of the day’s games were cancelled. Yay! Back to the warm, dry hotel and a cup of hot cocoa, please!