“… Your future hasn’t been written yet. No one’s has. Your future is whatever you make it. So make it a good one …”

— Doc, Back to the Future III

It was a game that took me back in time. Just a game, a high school football contest with Orange Beach at Robertsdale on Sept. 26.

And for a moment or two, it did take me back. Travel with me if you want.

In the first “Back to the Future” film, Marty McFly went back 30 years from 1985 to 1955. I went back 42 years initially before making a stop in 1985. Hard to believe it’s been 40 years.

First up was October 1983. A Sunday morning. The day before, I had gone to Tuscaloosa with a couple of friends to see an Alabama football game followed by a Stevie Nicks concert that evening. A bit tired, I got up and got dressed to visit a church in Killen. A good friend wanted me to meet a girl there. Her name was Dorinda.

We met and talked. And then she smiled at me.

A first date followed in early November. More dates would follow. Many more. Three years later in December, so did a wedding. We were married 38 years before I lost her to cancer in April. Along the way, we were blessed with two children and three grandchildren. Our daughter would follow her mom’s footsteps in the band, playing sax in both high school and college. Our son would take the football field before blowing out his shoulder.

In the ’80s, I went to many a high school football game to see Dorinda in the band. She played saxophone before becoming drum major. Such good memories with music that kicked off our wonderful journey together.
Let’s jump to 1985. Maybe I was looking to manifest a time capsule last month when I decided to go to the game in Robertsdale for the Golden Bears’ homecoming.

And the experience was kind of like time travel in many ways. The game. The players. The bands. The fans. And all the other aspects surrounding high school football — the crowd rising for the national anthem, the teams bursting through paper banners as they made their way to the field. The scoreboard. The fresh cut grass. The evening air. All of it.

Some things never change.

Now, there were some differences I noticed since I had last attended a game more than a decade ago. And I've walked many a mile on high school sidelines in covering hundreds of games as a former sports writer. It's something I couldn't do today. The years have taken a toll on my legs.

One thing I noticed was the drones hovering above the goal posts in each endzone. That was different. I'm guessing that was for filming purposes so coaches could show their players what they did wrong. And what they did right. That was new to me. So, too, were the seemingly steeper bleachers. Wait. No, that's just because it's been a few years. I'm older now.

Limping along with my cane after walking from my parking spot (my own fault for not getting closer), I made my way into J.D. Sellars Stadium. The home stands were already full as homecoming proceedings were underway. The concession stand line stretched on and on, so I passed on my popcorn and Coke. Although it’s hard to beat a burger or a hot dog at a ballgame of any kind. Or the nachos.

I made my way to find a seat just as it was time for kickoff. Again, the more things change the more they stay the same: the cheerleaders, the public address announcer, the fight songs.

Of course, there were some other differences in the present tense. Many folks had their cell phones in hand, watching them between — and during — the action on the field. Texting. Talking. Taking pictures.

Me, too. I was texting our two children, flashing back to the Friday night lights of 1985 and telling them about watching their mom as a drum major all those years ago. There were the games, the parades and the band competitions. Fond memories.

The first half was a good one, the game close. And then it was time for the marching bands. Much like the players have done, I knew the band members had put in many hours of practice. It showed. I enjoyed the performance of each band.

The game resumed, and it was a good one. Robertsdale rallied from trailing at halftime, coming from behind to win 22-18 on a late touchdown.

Afterward, I made my way back to my car, concluding my trip back in time.

Back to my future and what will be written about it. But not forgetting times past, especially under those Friday night lights.

Next week: Visiting the Shrimp Festival and all things autumn.

Wayne Smith has worked as a writer and editor at newspapers across Alabama, Florida and South Carolina. Contact him at wwsmith6410@gmail.com. His weekly column focuses on navigating Gulf Shores alone after losing his wife to cancer, and the places he discovers and the people he meets. Read his previous columns on Gulf Coast Media’s website.