Field Notes: Showing Up

Field Notes is a little different from our Voices and Places stories. These are my observations from moving through Atascosa County, paying attention to the places, people, and little moments that make up everyday life here.

National Night Out

I left Jourdanton around 5:40 p.m., headed toward Pleasanton Park.

The air was hot, but the breeze felt cool. The sun was beginning its descent as I rolled through the live-oak-lined streets. I stopped at the gas station near the park to get a soda. A little because I was thirsty. A little because I wanted something to do with my hands.

I arrived close to 6 p.m.

As I approached the park, I said to myself, I hope there’s nowhere to park. I hope this place is packed.

And it was.

Boy, was it.

I had a hard time finding a place to park. I eventually found a spot near the baseball fields, slapped an Atascosa Voices sticker on my notebook, shoved the rest of the stickers in my pocket, and started walking toward the large pavilion.

The setting sun blinded me as I walked.

Every department of the city seemed to be there. The parks department had its own booth. EMS was there. The fire department. Multiple branches of law enforcement. Booths handing out free goodies lined the inside of the pavilion, with others scattered outside.

I had come by myself.

That made me feel a little awkward. I told myself, This is growth, man. This is growth.

I had a couple of awkward encounters early on, the kind where you suddenly become hyperaware of yourself and wonder what you’re supposed to do with your hands or where you’re supposed to stand. Eventually I had to tell myself to stop.

Just be here.

I carried my notebook, but I felt strange about showing it off. Part of me wanted someone to notice the Atascosa Voices sticker and ask me what I was doing there. Another part of me wanted to remain completely anonymous and quietly observe everything around me.

I fought with those two impulses for a while.

Inside the pavilion, I listened to the announcements and the national anthem. I caught a glimpse of the Pleasanton High School cheer team and the band. There were other acts lined up to showcase their skills.

People were everywhere.

At the booths. In the lines. Walking around. Talking. Looking at the giant Pleasanton PD ATF vehicle on display.

There were so many families.

A lot of the booths were clearly catered toward children. I thought about grabbing some of the free stuff myself, but eventually I settled on the free eraser shaped like a book that the library gave me.

And the book.

I won that one.

The Pleasanton Library booth told me to hit the pink button. They said, “Don’t think about it.”

So I didn’t.

I hit the button and won a free book.

I might actually read it.

I weaved in and out of people pushing strollers and little kids whose entire worlds seemed to have narrowed down to the ice cream in their hands. Sometimes I could barely see the tops of their heads.

Dodging.

There were a lot of teenagers, many dressed in Pleasanton’s green and white. Groups of teens handed out glow sticks near where the band was playing.

Older residents stood around shaking hands with officers and city officials. The greetings had the easy familiarity of people who most likely already knew one another.

The booths themselves told another part of the story. City departments. Dental services. At least two hospice organizations. Libraries. Emergency services. Police. Fire. Parks.

A lot of the institutions that make up a community were represented in one place.

I walked around looking for a hot dog.

The line for the hot dogs was one of the longest, second only to the face-painting booth.

I mean, you can’t really beat a free dog.

I eventually jumped out of line with just my hot dog. No chips. No drink. I already had a soda.

They were giving those away too.

Someone handed me a free popsicle later, and at that point my notebook and all the free stuff I’d accumulated started falling out of my hands. My cheesecake ice cream was melting. The papers I’d collected had become an awkward stack, especially with the little library book thrown into the mix.

It was around 6:45.

I had to get to ACT Theatre for rehearsal. Rehearsal started at 7.

I wanted to stay.

I wanted to talk to people.

I wanted to finally hand someone a damn Atascosa Voices sticker.

But I didn’t.

I walked back toward my car carrying my melting ice cream, my notebook, my book, my papers, and all the things I had collected from a community gathering where I had mostly remained an observer.

I didn’t like that I hadn’t handed out anything.

I didn’t like that I hadn’t talked to more people.

But as I walked away, another thought started to take its place.

There is a lot more to explore in this county.

Even in Pleasanton alone.

There are a lot of people here. A lot of places. A lot of organizations. A lot of little interactions that probably mean nothing to an outsider and everything to the people involved.

Many people to talk to.

Stories to tell.

I wasn’t ready to do much of that tonight.

Maybe someday soon.

Maybe next time.

For now, I had shown up.

And that counts for something.