Concession Conceding

As we drove to the concession stand to spend the evening making burgers, nachos, cheese fries, sausage wraps, Frito pies, and an assortment of creative concoctions such as pickle juice poured over a snickers bar, I was filled with that strange combination of emotions that commonly occurs when I am out of my comfort zone: namely dread and anticipation. I was dreading the smoke from the grill that was an unending river of haze slowly but deliberately seeping into my clothes and my eyes. But I was also anticipating the opportunity to serve and to generate funds that in turn would help the students of the organization.

It was a high school football game, a game of two teams unlikely to advance, a game where only the the most dedicated (of which there are many) were going to attend. A chill was in the air due partly to the weather but also due to the typical fear of victory and defeat. For some of the fans, it was entertainment; for others it was serious. For the players, it was the opportunity to compete and to apply the grueling practice sessions to the real event. But this essay is not about football, it is about the concession stand.

The evening began by cleaning the grill, filling the smoker with wood, and lighting the fire. I experienced a moment of relief when the fire caught on and the grill began the heating up process for the more than 200 hamburgers and 100 sausages we would cook. According to the dictionary, concession means to yield or concede an argument or a fact. It also means a space allotted for a subsidiary business. And both of these definitions apply to our concession stand. It is a business. A fairly big business with a flowing of cash that is unusual in small businesses.

Yet, in many ways, we are conceding a point or an argument, since the stand included men and women of all ages working together for a common goal. We don't always agree but we also don't make it about us. It is about serving and if the truth be told also about making money. We serve well, we serve selflessly, we serve honestly, and we serve completely, and consequently we are rewarded on many levels.

Standing by a man I never met before and flipping burgers, sharing smoke, sharing stories, laughing, coughing, complaining, and pontificating, I found myself in a new friendship. For we stood shoulder to shoulder, bearing the joys and burdens of cooking at the grill. We didn't always agree on when the meat was done or how much more wood was needed or which spatula was the best or even which side of the grill was the best, but in the end it didn't matter. We bonded in our work and we bonded in our play and two completely different people in all respects--education, family, priorities, world-view, gifts, and life situations--found themselves friends with a common goal.

I spent some time reflecting on this as I battled the smoke and the burgers. The evening moved quickly and my com-padre had to leave early. So it was time for clean up of the entire stand and once again all the people working conceded to each other and worked together for the goal of cleaning the stand. There were no arguments, no egos, no selfish agendas, and no anger. Only committed parents working hard and quickly to close up the concession. As we finished, did some sweeping, stored all the goods, and said our goodbyes, I sensed an unspoken but real affirmation of a job well done.

Blessings often come when we least expect them but blessings are everywhere if we but look. I never expected to be blessed while cooking greasy smoke-filled burgers but it happened.