Tomorrow morning, they will sing. In that hallowed place, that place of a thousand hopes and memories, their voices will rise above earthly woes, and the hearts of men shall be uplifted, and the Lord Himself shall crack a smile, as the throng declares with joy and triumph:
Some people like gravy
No "ifs", "ands", "buts", or "maybes"
When it's cold, it gets wavy
Gravy
Have you heard it? Do you feel it? O, what is the source of this anthem's power? How doth it stir such depths of the soul? Is its authenticity inherent in its organic, communal origin? Does its relevancy stem from the bold, fresh, politically-charged lead-in each year, or from the simple fact that some people, nay, most people, will always like gravy? Does its passion arise from the tender melody, that slowly crescendos into a stadium-rock powerhouse of driving keyboard, pounding drums, blazing electric guitar, and soaring vocals? Does its strength lie in the lyrics' poetic power to inspire pragmatism ("You can feed it to your baby"), truth ("It has the consistency of a shake"), dedication ("I will even eat it in the lake"), imagination ("You can put it in a pie"), humor ("It won't even squirt in your eye"), and the courage to stand up for your God-given rights ("If I can't have it, I ask 'Why?'")? Is it that the act of raising one's fork and voice in unison with 80-150 like-minded peers meets the basic human need of brotherhood in a way that little else can?
Yes. It is all this and so much more. As harbinger of the last full day of camp, the song has the bitter-sweet flavor of a graduation slideshow on steroids. Tears, laughter, friendship, love, Ultimate Beef Tongue, and spiritual life change are interwoven like golden threads throughout its fabric. It's a link to the past. It's an investment in the future.
It's my gravy.
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