Teaching in a tarpaper shack down by the Mississippi

Just because I could, doesn't mean I should...

The following is a letter to the editor sent to the Aitkin Independent Age concerning the referendum for a new elementary school. To be clear, I teach at the high school and my children have either graduated or are at the high school, so I will not directly benefit from this.

When faced with raising our own taxes to build a new school, people say that it isn’t the building, it’s the teachers who provide a quality education. They are partially right. Aitkin has an excellent, seasoned staff that puts in countless hours both inside and outside of the classroom for their students, sometimes at the expense of their own families. Our staff, hired during an era when hundreds of teachers applied for a single job, do everything they can to provide the best education for our students.

While I probably could teach English in a tarpaper shack down by the Mississippi, it would not be ideal. It is also not ideal to teach in a building that funnels interior water to buckets and drains despite decades of spending money in an attempt to fix the roof. It is not ideal to teach in a building that struggles to regulate temperatures and is in dire need of serious repairs. For many years, previous school boards came into session and voted to refuse deferred maintenance levies placed by the state to help take care of the issues we are seeing today. No one complained about their property taxes being too low, and now we are seeing the fallout. Nothing is free or comes without a cost.

Times change and the needs of our students change as well. As a coach, I have seen many other schools and so have my students. I can’t imagine any of those other communities thinking that the state of our buildings is acceptable. I know every one of our board members and administrators and whether I agree with them on every issue or not, I do not doubt that they are trying to do what is best for our students and community. Naysayers claiming otherwise have not truly spoken or listened to them, or have an ulterior motive. If this group of different people from different walks of life unanimously agree that a new building is the best option moving forward, I believe them.

The hiring process for teachers is much different than when I started teaching. Now, we are often lucky to get 3-4 applicants for a position, compared to the hundreds we had in the past. Teachers will need to be replaced. Updated, modern facilities will serve as a selling point when the time comes to replace retiring teachers.

The choice is clear: continue pouring money into the current inadequate facilities or invest in a building that will meet our needs into the future and be something the community can look at with pride. While we can’t change the decisions of the past, we can make wise decisions right now. Vote yes for the referendum.

Jason Henke
English Teacher
Coach
Aitkin High School

Note: I have photos of water pouring in through the roof of the high school and damaged ceiling tiles all over the floor during what I call "The Great Flood of 2015" that would have illustrated this quite well. I didn't publish them for two reasons: the referendum is about the elementary, not the high school, and I can't find them right now...

Steve Kohls was everybody's friend

Steve Kohls at an AHS girls game, Dec. 31, 2024.

Steve Kohls was everybody’s friend. While I never had Sunday dinners with him or anything like that, when our paths would cross, he would always greet me with a big smile and a “Heyyy, howya do-in’?” While making some small talk, he would erupt in his trademark laughter that couldn’t help but make you smile.

I took pictures of Steve (and sometimes Jeremy Millsop) every chance I could when they made it over to Aitkin, usually to cover an athletic event. I dubbed them the “Dispatch Dream Team” and “The Best in the Business.” Partially because I thought it was funny and not really in Steve’s character, but mostly because it was true. Steve’s prowess with a camera is well-documented. I learned a lot working with him and talking about ideas, but different stories stand out to me even more than his skill behind a camera.

First, Steve freely gave of himself while I was going through a divorce. It was a rough time, but Steve was a friendly face who could speak to me from experience, without judgment. I will forever be grateful for his kind words and sage-like advice when it felt like the world was falling apart. He knew exactly what I needed to hear.

When I had a student who took an interest in photography as a potential career, I called Steve and asked if she could do a ride-along with him. They went out and found one of his typical Page 1 shots. And by typical, I mean it was outstanding. He explained to this student how and why he set his camera the way he did. She was able to replicate the same photo. It was a great experience. Steve loved talking about his craft and offering advice while at the same time complimenting the work you had already done. I eagerly soaked it up when talking about our work together at the Dispatch.

Quite a while back, Steve had a gallery show of some of his best photographs. My parents were enamored with one of them. They couldn’t stop raving about it. I wanted to get them a framed print for Christmas, so I described the photo to Steve. He knew exactly which one I was talking about. When he told me the price for a custom-framed enlarged photograph, I must have looked disappointed. I don’t remember how much it was, but I know that I couldn’t even come close to affording it. Steve said he would see what he had lying around, then came back to me with a lesser price. I think he sold me that picture for about what it cost to have it framed. 

That’s the kind of person Steve was.

Rest easy my friend.

Jeremy Millsop & Steve Kohls at an AHS football game, Oct. 24, 2023.

Lloyd Henke embarks on his greatest adventure yet

I presented a eulogy at my dad's funeral. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Reading this in hindsight, there are parts I really like about it and things that I wish I would have included. Quite frankly, I'm surprised it turned out as it did. And that I even made it through the eulogy.

My dad fought a bear.

Not like some sort of sideshow. He didn’t actually wrestle with the bear, but he did square off with it.

We were camping in Voyageur’s National Park on one of our yearly MEA “Deer Scouting” trips in dad’s old canvas cabin tent. I woke up to the terrifying sound of Dad angrily hollering at the top of his lungs. Dad rarely raised his voice, but if he did, you’d better watch out. Jim and Patti told me there was a bear in the camp, which made the whole situation even more frightening. One of the neighboring campers yelled, “What’s going on over there?” and Dad replied, “There’s a bear in camp.” The next day, we woke up to see that all of the other campers had left in the dead of night. Our green metal Coleman cooler was torn apart, and Dad had to go into the woods to find his axe, which he had thrown at the bear.

Adventures like this were part of dad’s life, and we were all lucky enough to be included in them, complications and all. In fact, while he planned all of his adventures carefully, complications and surprises arose. But that was just a part of the puzzle to figure out. That was all part of the adventure. That’s what made the adventure.

One of Dad’s biggest adventures was joining the Navy. He wrote about seeing a sign at the recruiter’s office that said, “JOIN THE NAVY AND SEE THE WORLD.” With dismal job prospects at the time, he signed up and headed off to the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Illinois for boot camp, followed by Yeoman School in Bainbridge, Maryland. He was stationed in Hawaii, and after his watch would head to the beach to swim, work on his tan, and cook fresh lobster in a boiling pot on the beach. He said that there was nothing better than boiled lobster on the beach.

Following dad’s passing, I heard someone say he was a rule follower. And he was — most of the time. While in Hawaii, he wrote about going on pineapple-picking runs as the fruit began to ripen. The fine for this was $25 per pineapple, which was a lot of money in the late 1950s. He said they would still be in jail if they had been caught.

Dad was proud of his service and would tell us stories and show us pictures from his time in the Navy. I can remember crawling into his lap as a young boy, smelling the scent of his light sweat and mail after working at the post office. I would trace the scar on his forearm, which he said was covered with a skin graft from his behind. So, of course, I called him “Butt Skin.” He said it was from wiping out and hitting coral while surfing in Hawaii. Other sources indicate it may have been an ill-advised tattoo that needed a quick remedy before returning home to Grandma Verna.

Dad took some good-natured ribbing because he was deer hunting up north when I was born. Mom would bring that up every so often just to give him a hard time. He would listen quietly before bringing up the fact that I was born a month early.

Dad’s adventures continued with hunting trips to Wyoming and Montana, where he harvested elk and antelope. He told me the story about getting lost for three days in northern Minnesota and explained how he hunkered down, built a shelter, and tried to find some food. He came through the ordeal a bit cold and quite hungry, but otherwise fine. He made sure that when we were camping, we always had a compass and a waterproof container of matches should we ever find ourselves in the same situation.

Lloyd Henke was a conservationist and a recycler before anyone was doing it. He lived by the motto “Leave no trace” and used every portion of any game he killed. After I killed my first deer, I think he could see the conflict in my eyes at the thought that I had ended the life of this beautiful creature. He said that we should thank the creator for providing us with this animal and thank the animal for sacrificing itself for us. In hindsight, he might think what he said was cheesy, but at the time it was exactly what I needed to hear. And he wanted me to be as excited as he was. It worked.

I would imagine having kids and working a steady job puts a damper on the adventures, but us kids were lucky to have someone willing to take us with him as he also fulfilled his duties as a parent. Along with camping and hunting adventures, dad always had time to throw a football or baseball around in the backyard after a long, exhausting day at work. He attended sporting events and school functions, something I took for granted at the time. He taught me that it is important to be there, present, in moments for other people. This is something I carry with me to this day.

One of my biggest regrets is not going on a trip to the Boundary Waters with him and Meredith. I don’t remember why I didn’t go, and I always felt I missed out on something.

I began taking dad on adventures that I planned. It started with downhill skiing at Afton Alps. He was worried that he would break a leg, but we had fun. I talked him into a fly-in fishing trip to Canada with the Booes and Sean Smith. He was reluctant at first and Mom was concerned about him being out of contact and away from civilization, but the smile on his face in old pictures tells you that he was exactly where he needed to be, on another grand adventure with a hint of the unknown and unexpected.

While I was attending school at Bemidji State, I talked dad into canoeing from Lake Itasca to Lake Bemidji. There was no shortage of mishaps on this adventure, from getting lost in the giant floating bog to pressing on toward the next campsite when we came across Coffee Pot Landing, where the picnic table was still smoldering in the fire and the water pump had been pulled out of the ground. We also might have flipped the canoe and had to give our gear the ol’ heave-ho to the shore before making camp and starting a giant fire to dry out. No complaints from dad, but I was freezing and practically stood right in the fire we built. All part of the adventure.

When we canoed from Lake Bemidji to Cass Lake, Dad turned in for the night on Star Island while Jim and Patti went out fishing. Upon hearing the whooping and hollering from Patti after she caught a walleye, he crawled out of the tent, cleaned the fish in the dark — cheeks and all — washed his hands, and crawled back to bed.

As his health was failing, I planned fishing excursions. On one of our last ones, I had hooked a nice walleye and was having trouble getting it landed as it kept diving under Dad’s boat. Dad jumped up and grabbed the net to help me land it, but lost his balance and nearly fell out of the boat while dropping the net over the side and to the bottom of Sissabagamah. I asked if he was ok. He said he was and I finished landing the fish. We both sat in silence for a while before Dad asked me, “Did that just happen?”

“Yeah, it did,” I replied.

After a few more seconds of contemplation, he said, “Well, it was a pretty shitty net anyway.”

His health was just another complication to overcome on his adventure through life.

Dad passed away in the night. I think it was because he didn’t want to cause a fuss and often said that his condition was hard on your mother. He wanted to protect us from the pain of losing him. I think he saw his condition as an adventure he needed to meet with the same grit and ability to overcome and handle with grace. In his suit pocket are teeth from the two elk he harvested. There was always a reason for the things my dad did, so I wondered at the significance of this request and looked into it. In Native American cultures, elk teeth represent honor, strength, love for family, and spiritual protection. Lloyd Henke knew what he was doing and prepared himself for this last adventure.

The Positives of the Pandemic

“What are we doing to our children!” they screamed on social media and in person.

“You won’t muzzle me!”

Now that COVID has reached endemic status, it is easy to forget where we came from and how we got here. It’s easy to claim that all the restrictions caused untold harm while doing nothing to mitigate the effects of the virus. It’s easy to dismiss one million deaths in this country alone.

Our view on Burnt Lake in the BWCA.

This isn’t about all of that. COVID was an unknown variant, and likely because of our efforts to prevent its spread early on we were able to develop a vaccine and slow the spread to a point where it was manageable by hospitals.

But what about the children?

My children weathered the storm of the pandemic just fine, thank you very much. Not because they are superhuman or more special than everyone else’s kids (they are, obviously), but because rather than focusing on what we couldn’t do we instead focused on the opportunities the pandemic and lockdown presented to us.

We ate a lot of meals together as a family without electronics.

Without the constant drain of summer sports travel fees, we had more money and did not feel the pinch of multiple $500-plus baseball tournament weekends.

We spent more time outdoors sitting around campfires and just talking.

Martin, Jack, and Logan all experienced a trip to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area and felt the effects of no cell coverage (along with the withdrawal symptoms of literally no contact with their social media “friends”).

We played catch in the backyard and went on motorcycle rides. We watched movies together. We sat down and talked about things and time slowed down for a while.

We did all of the things we often wished we could do if only we had the time.

Children are resilient and respond to whatever vibe we give off. If we focus on everything they are missing out on and lament all of the opportunities they lost, then that will be their frame of mind: that they have been cheated out of something irreplaceable.

If we adapt to changes and make the best out of a situation, our children will learn to do the same and become more resilient in a world where the only constant is change.

And I believe that is the best lesson we can teach them.

Note: This was written a couple years ago as we were returning to some normalcy following the COVID-19 pandemic. I simply never got around to publishing it.

Education Evolution

I can still remember the worst grade I ever received in high school: A D- in Physics.

I should be thankful that Mr. Simms gave me a passing grade because I am fairly certain that I didn’t deserve it, but in my defense he was a terrible teacher. I don’t remember a whole lot of explanation about the properties of physics and theories and such, but I do remember being told to read the book and do some problems quite a bit. I also remember hearing the lectures that seemed like they come straight out of a 1980s movie featuring stereotypical rotten teachers. Mr. Simms would often regale us with stories about his son Thomas going into the library at the University of Nebraska and being the “only caucasian in the bunch.” He would emphasize his disappointment in our generation by letting us know that “the Japs are taking over.”

Needless to say, I was less than thrilled with this class, but to be fair I wasn’t really thrilled with any part of my education through my freshman and most of my sophomore year of high school. Learning came naturally for me and school was usually easy, but my motivation to put any effort into my education was nonexistent. Even the “good” teachers saw me underachieve. I didn’t think I was smarter than anyone else, I just didn’t care. My parents expected Bs or higher (or I would be paying my car insurance myself!) so I did as little as I possibly could to maintain a B average. I was the very definition of water finding the easiest path to flow downhill and all that.

About halfway through my sophomore year something changed and even today I am hard-pressed to explain how it came about or why it happened. It certainly would make for a better story if some all-star teacher taught me how to value education so I could better my life and get out of the inner city, but I lived in a middle-class home and none of my teachers really did anything like that. It would even make a decent story if I suffered some terrible accident or got thumped on the head and had some sort of epiphany about not having any more time to waste so I decided to take my education seriously.

Nothing like that happened. Maybe it was simply my impending graduation and uncertainty about what to do next that brought about the change in me, but I began to do better in school based on a few premises:

• The people paid to teach me know more about their subjects than I do whether I like them or not.
• I like to learn new things.
• People smarter than me think I should know this stuff.

I decided to change my entire outlook on my education. Instead of focusing on grades, I instead focused on learning as much as I could. In fact, I quit worrying about grades altogether and instead made a conscious effort to ask questions and be actively involved in all of my classes. Again, I don’t know why, but the results were astounding.

Instead of scrambling to turn in last-minute work done half-assed merely to get the points, I focused on doing the best I could and learning all that I could. My grades easily improved to As and Bs without any more work than I was putting in before. In journalism, my curiosity was piqued and I wrote many terrible stories as I tried to learn how to create through writing. I even wrote an editorial about the ratio of counselors to students, arguing that our school needed more (still terribly written work, but it sure did make the administration angry). In Human Biology, I came in for labs after football practice simply to sketch out slides of parasites and dissect our mink. In Quest for Peace (called Peace with Reis, the teacher who taught it), I learned in a simulation that making deals with other countries and then stabbing them in the back will turn out poorly when the rest of the class (world) unites against you.

I was learning and I was enjoying it. My junior and senior years of high school saw me actively engaged in learning, sometimes even enthusiastically. I absolutely enjoyed my last two years of high school, I think simply because I sold out to the process. Of course I still had some teachers I didn’t really care for, but even then I could appreciate what they were trying to teach me.

As a teacher myself, I now understand that even though we are not supposed to play favorites, we are all human. A teacher’s favorite student is not necessarily the smartest or the biggest ass-kisser. However, the student who is actively trying to learn, asking questions, and making mistakes will always find a way to make it to the top of the list.

Missing Parts

I decided to seek some solace on one of our area lakes this weekend. After all, fishing is a social-distancing approved activity and there is no “Fish Flu” yet. In preparation for this outing, the trailer needed some work so I headed down to O’Reilly Auto Parts to pick up some light bulbs.

An older gentleman stood between me and the checkout. He wanted his parts. He wanted the clerk to order them. He needed them. Yesterday. The clerk at the counter told him he didn’t know when they could get those parts in because eight of their stores in the Cities had shut down as a result of the protests and riots around the killing of George Floyd.

“Fucking Niggers!” the customer spat. “I don’t have time for them.”

My jaw dropped. The clerk looked at me and I looked at him. He didn’t know what to say and to my shame, neither did I at that moment.

I felt shame because I didn’t say anything. Of course, there is probably no way that I would be able to change that man’s mind about much of anything, but the two clerks there should not have had to listen to this kind of hatred as they were probably fearful of losing their jobs if they were to speak up. I wouldn’t have changed this asshole’s mind, but at least I wouldn’t have let that kind of vitriol hang in the aisles of that O’Reilly Auto Parts store unchecked. At least I could have addressed that the protests in the Cities are just a glimpse of the bubbling anger over the unnecessary and horrific killing of George Floyd. In broad daylight, on a city street, with citizens recording the entire thing.

I’ve always known this kind of racism existed, but I thought it was held in check by some kind of invisible contract that confined it to the history books. We had moved beyond the type of outright racism that evokes dark images of the past showing signs that read “Whites Only” and lynchings that inspired songs like “Strange Fruit.” I thought.

The worst part about the whole situation is that this man, who must be one of the most miserable son of a bitches I have ever come across, felt like he was in a safe space to say such things. And I let it happen.

Elie Wiesel said, “We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.” He also said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” I had a chance to speak up and I didn’t. I wasn’t ready and I didn’t know what to say to that kind of ugliness. I remained on the sidelines. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

Here in God’s country of the northern part of Minnesota, it is easy to sit back and look at the Twin Cities with a long lens. We are far enough away to be relatively untouched by what is happening a mere two hours away. I will never forget that at that moment, one man’s anger at not being able to get a part for his car was more important than the fact that a man was killed while three officers looked on and a crowd of people pleaded for the fourth officer to take his knee off the handcuffed man’s neck.

April Fool

The top line in Canvas, the program where my students go to find their assignments for the day, reads like this:

Infinite Campus Master Grade Login *DO NOT SHARE WITH STUDENTS!

It then links students to a Web page that reads:

Your Infinite Campus ID has been logged with AITKIN HIGH SCHOOL.
​
MR. PAUL KARELIS, PRINCIPAL will be contacting you shortly.

If students scroll down far enough, they are met with an April Fools’ Day image.

I don’t know if this is the most important thing I have done. After all, I have students journaling, reading a book, answering daily questions, and interacting with their classmates in a Daily Discussion that usually involves jokes or something else lighthearted. The prank isn’t all that elegant and students should quickly ferret out that it is a joke, but hopefully it will add some excitement to their day with the fear that they were caught trying to infiltrate the AHS grading system. Or at least it will get their hearts racing for a bit (Cross-curricular instruction with Health and Phy Ed)! Even if I wasn’t planning on changing any grades, I would have a hard time resisting the urge to see if the teacher really screwed up THAT badly.

As could be expected, things are different. During a normal school day with students, there are times either during lunch or prep when I shut my door simply to have a quiet moment to gather myself and prepare for the barrage of questions that can often come our way. As I sit here in an empty classroom doing this thing called Distance Learning, I would gladly welcome students and their questions into my room. I miss the energy they bring. I miss the interactions and conversations. We are trying to replicate that as much as we can using all of this technology at our disposal with some success, but it is different.

The questions now come in the form of e-mails. Students who have avoided using e-mails (it’s what OLD people use, like Facebook) are finding that it is a handy way to ask questions, get information, and send files. I spend much of my morning answering e-mails and reassuring students that I will work with them to make sure their work will get to me and will count, whether it is done digitally or in paper. Interestingly enough, our students who are native to the digita

l world oftentimes prefer to do things in paper. While many enjoy the convenience of reading a book digitally, most prefer reading a physical copy. Anyone who has ever thought that young people should spend less time on their phones just might get their wish after we get through the trials and tribulations of Social Distancing and Quarantine.

I am one of the teachers going into school every day because I need the routine to keep grounded. I think our students feel the same way and many of them seem to relish the opportunity to do something with a purpose. I also think they appreciate the opportunity to interact with their classmates, not just their friends, that they wouldn’t normally interact with outside of a classroom setting. I can’t wait to have a Google Meet with my classes to find out how many of them got suckered in by my prank. I think my students might feel the same way. So maybe my April Fools’ Day prank is the most important thing I’ve done.

Our children are watching us

Aitkin High School looked like a desolate wasteland on my way in today. Plenty of parking in a lot that has shrunk substantially thanks to the piles of snow tipped me off that this is going to be a slow day with very few students. The long walk along the brick wall to the North Doors of the school still concentrated the wind and provided a bite before I thankfully reached the doors and hustled into school, unsure of what the day would hold.

That uncertainty seems to have permeated all aspects of life, but many things are the same. My co-workers still have the same sense of humor despite all of the weirdness that surrounds us. That is probably good and presents some sense of normalcy to the few students who are here, but nothing is really normal. Our directive as teachers is to have a “normal” school day today. That’s hard when there were three students in my first period and zero in my second period. We watched The Mandalorian just to give us something to do.

I wonder why these students are even here, but really it doesn't even matter. Whatever the reason, we will do what our students need because that is just what we do.

Yesterday we spent some time in classes that were half full talking about what has transpired and what is to come for students. They seem to be taking things in stride, though it is abundantly clear that they are watching us. They see how we are responding as adults and are looking to us for guidance in how to act, though it may not seem like it. They are aware of people hoarding toilet paper and other goods, which sparked some discussion in class. I conceded that I bought toilet paper I didn’t need, causing some raised eyebrows that seemed to say, “Et tu, Henke?”

I then explained that a good friend of mine who takes care of his elderly mother and son was down to his last two rolls and the hoarders had cleared the entire Brainerd/Baxter area out of toilet paper. After suggesting that was because Brainerd people are idiots unlike the calm and reasonable folks in Aitkin, I offered to pick up a pack at our well-stocked Paulbeck’s County Market and deliver it to him. My friend would do the same thing for me.

These are the kind of stories I think our children need to hear at a time like this instead of the ones about the people driving up to Aitkin from Elk River and Princeton to buy out our grocery store because the ones there have already been ransacked. They should hear about my mother who returned from a cruise to the Bahamas. Upon returning, she stopped at a grocery store in the Cities to pick up some food only to find two half-gallons of milk left on the shelf. My mom took one of them in case someone with small children would need the other. A woman with four half-gallons in her cart walked up to my mother and gave my mom one of hers.

I have always said that times of stress brings out who we really are, but I was referring to tough competition in relation to sports. I think it also applies here. In this time of stress and uncertainty, what type of people will be revealed? Are we going to be toilet paper hoarders, or are we the kind of people who will take care of others, especially the most vulnerable among us? Will we be kind to each other and realize we are all in this together, or will it be every man for himself? Are we willing to profit by buying out hand sanitizer and baby formula, or will we prepare for social distancing in a reasonable manner?

Our children are watching and learning from us.

The Unofficial and Unwritten rules of teaching at AHS:

1. Any food left on the table in the teacher’s lounge is fair game, though how long it has been sitting there is unknown. The refrigerator is off-limits, however, and may require a hazmat suit to clean at some point during the year.

2. After you finish grading a large assignment, at least five students will produce the work to be graded. They will then ask if you have graded their late work almost immediately after turning it in.

3. School lunches will vary between excellent and inedible. Sometimes it is all you got, but make sure to plan around Terry’s Pizza, Ham Tortellini, Tacos, and Chicken Wild Rice Soup.

4. The way in which you are supposed to take attendance will be up for debate at the beginning of every year and will take up at least a half-hour of an all-staff meeting. Ultimately, we will continue doing it the way we have always done it.

5. Wearing a hat in school is the greatest form of rebellion.

6. There will always be a colleague who will bring up the “what-ifs” that only apply to themselves and their classroom with the whole staff present. Teachers are required to roll their eyes and mumble amongst themselves when this happens.

7. NEVER, EVER be the person causing eye rolls and mumbling!

8. The best humor can always be found in the beginning of the year videos that the administration intends to be motivational.

9. You will get to learn about Bloodborne Pathogens every year just to find out that you STILL shouldn’t touch blood or other bodily fluids.

10. Parents will ask if there is any extra credit to bolster their child’s grade even though there are several missing assignments. They will seem puzzled when you suggest taking care of all the missing work first.

11. Do NOT go No. 2 during passing time!

The impact of six simple words

I don’t think you can really hate someone in sports like you hate an opponent that is evenly matched against you. Ryan Palmer was my nemesis in high school. When we beat Albert Lea in football for the first time ever my senior year, I took great joy in reading his whining in their student newspaper. In wrestling, we seemed to take turns beating each other. Each one of those wrestling matches was a knock-down, drag-out battle in which the fans could sense how much we disliked each other.

Sometimes I came out on top, like in a home match where I was sick with the flu and trailing late in the third period before grasping him in a bear hug, tripping him backward, and pinning him with less than 30 seconds in the match. Other times I was not so fortunate, such as the Faribault tournament where I lost by one point on a dubious stalling call. The rage I felt at what seemed to be an unfair call followed me into the locker room where I expressed my anger by attempting to destroy everything in my path. I threw my headgear, slammed lockers, kicked over chairs, bellered obscenities, and bloodied my knuckles on the grates of the lockers. Only one thing could stop my destruction.

My dad walking into that locker room.

It was like someone sucked all the air out of that room. I could tell by the look on his face that what I thought was private ranting was heard by everyone in the gym, including my parents near the top of the bleachers. He didn’t speak immediately, which was worse than if he would have simply yelled. My father never really yelled. He was slow to anger but frightening when he was pushed to the breaking point. I was tormented for those 10 seconds that felt like hours as he stared at me, disappointed. He only said one thing before turning and walking out of that locker room.

“Son, you need to grow up.”

I stood there in stunned silence and embarrassment. Silent because my father never interfered with sports. The idea of my parents ever even talking to a coach was unheard of and complaining about playing time or positions would have certainly earned a spot on the bench. Embarrassed because what I thought was my private fit of rage turned out to not be so private.

But my embarrassment went much further than that. In that moment I realized that my babyish behavior felt as bad as, if not worse than, the whining of my nemesis. While he whined in the school paper, I was whining out loud, in public. Furthermore, I came to the conclusion that my actions are bigger than myself. Not only did I embarrass myself, but my actions also reflected poorly on my family, friends, and community. I was the very thing I despised: A whiner. In that moment I resolved to never embarrass myself or my parents in that way again.

Sometimes I think my father wonders whether his stint in the Navy and 37 years as a letter carrier for the United States Postal Service impacted anyone, let alone his family. The man who took all of us kids camping every summer and every MEA break “up north.” The man who preached conservation and ecology (recycling) way before it became a common practice. The man who always found time to play catch with a football or baseball in the backyard, even after walking all day delivering mail. The man who knew when I was going overboard and could let me know it with six words that sent a shock through my system.

My father rarely ever yelled. On that day he didn’t need to. His calm, measured, disappointed six words screamed through my head and brought the sickening revelation of extreme embarrassment to the pit of my stomach.

Of course there were disappointments in life after that, but I never reacted in the same way again. Six simple words taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.

An ode to the linemen

One of the most influential books I read growing up was Football Dreams by David Guy. It is a coming-of-age story in which the main character, Dan Keith, must overcome the death of his father and the realization that he would be playing football on the line while other people get to play in the “glory” positions like running back or quarterback. In particular, there is a crucial scene in a big game where Dan has the opportunity to make a huge block that will spring his running back for the score — the same running back who stabbed him in the back, got the girl, and was constantly fawned over for his athletic ability.

In this dramatic moment that is written in a marvelous slow-motion and detailed way, all of these things run through Dan’s mind. Why should he continue to do the dirty work while others get the credit? All of the past transgressions run through Dan’s mind before he knocks the defender on his ass and the crowd roars in approval. Not for the block, but for the excellent cut the running back made before scoring the touchdown.

It is a juvenile book that is a bit overwrought and I loved every page.

I had my own Dan Keith moment as a junior in high school. The school year had just started and my good friend Eric Leonhart and I both had a goal to crack the varsity starting lineup in football. We lifted weights all summer and were ready once camp started, Eric earning a starting role while I was splitting time at nose guard with a senior. We were proud of our accomplishments and walked down the hallways with an air of confidence. At least I did until Jennifer Grubish, one of our football cheerleaders, asked me if I was going to the football game Friday night.

Honestly, I was struck speechless. I think I stammered out an “Uh, yeah,” but I think Fer (not Jenni) could tell by the look on my face that something was amiss. When the shock that no one knew I was going to be playing on that varsity field subsided and my wits returned, I told her that I would be there on the sidelines, in uniform, you know, playing the game. Somewhat embarrassed, she said that she would see me there and hurried away.

It was that moment when I realized playing high school football was not going to instantly transform me into the stud of the school, especially as a lineman. Kenny Chesney singing about being “The kings of the school, man, we’re the boys of fall” was full of shit, at least in my school in 1989. While the dream of being a running back died slowly, it was replaced by the thrill of the workmanlike precision of the line, operating as a unit in an intricate dance designed to overpower the opponent with better blocking angles or simply putting more people at the point of attack. The thrill of blindsiding an opponent on a trap, kicking out an end, or steamrolling a cornerback on a sweep became a source of pride.

That pride and craftsman mentality was cultivated by our line coach Mr. Ed Draheim. He was a phy ed teacher at our school, so of course we called him “Physical Eddie,” but not on the football field. There, he was simply coach. Eric and I would grin at each other during our pregame chats in our position group because coach would pump us up by laying the weight of the world on our shoulders.

“It all starts with us on the line,” he would say in such an intense way that you would have thought we were on a mission to save the country from foreign invaders.

But what really established that sense of pride was during practice. After working our tails off pounding on dummies and each other, we were always the last group to return to the rest of the team. And it was at this moment coach would say, loud enough for the quarterbacks and running backs to hear, “Jog it over with the touch boys.”

This simple line might not seem like much to the casual observer, but to us it meant everything. It validated the fact that we worked hard and hit every day while our precious “skill” positions were too valuable and delicate to take the pounding we dished out and received continuously. It oozed just the right amount of sarcasm. Whether our running backs and quarterbacks knew that shade was being thrown on them or not, it didn’t matter. We knew. Coach knew what he was doing and we would do anything for him and for the team. It didn’t matter that we didn’t get our names in the paper and no one knew who we were. We played because we loved the game and we played for each other.

Head coach Jerry Peterson also played into this mentality during practice when he stated, “You know, we put our worst athlete at quarterback.” I don’t think there have ever been bigger grins on our line’s faces than that day.

One of my former high school football teammates posted a story on Facebook that said offensive linemen are the best humans on earth for the simple fact that they do the dirty work while others receive the credit. No one (outside of maybe a line coach) keeps track of the awesome blocks a lineman makes. Instead, teams tally yards and touchdowns for a select few. This selfless devotion earns the linemen little in the way of appreciation outside of the people who actually know what is going on. But it is that work ethic and lack of concern for taking credit that makes linemen who they are: The kind of people who are dependable, selfless, and willing to do their part for the success of the whole.

Relevant and meaningful schools? Here's one idea.

As an educator, it can be infuriating to read the “What they SHOULD have taught me in high school” memes. You know the ones where a disgruntled former student decries that they were not taught how to do taxes, change a tire on a car, take out a loan, or write a resume and cover letter. The frustrating part of this is the fact that literally all of these things are taught at our high school in a variety of classes. A former classmate from Owatonna even had the gall to post some variation of this meme on Facebook, prompting a challenge from me. Other classmates chimed in, describing how all of those things were taught, but it was up to us to actually learn them. The classmate who originally posted it said she just liked the meme.

Thanks. Thanks a lot for perpetuating the tired idea that our schools don’t really teach anything of value or substance for, you know, real life.

So I was quick to feel my blood pressure rise when a class began to lament how school wasn’t really teaching them anything of value like how to do their taxes, change a tire, or write a resume. I calmly corrected them and informed them that they could learn all of these things in classes offered right here in their school. They knew all that, but said it was difficult to fit all of those different classes into their schedule in order to get all of the things students need to know as they head out into the world after high school.

That really stuck with me. Despite our best efforts to provide important skills to our students, they were not able to learn all of them because of the problem of fitting everything into their schedules along with all of the other requirements. The answer, they said, was to offer a class called “Life.”

To be honest, I do think they were regurgitating some form of this meme that they had seen. However, the idea does have some merit. I decided to brainstorm skills that they would like to learn if we were to offer this “Life Skills” class and my students did not disappoint. Here is the list we came up with:

• Basic auto maintenance, such as how to check fluids, change oil, check tire pressure, and change a flat tire
• How to sew on a button or fix a zipper
• Taxes and finance, such as how to do their taxes, how to take out a loan for a car or house, and how much it would cost them over the life of the loa
• How to write a resume, cover letter, and interview for a job
• How to perform CPR, and perhaps become a certified First Responder
• Survival skills, such as how to start a fire without any “cheats”
• Etiquette in formal situations, such as fancy dining
• Winter survival like layering clothes and packing a survival kit for the car
• Etiquette while communicating via voice on the phone
• How to pay a parking or speeding ticket along with how to dispute it
• How to do laundry
• Perils of credit cards
• How to find low cost or free entertainment
• Self defense
• Firearm training

Again, our school does teach most of these to some extent, but they are in a wide variety of classes. The idea that these classes are available but not fully accessible is something that had not crossed my mind. Teaching this class would appeal to me, though I don’t think I would be great in all areas. Perhaps students would take this class for a semester, rotating between teachers every 2-3 weeks to learn these skills. It is an idea that could work, would be a benefit to our students as they graduate from our school, and would show that we are responsive to their needs.

You know, all the things those memes and critics claim we do not do.

Finding the Magic to teach our students 21st century skills

This is what my classroom is starting to look like during IS.

Like most people, I take a sort of guilty pleasure in watching the videos on social media of people so engrossed in their cell phones that they walk into street posts, glass doors, and off steps. I draw the line at videos of people actually getting hurt, like the one I saw yesterday of a woman walking off of a curb and getting sideswiped by a van while engrossed in her phone. Normal people shouldn’t really want to see people getting hurt and things like that make me cringe. There is no doubt that technology, for all of its positives, certainly has some drawbacks that are affecting us culturally. The Internet, once seen as a place where the playing field is leveled and everyone has a voice has become a cesspool of fake news, half truths, poorly reasoned opinion, and cat videos.

So naturally, as a teacher in a school district trying to prepare students with the skills they need to compete in this information age, I was thrilled when our school decided to issue a MacBook Air to every student in grades 7-12. No signing up for trashed computer labs! No reserving a cart of maybe-charged laptops and rolling it all the way across the school and up two floors! Obviously this endeavor came with a whole host of problems we have had to deal with, such as students who want to listen to music at inappropriate times in class or binge watch their favorite Netflix episodes over the course of the day. For all the positives our school-issued computers provide, there is a negative that must be managed. The lure of constant entertainment or FOMO (fear of missing out) often proves too much for our students to handle.

An amazing thing has been happening in my Independent Study period at the end of the school day, though. One of my students, Tim, has been attempting to form a Magic: The Gathering community at the school for his Civics class. The directive is to identify a need or problem in your community and work through the appropriate channels to meet the need or fix the problem. Students have been trying to form a Magic club at school for a few years with varying degrees of success, but Tim has one thing going for him that is proving beneficial: An atypical group of people who are interested in the game. A pair of “jocks” along with a student who enjoys hunting, fishing, and motorized recreation have a raucous good time while playing the game. Other students see that and want to see what is happening and they want to be a part of it. The cries of exultation and the moans of lamentation are so over the top that it makes me grin and appreciate the enthusiasm and fun they are having with their poorly-conceived decks. The number of players has grown and students from other rooms now ask to come over and play.

What does this all have to do with technology? Two of my students bought Planeswalker decks and have been bringing them to IS. I mentioned that I have been playing MTG Arena lately, and both of these students asked if I wanted their codes so that I could have their Planeswalker deck online. Of course I do, but I encouraged them to install the free MTG Arena client and keep their deck for themselves, but they assured me that they have no interest in doing that. I told them they might want it in the future, but they instead insisted that I take the code and use it because they won’t.

Students, who grew up with a cell phone in their back pocket and with school-issued computers do not want to play a game they so clearly enjoy on their computers at home? Students who could pretend to be doing schoolwork while instead playing one of the countless web-based video games do not even open their computers. With Magic, they are, however:

• Doing quick math (am I going to win this damage race at this rate?)
• Learning new vocabulary (sophic, scion, pulmonic, basal, ophidian, etc)
• Problem-solving (How will I squeeze this last point of damage through all these blockers?)
• Collaborating (I once took on two students at once and they squeaked out a win by working together)

All the benefits of the game aside, the students WANT to play it together, in person, and interact with each other. I think it is because these students crave interaction and have found something that scratches an itch that they probably didn’t even know they have. Instead of chastising students who are playing Magic during this Independent Study time, I encourage them as long as they are caught up in their classes. I believe they are learning important things that we talk about as 21st century skills but sometimes struggle to teach, not the least of which is how to put down their phones and interact with real, live people.

Mora coach detracts from his team's 7-0 start

As the PA announcer for Aitkin football, I get to see a lot of things over the course of the season. I see the Gobblers fighting hard to make their mark. I see The Best Student Section in the State make each game a rocking good time. I see (and taste) the excellent pregame food that Peter Lowe cooks at every home game before watching Aitkin’s players and coaching staff work hard to be successful both on and off the field.

I have never seen anything like last Friday, when the Mora coach deliberately walked through the Aitkin football team’s entrance onto the field.

I didn’t actually see this happen as I am all the way across the field while announcing games. However, I heard people talking about it after the game and saw some posts on Facebook, but I didn’t think too much of it. After all, looking at the preview picture on Facebook it seemed like the coach was near the players, not walking through them. Our football fans at Aitkin can be fiercely proud and supportive of our student-athletes. In the news and social media, seeing outraged people is so typical that it doesn’t even warrant a raised eyebrow, so my initial reaction was that maybe we had some salty fans who were embellishing this to make it sound worse than it is.

However, after watching the cell phone footage on Facebook, two things became abundantly clear: The Mora coach deliberately walked through the Aitkin entrance and he is going to be famous, though not in a good way.

Just a week ago a St. Cloud Cathedral player came off the sidelines to tackle a Zimmerman player on what looked to be a late touchdown run. Apparently, the player was frustrated that his team was being shut out and that Zimmerman had just broken another run for a late touchdown.

We expect students to make poor decisions at times and hopefully learn from them. We do not expect a coach, the one who is supposed to be setting a good example, to act like this.

Mora is having an excellent season, rolling out a perfect 7-0 record and No. 3 rank in Class 3A. After watching them play, it is clear that they have a good team. That’s what makes this even more perplexing. Why would a coach get in the way of all the excellent things his team has accomplished so far this year? These actions take the focus off of all that has been achieved by this team and instead creates a distraction.

Full disclosure: As a player and as a coach, there have been times when I have done and said things that I am not particularly proud of. My announcing partner and fellow junior high coach Rob Williams can tell you stories about coaching from our earlier years, but none of those stories involve anything like this that takes the focus from the athletes. Away from where it should be.

This behavior can’t be excused for being “in the heat of the moment” as it was before the game even started. There is literally nothing that can be said to justify this coach, who saw our team entering the field through the tunnel, deliberately walking into and through the stream of players coming onto the field.

“They should have sacked his ass,” one Facebook user commented on the posted video. Almost miraculously, the Aitkin players dodged around him and avoided any collision with the coach. The coach will not be able to dodge his Facebook fame along with calls for his head on a platter. That is sure to continue.

The only thing for this coach to do is apologize profusely for his poor choice and turn the focus back onto his team’s excellent season, which is where it should be.

Hammonds wins state tournament by taking third

Former Aitkin High School colleague Dan Stifter told me that often the third and fifth-place matches at the state wrestling tournament are more exciting than the championship matches. He would know since he was the head wrestling coach at Aitkin for many years before moving on to become an assistant principal at Pierz.

He was correct as one of the most impressive and exciting matches of the tournament was for third place at 195 pounds in Class AAA. Sure, there were the usual noteworthy stories about wrestlers in search of multiple state championships along with family dynasties continuing on the tradition, but none of those had anything on Anoka’s Richie Hammonds.

Richie Hammonds was the most entertaining match
of the 2018 Minnesota State Wrestling Tournament.
(Photo stolen from The Guillotine)

Hammonds is an unassuming wrestler who probably doesn’t strike terror in the hearts of his opponents. He is 5-foot-4 with a shock of black hair and a bit of a paunch on a physique that does not seem like a typical state tournament wrestler’s. In fact, I may have raised my eyebrows when I saw him enter the mat to take on his opponent from Bemidji, who was at least a head taller.

Then the magic happened.

Hammonds’ opponent tried a throw, but Hammonds slipped it and scored two. After going off the mat, he presented the universal symbol that he was going to let his opponent escape: Thumbs and forefingers of both hands making the shape of a diamond. It would show up again and again as Hammonds continued to take his opponent down and let him go, only to do it all over again.

He took his opponent down on the edge of the mat, but managed to keep his toes in bounds to score the takedown. That’s not an easy feat when you are 5-foot-4. He kept his opponent off balance by relentlessly hand checking him, snapping his head down and constantly moving and attacking him until the Bemidji wrestler didn’t know what to do. Hammonds continued to take his opponent down, only to let him up and do it all over again.

As the match wore on, it became clear that more and more people in the XCel Energy Center were watching until finally, in the third period after a takedown and a stoppage of action, fans all across the arena held up the diamond symbol Hammonds had shown several times before. When Hammonds gave the fans what they were waiting for and showed he was going to let his opponent go, nearly all of the 10,000 people in attendance roared their approval. Hammonds did not disappoint and gave the crowd another chance to call for him to let his opponent go. Of course they did and, of course, he did. Nine times he took his opponent down en route to a 24-11 win, but it wasn’t even that close. The Bemidji kid didn’t have a chance.

There were grins on everyone’s faces, but not because some kid from Anoka took third in state. Something else was going on there. Maybe it was because he didn’t look like the typica l wrestler. Maybe it was the fact that he relentlessly and fearlessly attacked his opponent, throwing him off-guard in a weight class where wrestlers sometimes lean on each other more than attack. Maybe it was because he won through sheer willpower.

Whatever it was, when Hammonds’ hand was raised he received a standing ovation from 10,000 grinning spectators who had been won over by his tenacious approach to high school wrestling that was some of the most exciting I have seen in a long time. He responded by blowing kisses to his 10,000 fans.

Hammonds is aware that others don’t often take him seriously.

“I’ve been underestimated all my life,” Hammonds said in a Star Tribune interview. “One kid said to his dad, ‘Hold my milkshake while I go pin this kid.’ I’ve had dads and sons look at me and laugh, like this is gonna be easy. But I get the last laugh.

“It’s all a mind-set. I’m going out there and I’m going to win.”

If anyone didn’t believe it before he stepped out onto the mat for that match, they do now. My only regret is that Hammonds is a senior so I won’t be able to watch him at the state tournament next year.

The day that David Butcher died

Note: The following is a true story that I use as an example for my students when they write their own narrative essays.

It hit me like a ton of bricks the day that David Butcher died. I was at Morehouse Park fishing for whatever would bite in the Straight River, dropping a hook loaded with corn to catch carp, or perhaps casting a spoon purchased at a bait shop on one of our family fishing trips in order to hook a northern pike. We didn’t really know what the commotion was all about until police cars and ambulances lined the streets and suddenly the banks of the river, which usually had enough room for everyone to have plenty of space and privacy. They were now teeming with people milling about and asking what had happened.

The Morehouse Park dam in Owatonna, Minnesota.

My mom tells me that she was frantic and scared when word came on the radio about the death. She knew where I was and she is the type of person that believes it is fine to hope for the best if you are prepared for the worst. She was preparing herself for the worst news she could think of and wasn’t going to rest until she knew for sure. On that day, she loaded up my older brother and sister along with my youngest sister in the mint green, 1977 Chevrolet Malibu Classic with only an AM radio, and sped down the road to the park to find out if it was her son. When she found me, she scooped me up, loaded me in the car, and drove home. Along the way, I thought about my last excursion to the river a few weeks earlier.

I remember it seemed like a good idea, and a fun one at that. During the canoe races early in the year, we had all seen the paddlers shooting down the water, which was high in the early spring thanks to all of the runoff. In fact, the water was so high that the paddlers could shoot right over the dam without even the normal 10-foot drop. That was why a couple of weeks later when Scott Bedard asked if I wanted to go ride over the dam with him I jumped at the chance. It seemed like fun and would be quite an adventure that none of the kids back in school would believe. Scott was always good for doing new and interesting things — smoking a cigarette, sneaking out at night, or maybe shoplifting here and there were all some of his favorite pastimes. Sometimes he could get me to go along with these things. I made a note to myself that my mom did not need to know just who I would be with on this day. She knew Scott, too.

The day of our excursion was sunny and bright and seemed to be just another day. Scott showed up along with Nick Swanson and Matt Helgeson, making it four of us who were going to ride the rapids over the dam. The idea that the water level and conditions could have changed over the last few weeks was the farthest things from our minds and the thought of going down and checking out the dam and water level would have probably elicited a comment of “pussy” out of the other adventurers — if we would have even thought of it. No, we felt no fear and no concern about our adventure that lay ahead. After all, we had endured beatings from older brothers, getting kicked off of our bikes by older burnouts on State Street, and suffered massive wipeouts coming off of the jump at “The Mountain,” a dirt track built on a pile of leftover construction dirt in a large vacant lot. How bad could this be?

My first answer to that appeared when Scott pulled out an inflatable raft instead of a canoe. “What the hell is this?” my 10-year-old self spoke, testing the waters of this new method of emphatic expression that would have earned me a smack across the face at home. “Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh,” Scott replied in his nasally laugh, rapid fire. “Are ya chicken?”

No. No I wasn’t. After making sure the raft was fully inflated, we loaded up about 50 feet upstream from the dam with Scott in front, Nick next followed by Matt, who we all called Helgy. I was the last one in the raft and we shoved off from shore with our hands and used the same to paddle toward the middle of the river to let the current take us over the dam. As we neared the dam, I started to have some misgivings about this adventure as I saw that the water level had returned to normal over the past few weeks. We must have let out a collective “Oh ****!” as we started over the dam and the only thing I could even think to do was close my eyes when I saw the raft literally bend in half at the middle as we were pulled over in a quick jerk.

My eyes opened and every pain receptor in my backside screamed to life as I cracked my behind on a rock on the way down, about eight feet. Miraculously, as I looked in front of me in the raft, all of us were still in it and floating along down stream. “I think I broke my ass!” I yelled, half in pain and half in exhilaration at the monumental thing we had just done. Eventually the current slowed and we made our way to shore and headed home to parents who had no idea what we had done. And we weren’t telling them.

The day that David Butcher died is the day I realized that things don’t always make sense. While we all made it out of the waterfall ride unscathed and alive, albeit with a sore bum, we probably shouldn’t have. See, David Butcher was simply fishing below the dam, something that kids and adults have done for as long as I can remember. He was trying to get out to water that was a bit deeper by stepping on the rocks that broke through the surface, also something that local fishermen often did. On this day, however, this boy who was just a few years older than me slipped on the mossy surface and fell into the water near the dam, almost noiselessly going under and not emerging until his body was found a couple miles downstream a few days later.

I’d like to say that I have never done anything stupid since that day, but that would be a lie. However, the experience certainly changed me as I began to ponder my mortality. What if it would have been me? What would my family have done? What experiences would I have missed? Why was it that boy and not the four of us brave, mindless, stupid kids?

If our experiences help shape who we are, David Butcher’s death has made a subtle and important impact on me. It is morbid to think about, but everything we have and hold dear can disappear in an instant. Things do not always make sense, especially when luck is involved. Luckily, I am able to have this revelation. David Butcher wasn’t.