Again?

 The Big Orange Slide at the Rush City pool is 165 feet from start to finish. That means you would have to go up three flights of stairs and back down the slide again and again 32 times to slide a full mile. By my rough calculations, Logan has traveled this route 2,318 times or the equivalency of the length of the Mississippi River. Since his days as a youngster growing up here and on into his teenage years as an employee, he has commanded the top of the slide like a sentinel standing watch over Fort Snelling. He’s tightly hugged and maneuvered through the curves like a Formula One racer. He’s mastered the art of skimming the surface for max speed. With his masterful finale in the plunge that sends a directed tidal wave wherever he wants to as if it was Splash Mountain at Disneyland, it has cost the taxpayers countless dollars in splash out water.

You’d think that it would grow old. No – it has grown old.

Yet even after 17 years of up and down that slide…after 3 years of lifeguarding and 2 years of teaching swim lessons…after Lord knows how many hot summer days, he has spent here… he could not say “No” to the kids in his swim lessons class that just wanted to slide with their Hero “one more time.” "Again?"

Last Friday Logan may have worked his last session of swim lessons. By this time next year, he’ll be a high school graduate and staring down big boy decisions and responsibilities. The job will be here if he wants it but I’m not counting on getting another season out of him.

He’s good.

No – he’s the best!

I’m his Boss at the pool and it’s hard to separate that to the point that I don’t have to because he sets the standard. Kids love him. Parents marvel at his patience and tenderness with kids of all ages. Don’t even get me started about how the ladies at evening Water Aerobics feel about him. The kid has just “got it”. And I am so stinking proud of him. It has been a joy to watch him work. To watch him use humor and quick whit to gain people’s trust. To watch him command respect through his assertiveness and decision making.

Last Friday Free Day, he passed out grade cards, treats and day passes with his chicken scratch handwriting on it and then he did what he does best. He played at the pool. His Level 1’s adored him. I don’t know how he did it, but each kid acted as if Logan was their personal attendant and entertainer for the 40 minute swim session. Up he went and down he came, a different kid in his lap each time. He laughed and giggled with each 5-, 6- and 7-year-old and shared in the smiles and joy that splashing in the water should bring children. When the older kids wanted to play basketball, he played. When one fella wanted Logan to launch him into the air again, Logan tossed him again and again and again.

There have been so many compliments shared with me over the last few weeks about our facility and the programs we run. And sure – there have been some complaints here and there but man, I am so stinking proud of our staff here – all of them. But allow me a minute to gush… Logan, it has been a privilege of mine to work with you!

If you’re ready to move on and work in the trades, do construction, mow lawns, go to college, military whatever….if you take the same work ethic that I see in you now – wherever you go, you’re going to be an impact because you give your best at everything that you do and you do it well.

Old Man

The easiest way to catch a sunrise is to never go to bed.

June 1st was move in day for Emma and her pals up at UMD. Michele and I agreed to head up there and help unload the Uhaul storage box. We offered to be around to hoof belongings up and down narrow flights of stairs in hundred year old, traditional Duluth hillside housing. It was a fun day hanging out with the girls and hearing the joy of another year of college in the rearview mirror along with the excitement of summer ahead and their Junior year on the horizon.

A little hiccup down at the the storage yard threw us a curveball. While Mia may have taken it the hardest, it was a miscommunication that was no one's fault and we took it with a grain of salt and tried to turn it into a positive. After a nice evening walk along the lake, we got another meal at Texas Roadhouse. Michele and I decided to extend our trip in to an unanticipated overnight. A reservation at a shady hotel on the north side of town and a quick trip to Target and Kohl's got us each a new tooth brush and some fresh clothes to wear for day two. 

When we rustled the ladies from their slumber at the crack of 11:00 a.m., they were all a little weary eyed but wanted to tell us about an epic start to their summer. They reconnected with some friends in town for their own move in and let the libations flow. One cerveza turned into a few while the good times rolled and before you know it, someone hatched an idea to head to Park Point to enjoy a Lake Superior sunrise.

As luck would have it, a professional landscape photographer out of Alaska had a similar plan to take in a sunrise over the still waters of Gitchigami. Their paths intersected to create this perfect end to one chapter and the beginning of the next. Thank you to Damon Stuebner - your keen eye captured a beautiful moment in time that the girls would describe as "heavenly". They did not use the same language to describe their hangovers for move in day two.

As an aside, that weekend I took a major leap forward in my voyage as a father. While others came underprepared for any possible move in day obstacles, I was the only father equipped with a Handyman's Bag of whatnots. When Ella's Dad needed help assembling her shelving, twas I that produced an Allen Key. When Nicole's Dad scoured for a Phillips screw driver, I leant him one.

A tape measure you ask? - "Of course fella's. Grab one from my tool bag." A hacksaw? "In there somewhere." A piece of 550 chord or a zip tie...whatever the need was, it seemed like a little preparedness on my part provided the answer. I know Michele and Emma maybe didn't vocalize it but I'm sure they were proud. 

A window mounted air conditioner proved to be an afternoon project but a welcomed distraction for me while Michele and the rest of girls turned to unpacking and decorating. One final step in securing up the window unit couldn't be fixed in my grab bag of goodies so off I went on a little adventure. Down the hill a couple of blocks and then west on Superior Street another few, I tracked down a piece of window insulating foam that would be just perfect to seal the deal in our daughter's attic bedroom. When I returned, I passed the ladies lounging and taking a break on the L shaped living room couch, I tossed Emma a Blue Powerade to ward off the aftereffects of her sunrise hangover and said to the crowd, "There's a real nice little hardware store just down the way on Superior Street. Burgraff's Ace Hardware. I think you guys would like it."

Man, I'm getting OLD!

The only way I catch sunrises is on the front end - but back in my day....

Via con Dios, mijo.

 We take them all. 

Through the doors of public schools everywhere enter kids of every ability level, income bracket, mental health state, nationality, and willingness to learn. We take them all. Students come to us as delicate little sponges ready to soak up the world. Some have had three squares a day and a safe place to rest their head at night. Others, not so much. Transient families are doing their best to survive and I'm supposed to teach their child multiplication of fractions and creating engaging introductory paragraphs. 

Public school is the land of opportunity. Although not always without adversity and obstacles, I believe that anyone can receive a quality education that prepares them for life into adulthood if they are willing to show up and participate. The disparaging differences between the have's and have not's is disgusting but real. Yet in spite of that, I do still teach because I feel called to try to make a child's day brighter by caring enough about every one of them to expect their best every day that we're together. For some, they've come from wonderful families that have laid foundations that support learning and make my job easy. For others, they've overcome unbearable circumstances to rise above and start pathways to a beautiful life ahead. 

We take them all.

And we love them while we have them.

The principal showed up at my door in the midst of a math lesson and asked me to the hallway. There she gave me the immediate news. It felt like a gut punch. I didn't have time to ask many questions as his family was waiting in the office. We called Eduardo to the hall. In Spanish I asked him if he knew why his mother was here. He looked down to the floor and I reached out for a hug. He sadly wrapped his arms around me and tears started to fall.

Eduardo was abruptly picked up from school at 2:00 on a Friday. His parents pulled him from school before the end of the school day and in an instant - they were off to Cincinnati. 

Seriously - Ohio. 

As quickly as they had blown into town, they were off again. I honestly didn't expect Eduardo to be here for 5th grade but I was optimistic that he'd finish out the school year with us. He had become such a welcomed addition to our classroom and was really making meaningful connections with his classmates. That was apparent when I asked 4 boys to help us pack up his belongings while the principal took the others outside. It made for a more personal goodbye between classmates and friends that had established a bond in spite of a language barrier. 

One of the bigger challenges of my 20 year career had been a smashing success. So much more is learned at school outside of textbooks and curriculum.

Vamonos vaquero!

 When PIXAR released the hard-hitting, 3rd instalment of the Toy Story series, I figured we were in for another wonderful ride of emotions as Woody and the Roundup gang grew older. Little did I know that this would turn into a complete tear-jerker. The entire Kirby Krew was quite literally at the edge of our seats as Lotso Huggin' Bear played the heel to our aging toy heroes. With tears welling in our eyes, we watched as the blazing inferno of rubbish beckoned the final demise of the entire cast of lovable characters. Watching the incinerator scene on the big screen felt like potential child abuse. The year was 2010. Emma was 5. Logan was 3. Lucky for us and the rest of the Free World, the Aliens and their deft Claw-work plucked the Toys out at just the right moment. 

As traumatizing as this whole experience could have been, it's not what I remember most about Toy Story 3. What could be better or worse than the fiery on screen climax of an American Classic, you ask?

Buzz Lightyear has a Spanish Mode! 

Not only does Buzz protect the galaxy from the threat of invasion but he is multi-lingual. In TS3, that evil villain, Lots O' Huggin' Bear, has Buzz switched back to his factory settings, causing all kinds of havoc in the Sunnyside Daycare facility in which the rest of the toys had been tossed into purgatory. Woody and his pals are able to restrain the evil Buzz but accidentally re-set him to Spanish Mode when T-Rex inadvertently leaves a button depressed for too long. The result is Comic Gold.

Oro.

El Buzzo was a major hit. Jesse and the ladies loved his Spanish flair - Ricky Martin in a spacesuit. I laughed my butt off - not because I had any flair but like my favorite space crusader - I too have a SPANISH MODE! 

Si, es verdad. Este gringo hablan Español mas de un poquito.

(Yes, it's true. This white boy speaks more than a little bit of Spanish)

Some may see this Spanish Mode of mine as inexplicable. I understand that seeing a barrel chested guy with an orange beard speak in an otherwise foreign language is not something you see everyday. It's actually quite understandable how it all happened. 

I was born in Aurora, Illinois about 45 minutes southwest of the Windy City. Although I attended portions of grade school in both Minnesota and Illinois, the majority of my sentence was served at Bardwell Elementary in East Aurora. Let's just say that there's a little more ethnic diversity in the suburbs of Chicago than there is in the Northwoods of Minnesota. At any rate, I do remember at some point my grandfather advised me to learn Spanish. I don't know if his motive was cautionary or forward thinking but I doubt that he could ever envision me needing Español in white-bread, middle, Minnesota.

Because of Big Paul's foresight and Senora Reynold's exciting junior high classroom, my journey on Spanish language acquisition began in 7th grade. I actually ended up taking 4 years of Spanish class in Illinois before moving to Minnesota to finish high school. There I was begged to do independent study with Senorita Tureen because she had never seen a student at the Canadian border with as much training as I came with. I couldn't run away from that request fast enough. But my Spanish language journey continued a few years later at Marine Bootcamp San Diego when a pile of Latin American recruits used Spanglish as their secretive way to communicate as the 1993 "Code Talkers" of Platoon 1042. On the peripheral, I picked up on their conversations and when I eventually let on that Yo Hablo , I immediately had a new Band of Brothers. The light brown Marine recruits immediately accepted the pale skinned Vato and together we finished recruit training. Stationed in southern California with easy access to Tijuana proved to me that taking Grandpa Paul's advice was worth it. For the next 4 years, the Marine Corps melting pot may have been where my second language stuck because I used it periodically, albeit it, most times to order a drink, ask directions, barter a trade or beg a senorita to dance. 

Post USMC, my next opportunity to practice the Latin language of love came when mi nueva esposa took me to Cozumel on our Honeymoon. In 21 years of marriage, we've traveled together to Mexico just 2 more times but each time I've revelled in the chance to be a middling translator for mi hermosa esposa.

Over the years, I've interjected occasional Spanish words here and there in the classroom only to spark interest or illicit a smile from the fairly pastel students I teach. A few times I've been called to the office to help translate for a sick little one that needs to go home but her parents don't speak English nor do any of the office staff speak Spanish. One time I was called on to translate a summer school release form for a family struggling to assimilate. Mostly my Spanish has become a diminishing skill. That is until this year.

In the middle of December, Rush City became home to a new family that came to us straight from Mexico. The success of a local eatery called Fiesta Cancun has been a welcome addition to our sleepy little farm town. Their need for additional help has been answered by friends and family from the south looking to start their own American Dream. For this particular family, steady income and a new start in the land of opportunity came with a major language barrier. Neither Mom nor Dad spoke English and they brought with them their youngest child, Eduardo, who also No Habla.

Therein lied the challenge. Rush City Schools is attractive because of its small town charm in spite of  its relative lack of racial diversity. Unfortunately, we do not have regular English Language Learners course offerings nor do we have the supports necessary to provide an adequate education for non-English speaking students. However, we can be a very welcoming community and as a staff here we are generally supportive of professional challenges. When our Principal approached me as our best and only option for Eduardo, I accepted. 

Porque Pablito es el unico maestro de Rush City que habla Espanol. 

(Because, Little Paul is the only teacher in Rush City that speaks Spanish.)

With the help of some great colleagues and a "can-do" attitude we've made this family's transition to central Minnesota a little less stressful. Just this week I met Eduardo's parents at conferences and with the help of a professional translator, we've all agreed that he's come so far and learned so much in just 2 and a half short months. He works hard. His classmates are learning just as quickly as he is. We've all learned about perseverance, adversity, positivity and empathy...all great lessons sometimes overlooked in the fast paced world of Standardized Testing and Learning Objectives. I am proud of the work that we've done.

I am proud of my Spanish Mode - porque todo va bien. (because everything is good.)

SPACEBALLS - the lunch box!

 In one of my all time favorites, Mel Brooks' character Yogurt invites the heroes into his pop up store and exclaims, "Merchandising! Merchandising! Merchandising!" From that moment forward I've wanted a Spaceballs Lunchbox but word on the street is that George Lucas allowed the spoof of his Star Wars series under a few conditions. One of those conditions was that he forbid the production and sale of any figures, characters and other whatnot. That meant - No Merch.

About the time I hit the Northwest Arctic in 2015, a new fad in education was sweeping the nation. Every school from Greenbow, Alabama to Selawik Alaska was "Branding". District leadership across the country must have all attended the same lecture or read the same research that said the way to create interest in education was to adopt a Slogan or to have a Catch Phrase. Schools couldn't get their own acronym fast enough. It wasn't enough to rep your school colors anymore. Logos and Mascots were part of this re-branding. Mugs. T-shirts. Backpacks and about anything you could think of publicized the Brand  and somewhere at the heart of it was another source of income and revenue from unnecessary merch.

When the Selawik Wolves became Selawik STRONG - the Tigers of Rush City were just discovering their ROAR. Right alongside shiny new bumper stickers and fancy scoreboards emblazoned with the Brand, public education decided that it was time to have MISSION STATEMENTS. From my understanding, a mission statement was commonplace in the private sector. Driving the company towards profitability with a single declaration of purpose seemed at place in the dog eat dog world of capitalism. When Mission Statements popped up in education, I felt the same way that I did with the onslaught of merchandising and branding. All seemed unnecessary. 

Isn't the motivation for education implied?

I watched as money was spent on signage and slogans that didn't effectively change to ART of teaching. It seemed wasteful but I toed the company line. When the athletic department followed suit, I created my own purpose statement as to why I was a Transformational Coach rather than a transactional one. 

"I coach to encourage honor, respect, integrity and giving for all of our student athletes." - put it on a Tshirt, Mel Brooks.

Stick with me here....Merchandising, Branding, Selling a Product, Mission and Purpose Statements - all point back to one simple question in my mind. 

WHY?

Why do this? Like I said before, I thought the purpose of education could be implied without some great pronouncement.

But.....

Why do I BLOG?    (a Ha!)

What is my purpose statement for this here Kirby Krew? Do we need a re-branding? Are we the Brand?

When my all knowing wife kicked off this little page I think it was our intention to keep family posted on the happenings of our growing household. We had kin spread out from the north border to the hills of Tennessee. Heck, the snowbirds were spending more and more time in Florida and the blog was a way to share a look into our lives. 

It took a hold and grew. More pictures and more stories were added. It became a digital journal and a way for Michele and I to chronicle to stories of raising a family together. It was and is the precursor to our own little Facebook Memories.

In time, it became a creative outlet for me to tap away on the keyboard and throw a few thoughts down. I found it very therapeutic to write about the few things that run through my pea brain. Our audience grew a bit when I took off for the Arctic. As time pressed on as it always does - I wondered WHY I still Blog?

And then...

Emma will chime in somewhere that she got caught in the rabbit hole of clicking through old stories. When my daughter sends me a random text, laughing about re-reading a story that she's read and heard a hundred times it fuels me. It reminds us why we did this....

Our Kirby Krew Mission Statement:

"I Blog (v) to chronicle and categorize the life and times of our wonderful family. To put digital pen to paper so that one day we can look back and smile at all the fun we had."

Kirby Krew - "the Flamethrower!"

Merchandising. Merchandising! .... sell the Brand.

Turns out Mel Brooks made the movie because he wanted to make a movie - not sell stuff. I write on the blog because I want to write - although I am very proud of our Brand, I aint selling ya anything. 

nd 

My Next Duty Station.

 Our school district has not yet settled our contracts for the 2023-2025 school years. That means we've been teaching on an expired contract. Negotiations have not been going well. Teachers have been attending school board meetings in hoards. I have not. Some teacher leaders have been asked to provide impact statements and speak at said meetings. A couple of weeks ago I was asked....I wrote this but then politely declined the offer to present. I am one of a few that are not members of the Teachers Union. Here is my Two Cents.

As a United States Marine, I know all about commitment; devotion to duty; loyalty; attention to detail and fidelity. I am proud of my service. Those years shaped the man I am today.

After a quick run through college, I took my next Duty Station at Jacobson Elementary School teaching 6^th grade. The year was 2001. In my second week of teaching public school those planes flew into those buildings. As horrific of a tragedy as it was, the days, weeks and months that followed showed a promise of a brighter tomorrow. Nationalism oozed from every corner of society. People joined hands with strangers. Collectively we supported our nations heroes – the firefighters, police officers, first responders and military members that selflessly stood in harms way so that our great country could send a message to the world that faith, hope, and love conquers all. Out of tragedy came a renewed sense of pride, togetherness, and energy that we hoped would never fade.

It did.

In March 2020, COVID-19 thrust the World into crisis. I was still stationed at Jacobson Elementary, then as now, teaching 4^th grade. Fear of a generational pandemic threw the entire population into reactionary mode. Worldwide shutdowns, social distancing, and the immunization debate caused panic and alarm. Policy makers and politicians coined the term “frontline workers” and defined what was necessary versus what was not mission essential. Health care workers, food processing and grocery employees and believe it or not, teachers were deemed necessary for the survival of our culture. We navigated uncharted territory with a survivalist’s can-do attitude.

In that moment, people of our great nation hunkered down and fought back against a disease and a fear of the unknown while the World as we knew it changed in an instant. In the face of danger, nurses and doctors worked tirelessly as their Hippocratic Oath tested their personal and professional obligations. Through supply shortages and disruptions to the food chain, society learned ways to adapt for the greater good. Public Education was no different from anyone else as we learned how to fly the plane after it was already in the air. Our commitment to children and families never wavered in those trying times.

In the weeks and months post-COVID, there was a renewed optimism as humanity showed appreciation to frontline workers that they deservedly earned. Words of affirmation and social media posts expressed gratitude and support for people whose vocation led them to a life of impact. The public showed a newfound respect for just how difficult it is to be an educator, a job that their children’s teachers have been devoted to in sickness and in health - through the good times and the bad. It truly felt that teachers would finally get the recognition and support that we’ve been owed for some time. Out of crisis came a renewed sense of pride, togetherness, and energy that we hoped would never fade.

It has.

Where has the admiration, praise, and support for education gone? Federal, state and even local campaigns have been run under the guise of Support for Public Education. Unprecedented amounts of funding have been earmarked for education, yet here we stand, bickering over unsettled contracts and as the kids would say, “throwing shade” at each other. To pretend that this doesn’t have an impact on students is unfair. Teachers everywhere are at their wits end. We’re fighting for fair pay and pension reform all the while being held hostage by a career and a conscience that always puts kids first. Shame on me for thinking that things were getting better. My career is not a donation.

Who Dis?

 There was a time in the early to mid stages of this here Blog that we were a part of a little cult of creative writers. We gobbled up each others' essays like Food for the Soul and waited faithfully for each new entry. We "paid" each other with poignant feedback in the comment section. It was a Happy Time on the internet, before the Social Media frenzy took a stranglehold of the universe. 

 Ms. Jennine was the Sarah Connors-esque, HALO Queen that wielded a mighty pen like an upgrade to her weapons system. She wrote about family life and sports and sporadic ongoings in the World with a self deprecating style that I could relate to. 

And there was Chubbs too, my Canadian brother from a different mother. His affinity for the beautiful game of Stick and Puck combined with his love of Las Vegas makes me suspect that we may have been separated at birth. He wrote about family life and sports and sporadic ongoings in the World with a self deprecating style that I could relate to. 

While some collections lay dormant like Mauna Kea on the Big Island, others clung to life support while occasionally kicking out a story of only the milestone moments. And sadly, some Blogs faded into the historical interwebs like the careless dinosaurs that proceeded them. 

Somehow we lost touch with our digital friends.

Somehow life happens. Things never stay the same. Obligations pull us in different directions. Responsibilities sometimes suffocate adults from the things that bring them joy. Commitments change, often without consent of the governed. Personal priorities evolve while the big rock that we're stuck on just keeps spinning the days, months and years away. 

At times I laid awake at night wondering if they were laying awake at night wondering about what I was going to write next. Because I did. I wondered when I would get to read their stuff again, if ever. 

*********

The Blog Rate herein balances precariously under one per month. Some days I swear that I'll recommit to the keyboard because it oddly still recharges my batteries after all these years. More so than TikTok anyway. 

Just over a week ago an old friend clicked by here and once again, left a digital footprint in the comment section. It has probably been eight or so years since I've heard from my favorite French Canadien, with whom I've never actually shared a handshake or a Kokanee. 

CHUBBS - good to "see" you, my brother! I hope all is well north of the international border. Welcome again and know that I do occasionally click around on the "Family Man Musings" and wonder if there is some "Top Shelf Talk" that I'm missing somewhere. I am thankful for our digital connection from days gone by and sincerely hope that your family is healthy and happy. If you're still writing somewhere and sharing on the Interwebs - hook me up. Maybe someday we can have that handshake and a Kokanee - although I prefer bourbon.

HALO Queen - if ever you swing by this here Blog, Michele and I would love to catch up over a frilly coffee somewhere. I'm buying! You know where we live - same old house...the kitchen isn't yellow anymore though!