A look back and a dream ahead...

Periodically Michele will re-send me an email string from last year. We don't do it often, but it's sometimes fun to look back at what was important to us then as compared to what's important to us now.

Being physically apart for 10 months (minus 10 days) really brought us closer. I know it sounds cliche but absence can and does make the heart grow fonder. I couldn't be happier than I am today.

And proud too.

I'm proud to have been married to Michele for 14 years. Today is our anniversary and we will be together. Not until after an honest day's work. And not until after we get the kids off to hockey practice and tended to by some helpful friends.

But we will be together.

Tonight we've decided to hold back on the expensive steakhouse and instead be reasonable and responsible. We'll still enjoy each other's company whether we end up at White Castle or the Casino Buffet. No worries though, we've been a little wild and crazy - maybe a little less reasonable and less responsible. We've cut loose and had some really good times since I rejoined the Krew back home in the Lower 48.

I am just so happy now. Thought I was happy then.

I love you, Five.
Happy 14th Anniversary.

“Sure as God made green apples...”

My wife has said that I am “faithful to a fault”. She has seen me scorned by so-called friends that I used to let in to an Inner-Circle that had gotten much too big. Seen me burned by girlfriends of the distant past. Michele lovingly compares me to our dog, Raider - an attention seeking hound that will, without fail, always come running to your side when you need him the most.

I am loyal.

My best friend can see it when I fish. I am diligent and persistent. It's not Blind Faith though, more like the Little Engine that Could – “I think I can. I think I can.”

Out of high school, I joined the United States Marine Corps, an organization who's Latin motto is Semper Fidelis - “Always Faithful”. These words are more than just some catchy phrase to have tattooed on your arm. It's a belief. No matter the clime or place, you can count on your Marine brothers. This is who we are. To this day, I'm the guy that other dude's should call if it ever goes to a back alley brawl. Marine or not, if I've ever called you a friend, I'll be there for you.

It's not a fault. It's actually a positive character trait and a learned behavior.

This “learned behavior” of believing and trusting and loving so unconditionally has been woven in to the make-up of our family for generations. The Fox Family can thank Ellen for that. Great-Grandma Fox was the matriarch of our clan. To say she was the glue that held us all together might not do her justice. Grandma Fox made every one of us feel like we were her favorite. First generation, second generation, it didn't matter...each cousin, aunt or uncle has a story of their own, very close, personal, connection to the Greatest CUBS fan any of us have ever known.

Ellen Fox lived life well. She enjoyed good martinis and fishing walleyes on Lake of the Woods - never at the same time. She loved to play just about every card game she ever tried and would whip even the youngest of adversaries. No mercy – she loved to win. Grandma Fox was the all-time SkipBo champion amongst us. Our family still plays and it's always in her honor.

My grandmother was a classy lady. I'm not sure I ever saw her without perfectly coifed hair. She wore fabulous jewelry and always seemed dressed to the nines for every occasion. Even when chasing walleyes, she'd wear slacks, a nice sweater, a perfectly matching visor to deflect the suns rays off of our favorite lake, always deferring to me to bait her hook.

Oh Grandma was as opinionated as they come. I remember her once saying, “I have the two dumbest grandsons in the world.” Why, you ask? Well, Stutzman was married in the Virgin Islands in June and yours truly was married in Minnesota in December and there she was at both ceremonies, loving each of us meatheads as if we were her favorite.

Leading by example, Grandma Fox taught us about commitment and love. Throughout my childhood, with a CUBS game on the TV, I fondly recall sitting with Grandma on the davenport. Her love for the Chicago Cubs was only surpassed by her love for her family. Family photos are scattered across generations with Grandma proudly flanked by scores of grandchildren decorated in all manners of Cubs apparel. It wasn't until last night that I finally put it all together. Through her love of baseball and family, Grandma Fox passed on great lessons in faithfulness and devotion.

WGN was one of the first cable channels to reach the masses. “The Bozo Show” filled every home, as did Bob Barker and the “Price is Right”. With WGN and Harry Caray calling the play, our beloved Cubbies racked up fans from Coast to Coast. As American as apple pie, it became common place for the casual sports fan to identify with the Cubs unpromising outcomes. Year by year it would have been easy to jump ship and root for their cross-town rivals, the White Sox. With Grandma Fox and the rest of us Cubs faithful, that was never an option.

For us “diehards”, steadfast loyalty is engrained in who we are.

Last night, Game #7 of the 2016 World Series was more than a baseball game between two hapless teams. As Cubs fans, it was the culmination of multiple lifetimes of the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Unfortunately, over time, the Loveable Losers have provided us with much more of the latter.

In ten, long, innings this instant Fall Classic changed that forever.

Baseball is the fabric that binds us.

Although hundreds and in some cases, thousands of miles separate us, Facebook connected my family on the night of Wednesday, November 2^nd, 2016. Status updates from loved ones flashed across the screen of my computer while the game played out on TV in front of me. My own wife and children had long gone to bed but those of us once clad in Cubbie blue by our Grandmother held to the belief that this would be the night we've all waited for.

In route to an 8-7 extra-innings win, the Chicago Cubs took us along our expected roller coaster of emotions. Thanks to a leadoff home-run, the good guys jumped out to an early lead and relieved some pressure from the get go. To their credit, the Cleveland Indians fought their way back from an 8^th inning 6-3 deficit. With one out left in the bottom of that inning, the game was tied by a home-run for the bad guys. Not an honest Cubs fan on the planet could look him or herself in the mirror and say that they were not thinking that it was happening all over again. That something we had wanted for so long was slowly slipping away from us. Conditioned by years of allegiance, we knew it wasn't going to be easy. But the bullpen held, the defense was solid and although it was late in to the night, a 17 minute rain delay felt like a God send.

Across Chicago-land and across America, present day Cubs faithful must have felt that Heaven's cheering section was leaning heavily in favor of this championship drought coming to an end. Grandma and Grandpa Fox, along side Ron Santo, Ernie Banks and Harry Caray, were our “Angels in the Outfield”.

Our Cubbies came out re-focused to start the 10^th.

With runners on, the Cubs pulled ahead on a double to left field by the series MVP. One run scored and another followed on the next base hit. Shortly after, two pitchers split duties in the bottom half of the inning and the rest, as they say, is history.

108 years of it.

Nearing midnight and with my dogs looking at me as if I'd lost my mind, I fell to my knees in front of a TV showing a bunch of grown men jumping and celebrating like school boys. Tears leaked from my eyes and I could think of only one person.

I love you, Grandma Fox. This one's for you.

“And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces.” - James Earl Jones in “Field of Dreams”

“All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.

Great is Thy faithfulness – Lord unto me”

Not every piece is a Picasso...

There has been times that I've shied away from posting here in the blogosphere. Shied away because I felt like if I didn't have it in me to compose a "Masterpiece" that I would be better off to leave things unsaid.

I don't always have something wonderful, life-changing, worldly or even vaguely interesting to share. Maybe I'm not all that exciting after all. Besides, I don't particularly care for those folks that weigh in on everything these days. If you've spent more than ten minutes trolling any social media lately, no doubt than you've been schooled int he ways of the world. You should have no question as to where your friends stand on: the Election, the National Anthem, Rioting and Race Relations, the World Series, the Ryder Cup, School Lunches, the civil war in Syria, and a Moose on an afternoon walk in Duluth.

I, for one, don't claim to have all the answers. Nor do I believe that anyone, let alone everyone, would care to know my stance on any of these pressing issues.

So time passes.

And I write a little less often and live a little more away from the keyboard.

That's probably a good thing.

Life is good. My children's birthdays have come and gone. My job is still sending me a paycheck that I must still be earning. Hockey season is kicking around in the starting gates and about to explode at zero to sixty. I've seen a couple of good flicks at the cinema recently but even cooler than that, the girl that I've been dating is as gorgeous as ever.

Nothing profound to flow from my fingertips this time, friends...

Make America Great Again

It won't always be like this....
Two quasi-political posts in a row. I swear, the last blog post was a week in the making. It went through a couple of revisions and I had to do some studying and self thought to get that bad boy to "print". Not usually my style to talk politics and religion all the time. Totally not my agenda.

But I have to share.

The next two little stories happened AFTER I clicked submit on Carter's "Crisis of Confidence".
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The 7th grade girls volleyball team that Emma plays on has been practicing together since before school even started. Yesterday, they finally got to take the court in their first interscholastic competition. We traveled to play on the home court of the Jaguars of Hinckley-Finlayson at the Community Center. When the final point was scored, our Lady Tigers were victorious by a 4-1 margin. But that's not what I was most proud of.

Later in the evening while replaying the day's events with our children, Emma was giving us a game re-cap from her perspective. You could feel her sense of pride in the body of work that she and her teammates where finally able to put on display. And when it came time to discuss the "special needs" girl on her team, Emma was even more enthusiastic.

"Even Amanda played great. She was where she was supposed to be. She served really well. Even when something didn't go so well for her and she started to get mad and you could see one of her fits coming on, she would look to us and all we had to do was give her two thumbs up and smile at her. Tell her she was doing fine and she smiled back."

Game #1 and the girls already have learned the importance of each and every teammate.

On to the Bear.

Being in 4th grade comes with great opportunity.

More homework but more playground freedoms. Tougher subjects but more extracurricular possibilities. One of those extracurriculars is Student Council. Yesterday we held our class election to determine our two representatives for the Jacobson Elementary Student Council. Mr. Logan is our male representative while his buddy, Autumn, is the female rep.

Not that I am looking forward to a long life of being the father of a politician, I am proud that he was elected democratically by his peers. No hanging chads. No pumping the ballot. No campaign strategy. Logan and Autumn were picked because of who they are and the description that I gave to the class of a good choice prior to the vote.

"A good student council representative is a: *Good Listener, *Good Student, *Good Friend, *Hard Worker, *Responsible, Respectful and Energetic, etc. etc..."
You know the drill.

After school was dismissed and his classmates were off to the bus, I put my arm around my long haired little compadre and told him that I was proud of him for being chosen by his classmates. Being Dad and Teacher, I had no influence on the election results but I did count the ballots. On my honor, the results were straight and true. What I wanted to know though was why he didn't vote himself.

"Because Dad. I had a pretty good idea I was going to win and I didn't want my buddy, Vinnie,
 to feel bad. So I made sure he had a couple of votes."

Don't worry Mr. Trump. Your campaign slogan of "Make America Great Again" doesn't start on a TV commercial or an ugly white hat. It doesn't start in Washington D.C. or on the desk of any politician. Like President Carter said 37 years ago...it starts at HOME. It starts with FAMILY. And Michele and I are very proud of ours.

"We've got to stop crying and start sweating, stop talking and start walking, stop cursing and start praying. The strength we need will not come from the White House, but from every house in America."- Jimmy Carter - "Crisis of Confidence"  - 1979

Crisis of Confidence

In the summer of 1979, a day after I turned 4 years old, President Jimmy Carter delivered his "Crisis of Confidence" speech. Later known as the "Malaise Speech", President Carter tried to open up to Americans and let them know that he felt their pain, that he was right there with him. Times had been tough and President Carter was imploring his people to pull themselves up from the bootstraps and face the challenges ahead - "to stop crying and start sweating, stop talking and start walking, stop cursing and start praying".

I would imagine that the Commander in Chief's message was lost on a 4 year old probably more interested in filling Lake of the Woods with rocks than worrying about the State of the Union. 

Fast forward some 37 years and once again, our nation is in turmoil. Across the Dakotas, proposed gas lines are being protested. Our Presidency is up for grabs between two septuagenarians (70 somethings) that, regardless of physical capabilities, may not be fit for service as the new POTUS for other glaring reasons. The polarization of the political parties has gotten ugly and frankly, is scary and just not any fun to witness. The posturing of Professional Football players during our Nation's Anthem has unified some while angering others. And police officers are being targeted as the bad guys. Really? 

Most personal feelings that people used to keep in their inner circles are now shamelessly paraded on Facebook. Social Media has provided a platform for the most aggressive public display of opinions that I can ever imagine there being.  

Minimum wage has skyrocketed and the "Great Recession" is now spoken of in the past tense. Yet, generations are still living with upside down mortgages. Bombing and terror attacks headline news programing. The VA hospital is in shambles and facing a growing Veteran population that deserves better. Health insurance costs have suffocated the working man and a fractured gas line threatens the cost of fuel in the southeast.

The list of downers is agonizing.

Public Education has become the whipping boy of society. Standardized Testing and the blood thirst for data has driven policy makers to the point of over-analyzing, over-critisizing and over-mandating curriculum and the professionals that deliver it. In year 16 of my career as a teacher, I'm left walking on pins and needles, sometimes second guessing myself more now than I did while I was still green behind the ears. Don't get me wrong, I still think that I am an above average teacher. I'm still in this gig for the same reasons I signed up for those first university education classes twenty years ago. I'm good with kids and I think I can make a difference by doing things the old fashioned way. - Have some fun while holding kids accountable, loving them to the best of my ability along the way. 

But it's hard. The kids in our classes deserve better. My colleagues and I deserve better.  Our local school is grossly underfunded and the disparity is downright unfair. There are a lot of emotions tied to the Levy vote in eight short weeks. 

Teaching contracts are typically renegotiated every two years. The local board agreed to a two percent pay increase for Rush City teachers. I earned a year on the "Step" side of the pay scale for completing another year of service but I was more proud to have earned a "Lane". While teaching in Alaska I earned ten college credits through the University of Alaska  - both Fairbanks and Anchorage. I anxiously awaited the superintendent's stamp of approval. I was hopeful to receive a significant pay increase as a result of the continuing education. The credits were quickly approved. Michele and I were eager to see how much the small "promotion" would show on my first paycheck back in the district. 

Twenty-three dollars....correction. 

Negative twenty-three dollars.

With a two percent negotiated contract raise, a year of service and ten credits from an institution of higher learning, I make twenty-three dollars less than what I made the last time I received a teaching check from this district. I got older and I got better yet my pay went down.

What gives?

The rising cost of Health Insurance is the main culprit. Despite doing everything within my power to better my station in life, my take home pay has gone down due to a six percent increase in the cost of health insurance coverage for my family. For one moment I was so proud and exited for the future possibilities. How quickly that changed when the reality was so much different from what I anticipated. 

With Kivalina always on my mind, I knew there would be no room for complaining. In 1979, Jimmy Carter must have felt the same. 

"We've always had a faith that the days of our children would be better than our own...."

"In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities, and our faith in God, too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. Human identity is no longer defined by what one does, but by what one owns. But we've discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning. We've learned that piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose.

The symptoms of this crisis of the American spirit are all around us. For the first time in the history of our country a majority of our people believe that the next five years will be worse than the past five years..."

Life is good. What's 23 bucks when I have everything I ever really wanted?

"We've got to stop crying and start sweating, stop talking and start walking, stop cursing and start praying. The strength we need will not come from the White House, but from every house in America."

Yep, Johnny. Just like that.

Yesterday marked the 15th year since those planes crashed in to those buildings. I have replayed the events of that Tuesday morning over and over again with each new school year. Each new group of kids that has stepped in to my classroom has had to sit through a pretty intense Social Studies lesson within our first week or two of meeting each other.

Time hasn't taken away the chills for those of us that vowed to "Never Forget". Personally, I decided that my best way to cope was to make the school day closest to 9-11 a teaching moment through my own personal account of "teaching a class full of innocent children". That day that forever changed how many people see the world was the second week of my first ever teaching gig.
I was the new guy in town.

And the rest, as they say, is History.

That's actually become part of my lesson. I tell the kids that sometimes it's best to put the books away and experience life through others. Become a traveler by listening to a traveler. Learn about a different time by visiting with an elder. See the world through another set of eyes. Each year, we put down the books and I just tell it like it was those 15 years ago.

I've got a couple of visual aids. I pull down maps just like I did when the live images were still pasted on the classroom TV. I pass around the Star Tribune from September 12th. Sometimes I get a little animated. I might scream a little or laugh a lot and occasionally a tear sneaks down my cheek. Hell, who am I kidding? Regularly, tears sneak out.

The first anniversary was difficult. Each successive year after has never been any easier. And it wasn't long until I had kids in my class that were too young to remember where they were when the world stopped turning. Eventually enough time passed and I found myself teaching about that terrible day that happened long before any of my listeners were even born. But in this year's lesson I've reached a major milestone. I knew it might some day come.

This year I have a kid of a kid.

This year there's a young man that is an important part of this 4th grade roster. And just 15 short years ago, his mother was one of those innocent 6th grade children looking to me for some kind of answers or direction in a world that was immediately turned upside down by evil.

And I can still tell the story just like it was yesterday.

In a part of my recollections I try to relate to the kids how scared we were - how we were being pasted with these haunting live images of terrible destruction. I taught them about Governor Ventura telling us to keep the kids at school and do our business the best we could but by the end of the evening all any of us wanted to do was see something from our normal, something from our usual way of life. I let this year's 4th graders know about my now 19 year old son, then only 4, just wanting to watch some SpongeBob but how every channel on every TV carried these haunting images of something we couldn't run away from.....

And then....

Little Johnny raised his hand and asked,

"Like when PRINCE died?"

Yep, Johnny. Just like that.

I put my hands on his cute chubby cheeks and told him I was so happy that he was in my class this year and maybe a little tear snuck out.

Hell, who am I kidding?

Dry Feet.

It's 8:30 am on the middle Monday of August and my feet are dry.

Today is the official start to the Minnesota State High School League's Fall sports seasons. Brand new Volleyball shoes are making their first squeaks of the year on freshly waxed gym floors all over the state. Cross Country runners have come together to log their miles, once again, running in packs. On dew covered practice fields from Warroad to Winona, Football players are knocking out calisthenics and hammering out warm ups

That's the “feel” that's missing. From here on out, the dew covered grass of Bill West Field will not be soaking my tennis shoes to start the days. Minus last season's escapade to the Arctic, I have stepped in to the wet grass of every new football season since the fall of 2002. That's a lot of push ups. That's a lot of whistle blasts. That's a lot of excitement, anticipation, hype and hoopla that is no longer a part of my life.

At this point I still feel a void. Being honest - I'm right here and the kids that I have coached and the guys I coached with aren't seeking me out. We're all replaceable. I've certainly learned that. I know I wasn't make world changing decisions with life long implications in the football universe but I'd like to think that over a dozen plus years, I honed a skill. A skill for holding kids accountable and teaching them about hard work, dedication to something greater than themselves, commitment and trust. I was a good coach.

I AM a good coach. I'm just not a football coach in SmallTown, Minnesota anymore. Half of an overbearing, un-informed school board took that away from me and it's going to take a while for that to soak in. Living in Alaska helped re-focus my mind on to something more productive last year. But this year I'm just right down the road, counting pennies at the Pool.

I'm excited to see what the Good Lord has in store for me this Fall. I know my new routine includes watching my son and daughter compete in their respective sports. I hope my new, “football-less” schedule frees up some time for Fall family travel and an occasional hunting or fishing outing. I'm looking forward to actually having a family meal at the kitchen table this Fall. Heck, I'll even be available to cook it!

One thing is for sure, by no longer coaching, my summer has been extended by a couple of weeks and I am ready to take full advantage of that. A week from today, I'll be planting my feet in the Gulf of Mexico. We're staring down the barrel of a week long vacation with the kids at Sandos Playacar, south of Cancun. Soon, it won't be the morning dew soaking the feet of this old football coach. It'll be the Ocean... I can't wait.

Vamanos a Mexico.