The ISJ and Me

I celebrated my birthday last week on the Winter Solstice. When I learned that it’s the shortest day of the year and excitedly told my mom such, she replied “Well, in 1972 it was the longest day in history!”  Despite a long and miserable labor, she ensured each birthday’s gifts comprised things I wanted or needed or something she wanted me to have. I could count on socks and underwear along with action figures and athletic equipment.

As I got older and it got weirder for her to buy me underwear, she switched up her routine and found a different yearly gift: an annual subscription to the Idaho State Journal. 

 

I had graduated from college, lived in my own house, and could easily afford a subscription, but it wasn’t on my radar. Mom got dreadfully tired of trying to have conversations with me about current events and having to fill me in on the facts first. In those days when the Internet was so young, the Idaho State Journal was our source for news, commentary and keeping a pulse on southeast Idaho. 

My relationship with “the paper” goes back farther than my first subscription. The comics were as much a part of my childhood as Care Bears and Ninja Turtles, and I ruined many an egg of Silly Putty flattening it over the characters to see it lift the print.

In middle school, I won $10 and a Webster’s dictionary when I submitted a question to the Junior Editor’s Quiz asking what a terrapin was. I’d had my box turtle Myrtle for 3-4 years at the time and knew darn well what a terrapin was, but I couldn’t believe how many people didn’t.  That was the first time my picture was in the paper, and I still have a yellowed, tattered copy in a bin of keepsakes in the basement.

How about those turtle pins on the denim jacket? (which had been soaked in Polo cologne)

“Dear Abby” was another favorite. Her well-reasoned advice, along with respectful dissenting opinions from readers and her occasional mea-culpa shaped how I view many issues as well as how I argue or discuss, but it was my tenure as a high school and college athlete that had me most looking forward to the Idaho State Journal. The times I had a volleyball action shot appear in my hometown paper may have been as thrilling as the plays themselves.

The form. The hair. The shorts.  Bam!

A couple years ago, when I became a somewhat regular columnist for the ISJ, I’d never really written before. I don’t keep a journal or a diary, so I got to experience a new-to-me kind of growth and reflection with each piece. On more than one occasion, I sat down with a guiding thought only to have something totally different sprout from the text. I love to experience that self-evolution as I write, and I hold fast to the hope that if I can grow and change with critical thinking and reflection, others can too. 

That hope’s been tested this week as I’ve watched the story of the fired lunch lady go viral.  Where is the critical thinking on the part of the readers? People are responding vehemently—not to the firing of the worker—but rather to the media coverage of the firing and Ms. Bowden's either sheer luck or brilliant mastering of social media to bolster her side of this story.

It has spun so sadly and shockingly out of control and while I credit the ISJ headlines for such sensationalism, come on People. Think.  There’s got to be more to the story. This isn’t a tale of a hungry child; it’s an account of workplace insubordination. By following protocol, the child would have still been fed, Ms. Bowden would have kept her job, and the school wouldn’t be put in a position of risking federal funding.  And I’d bet my bin of keepsakes in the basement, that there’s even more behind this than we know.

My Idaho State Journal renewal notice is currently mixed in with my stack of bills. Although I get disappointed or frustrated with headlines, reporting and commentary, I also see wonderful stories of our community.  I want to see my hometown newspaper sustain, and I want to keep up on local happenings. I realize I’m not always going to agree with what I see, but I can think for myself, and gather as many facts as possible while developing opinions, spreading news, and engaging in constructive discussion. I encourage others and the Idaho State Journal to do the same. Please do the same. 

Other reasons aside, as I tackle that stack of post-Christmas bills and send in my renewal, my main reason for doing so will be memories of birthdays past and recalling that once upon a time the Idaho State Journal was a gift from my mother.

Franklin's Friends at Century High School

My cat Franklin and I experienced mind-bending kindness during Kind Community Week. If Franklin could write his own story, this would be a doozy. Six weeks ago my grumpy, orange tabby went missing. I spent hours walking my dogs and meowing through the streets. Neighbors surrounding Holt Arena went to bed many a night hearing wistful cries. “Franklin! Come here, Little Buddy!” He never came.

The Sunday before the Kind Community Kick-Off, members of the steering committee and I were doing a final walkthrough at the Portneuf Wellness Complex. My cell phone buzzed. The caller lived near me and had seen my “Lost Cat” fliers. His son who attends Century High School mentioned an orange tabby cat showed up a few weeks ago and the night custodian was feeding it.  That couldn’t be Franklin. What would he be doing out at Century? 

Ever hopeful, I sent Century’s Athletic Director a text. Mr. Anderson is still in my phone after coaching volleyball at CHS years ago. 

“I know it’s Sunday and I’m sorry to bug you, but I hear that my cat might be at CHS. Do have the contact info for the night custodian?”  Mr. Anderson replied right away, “Who is this?” I’m sure he was thinking he needed to hit the Verizon store Monday morning because as soon as a crazy cat lady has your number, there’s no telling when your phone will go off.

After sending him a picture, Mr. Anderson confirmed that the Century cat looked like Franklin. Pauline Thiros, Century’s head volleyball coach, was lending us volleyballs for the Kind Community Kick-off, so I called and asked if I could go out with her and look for Franklin. Pauline is not only the 4-time state champion coach of the Diamondbacks, but she’s also the Associate Vice President for Development at Idaho State. She is a busy woman. I’ve known Pauline since we played volleyball in high school, and we played together in college as well. She is a fierce competitor and someone I wouldn’t characterize as “sweet” in a million years, but as the sun was setting, she and her daughter Zoe so sweetly walked the school grounds calling and meowing with me.  No Franklin.

The next morning at 7:55am, the other two Kind Community co-founders and I just finished a radio interview when Mr. Anderson called. “Billie, it’s Steve. Your cat is out here under the bleachers in the main gym.”

I was supposed to pick up my partner’s kids and get them to two different schools. I called a friend whose kids go to school with the younger ones and asked if I could drop them off in her driveway.  Of course she said “yes.”

The other kid is Century student newly with her driving permit. As we sped out South 5^th, I made sure to narrate every traffic law I may or may not have broken or bent.  When we got to Century, a custodian named Phil led me to the gym. Phil! That’s one of my other cat’s names. Maybe it’s a sign.

Phil led me through the rushing current of students to the empty gym. He spotted the cat right away under the stowed stands. I held my breath as I dropped to my belly to look. I couldn’t tell if it was Franklin, and I was too big to slide under the bleachers. A kind math teacher had kept kids from entering the gym, and I asked her to find a couple that were smaller than I. Two students named Cory and Alex stepped up. They slid under the risers and coaxed the cat to inch forward.

He scooted toward my hand. Then he licked it. Franklin!  I grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him to me. He lost a third of his weight and I could feel almost every bone in his body, but he was as soft as he’s always been.

While I sat to hold him in the Century foyer, I realized I was surrounded by student-made signs touting Kindness Week. I was overcome with gratitude, but anger and sadness, too.

Where have you been Franklin? Who brought you here?  Someone must have trapped and dumped him because he doesn’t go to people willingly. Thank goodness for kind souls. 

I couldn’t linger with him long. I had to be at Hawthorne Middle School in an hour dressed as the Cow Crusader for Kindness to help them kick off their school’s Kindness Week. As I was leaving, a secretary whose cat recently died, offered Franklin the rest of her cat food.  The principal smiled and gave me a hug. As many in our community endeavored to spend the week celebrating and spreading kindness, I must say, Franklin’s friends at Century High School did it beautifully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Franklin and I in the CHS foyer

The People We Meet In Heaven

Summer is a great time to catch up with friends, but it can also be impossible with my tendency to pack something into every minute. Recently a friend and I were trying to catch up before school started, but I had this and she had that. I had a bike ride. She had a book club.  I wish I wanted to join a book club. It sounds so intellectual. Challenging. Prestigious. But I don’t. I love stimulating discussions surrounding books though.

Years ago when my former partner was in a book club, she’d grumble that they rarely talked about the book. Instead they would talk about their husbands, kids, and daily lives while sipping wine and snacking on exotic-for-Idaho cheeses.  She enjoyed the camaraderie but really wanted to discuss characters and themes. Often she’d tell me about the books and we would discuss. One of my favorite books that I’ve never read is “The Five People You Meet in Heaven.”

From Wikipedia, “The Five People You Meet in Heaven is the story of Eddie, a wounded war veteran who lives what he believes is an uninspired and lonely life fixing rides at a seaside amusement park. On his 83rd birthday, Eddie is killed while trying to save a little girl from a falling ride. He awakes in the afterlife, where he learns that heaven is not a location but a place in which your life is explained to you by five people who were in, who affected, or were affected by, your life.”

The premise in the book is that they aren’t family members or people in Eddie’s everyday life but rather people he encountered for a short term. I love exploring this idea.  Who might my five people be?

The first person I think of is a former scholarship administrator at Idaho State.  I was a fortunate rarity awarded enough scholarships to cover tuition, room and board. My mom didn’t like her dorm experience at the University of Wisconsin, however, and her accounts of cold showers, girl drama, and raucous parties led me to turn down the room and board scholarship and live at home. That was one of the worst decisions of my life.

I went from star athlete and big fish on the high school campus to knowing no one and not involved in anything. I was removed from student life and with mostly older males in my chemistry, physics, calculus and engineering classes, I struggled to find a peer group. Near the end of that semester, my mom found out I was gay, and my world turned further upside down.  Her first words included “disgusted, humiliated and embarrassed” and my home became an emotional minefield. I needed refuge.

I was working at a department store, but couldn’t afford to move out. My course load required copious time to study and I yearned for the traditional social circles of a college student. My birthday and the holidays were on the horizon and I wanted to be where I wasn’t surrounded by this unfamiliar shroud of disappointment.

Since Mom saved every report card, award certificate and scholarship letter and hadn’t thrown them away in a fit of rage (yet), I knew exactly where to look. I dug up the room and board letter and called the lady whose name was at the bottom. I stuttered through introducing myself, explained that I had turned down the scholarship, and that I regretted not getting the on-campus experience. I point blank asked if she would consider reinstating the award. I don’t remember how the conversation went—if she said yes right away or if she had to get back to me—but she reinstated my scholarship and I moved into the dorms the second semester of my freshman year.

That scholarship required a 3.5 GPA, and with my first semester turmoil, I only got a 3.2. I was placed on probation immediately and needed straight A’s my second semester.  Mid-way through after getting a history test back with a “C”, I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I left class crying and went right to the scholarship angel’s office to thank her for giving me the opportunity. Without my asking, she offered another round of probation if I took a summer class. I enrolled, got an “A” and my GPA never dipped below a 3.5 after that.

The direction of my life changed dramatically because of this woman’s compassion. I met lifelong friends in the dorms. I walked on the volleyball team. I graduated with no student loan debt as the College of Engineering’s Outstanding Student—all because of her simple kindness. I imagine that the people we meet in heaven are the people we meet on earth who were simply kind. I hope so.

PHS: Living the Legacy

Published in the Idaho State Journal on August 30, 2015.

I just had one of the best, most surreal weeks ever!  I got to experience the first day of school at Poky High all over again—25 years after my senior year. The red and the blue, the football team, the class yells, the Indianettes breaking their arrows with the crescendo of traditional fight songs, and all of the buzz still have me smiling.  This time I went with slightly less acne, a few more pounds, a presumably more hip hair style and surprisingly the same amount of first-day jitters.

I’ve gotten to know second year principal Lisa Delonas through volunteering with my alma mater’s  gay-straight alliance club last year. Even after going through the paperwork to volunteer and getting all of the approvals, protocol requires me to check into the office each time. Frankly, I love this protocol.  The ladies in the PHS office are as nice as the ladies who were there 25 years ago. Their energy and genuine care for students always has me parting in a better mood.  I wish high school could feel like that for everyone.

When I first met Mrs. Delonas, it was liberating to step into the principal’s office as a grown up. The last time I sat in that visitor’s chair at Pocatello High School, Dr. Carole McWilliam was shaking her finger at me for wasting time trying to weasel out of physics. And while this engineer has since thanked Dr. McWilliam for that, I’ve also appreciated the physics-free nature of my talks with Mrs. Delonas.  

The first thing I noticed in Mrs. Delonas’ office was a bumper sticker on her bookshelf. I saw that same sticker when I showed up at Poky for the first day of volleyball tryouts. It was on the right side of Valerie Draper’s brown Ford Tempo. “PHS Where everybody IS somebody.”  I believed it then and I believe it now.

Last spring while we were not talking about physics, Mrs. Delonas asked if I would welcome this year’s students on the first day of school and help kick off the year’s theme: Living the Legacy. Would I?  Absolutely!

High school was easy for me to love. I was athletic and played the trombone. I was friendly and not prone to anxiety or depression.  My haircut and mannerisms may have prompted “dyke” and “fag” to be scribbled on my campaign posters during a successful bid for student body president, but it didn’t faze me. What did faze me, however, was the type of human beings who attended Poky with me. I invited the entire class of 1991 to rejoin me on this year’s first day of school.

Many locals couldn’t miss work, and out of town classmates extended regrets, but our class still wanted to contribute.  Many sent well wishes and financial donations so we could have Stuart’s Media Group digitize, brighten, and reinstall our class picture that hangs near the main office. We also wanted each student to have that same bumper sticker that Mrs. Delonas keeps in her office, so  Stuart’s helped us with that, too.  

My 10 classmates who joined me at Poky this week to hand out almost 1,000 bumper stickers while I spoke were a coincidental and serendipitous representation of Poky’s enduring diversity. We had athletes, band members, drill teamers, cheer leaders, class-skippers, and over achievers, but none of these people were necessarily my friends in high school.  I can’t help but wonder what I missed in not knowing each of these people better 25 years ago. 

I begged this year’s students to take risks on building friendships.  How are friendships forged? Somebody makes the first move. Somebody offers the first smile with eye contact. Somebody opens the door. And there they were, sitting on the bleachers at PHS--where everybody is somebody.

 As students accepted bumper stickers (extras are in the office), I hope they saw the Class of 1991’s smiles, and I hope they could see glimpses of their current and future selves. We not only made it through Pocatello High School, but we thrived and we still swell with Poky Pride.

I hope this year’s student see that when somebody’s gotta do it, they can be that somebody. Once they let their classmates and teachers; the athletes, choir, band and drama members; the math geeks, debaters and every other somebody at PHS surround and support them, Poky Pride will consume them and that pride never dies. 

Twenty five years later, Poky’s class of 1991 is counting on you students today. We won’t be back at Poky tomorrow, but you will. We’ll go to work and continue raising our kids and living about in our community letting our Poky Pride permeate the other areas of our lives. You are living the legacy now.  Live it. Love it. Be it.