A Special Card

 

Dad pushed the lawnmower into the shed, then approached me. I placed the bucket half-filled with the weeds I had just finished removing from the garden by the garage door, holding my breath in hopes I had earned his approval.

“Your mother was telling me this morning how you’ve been a really big help with your baby sister lately, and you did a great job helping me with the yard work this afternoon too.” 

I reveled in the compliments as Dad paused, then watched as he reached into his pocket.

            “Here. Take these. You’ve earned ‘em.” As he dropped four quarters into the palm of my hand, I felt a jolt of electricity flow through my ten year old body.

            “Can I ride over NOW?” I asked as I pocketed my mini treasure. I saw him nod, then dashed to the garage to get my bike. Dad didn’t need to ask where I was headed. He knew his oldest son would soon have four new packs of baseball cards in his possession.

I reviewed my mental checklist during the ten minute ride to High Street Pharmacy, confirming that a White Sox team photo card was at the top of my want list. Topps produced such a card for each of the MLB franchises, and I was missing just one. I organized my collection by team, and the card displaying the group photo topped each stack nicely. If I could just acquire the White Sox, I’d have all 26!

The July day was warm and I wiped sweat off the back of my neck before dismounting my bicycle and entering the store. I headed straight to the familiar bin located across the aisle from the checkout counter, pleased to see it filled to capacity. The clear wrapping revealed the identity of the top and bottom card within each pack, while the 13 others remained a mystery until the post purchase unveiling. 

I kneeled down and began rummaging through the packs one by one, placing those showing a card I wanted to my left, others to my right. After a few minutes of this, the clerk revealed his interest in my activity.

“Will you be buying any of those, or are you just reorganizing the bin for me?” I turned to see a middle aged man wearing a ballcap. I knew from his sarcastic tone and sly grin he was just teasing me.

I smiled in return and said, “I’m looking for one special card, but I don’t see it here. I did find some other cool ones though.” I carefully looked through the half dozen packs I had singled out, placed two back in the bin, and proceeded to the counter. Then I handed the clerk my four quarters to complete the transaction.

Outside the store I paused briefly, deciding on my next course of action. An American flag atop the pole outside the store rippled in the breeze, and the fear of loose cards blowing from my grip convinced me to wait until I got home before opening the packs.

I pumped the bike pedals furiously as I felt sweat re-emerge on my neck. My breathing was heavy by the time I arrived back on Northfield Drive, yet despite my fatigue, my pace somehow increased once home was in sight. As I dismounted I let my bike fall in the grass adjacent to our driveway; the three extra seconds needed to deploy the kickstand would just cause an unnecessary delay. 

I dashed to our front step, then reached in the pharmacy bag and ripped open the first pack. I saw flashes of player names and uniforms as I flipped frantically through the deck, looking for the words, ‘White Sox’. I came up empty on the first and second batches, and felt a twinge of disappointment. With only two packs to go, I knew my chances of success were dwindling.

Several seconds into flipping through the third deck, I saw the word WHITE that ran along the bottom of a card. The cards in my right hand were obstructing a full view, so I jerked my left hand to the side, revealing that card’s complete image. 

Once my brain processed my good fortune, I began jumping up and down as if I was on an imaginary pogo stick while simultaneously shouting at the top of my lungs. I felt like a pirate who discovered a buried treasure, a California prospector who found gold, and a Mega Millions lottery winner all rolled into one. 

Euphoria, derived from a simple baseball card. Oh, the magic of childhood.

 

9/7/21

     "Love is life. And if you miss love, you miss life." -Leo Buscaglia

    My life path changed forever when I walked into a Madison coffee shop on September 7th, 2018. Of course I had no idea I was sitting across the table from the woman who would become the love of my life at that moment, but Dove and I got to know each other better over the course of our three hour conversation that day, which set the stage for the countless special moments to come.

    I wrote the initial blog piece about our storybook romance in January of 2019 (https://kevburgh23.blogspot.com/2019/01/dove.html), a couple of weeks after Dove accepted my proposal. Six months later we celebrated our wedding with family and friends, and our honeymoon capped off that wonderful, memorable period in our lives together.

    A lot has happened in the three years since we met. Some were positive events: A new home purchase. Two home sales. My special needs son temporarily moved in with us. My retirement from teaching. My sister in law and her family moved to the Madison area.

    Some were not: COVID-19. Major, difficult winds of change blew through Dove's agency. Two of our pets passed away.

    Through all those ups and downs the love and admiration I have for my wife has grown even deeper. Our bond is immeasurable. Magical. A fairy tale come to life.

    Her personality leaves me in awe time and again. Kindness extended to complete strangers. Patience that exceeds all norms. Heartfelt compassion for animals. Insight that enlightens me. Selflessness to an extreme. Inspirational empathy for others. Wisdom and insight that wows me. All of these traits have rubbed off; I'm a better human being because of my wife's influence.

    Dove constantly looks after me. "How was your walk honey? How did you sleep? Do you want to ice your knee?" She always wants to make sure I'm okay, and is ready and willing to help if I'm not. Such caring was noticeably absent in a previous relationship. When it came to my well being, that individual was too self-centered to ask, care, or both. Recollections of the (verbal) abuse I experienced back then are a factor as well. After enduring such hurtful times, I appreciate these joyful days even more. I've gone from the depths of despair in the past to the top of the mountain today, completely enveloped in my partner's love. Incredible.

    It's now been three years since we met, yet in many ways it feels like I've known my wife forever. Our incomparable journey together continues on...sometimes it's hard to believe this is all real. I am SUCH a lucky man.

    "Only when we give joyfully, without hesitation or thought of gain, can we truly know what love means."-Leo Buscaglia 

A Summer Sunrise

         I sat on a bench by Stricker’s Pond early this morning. The red and orange light of dawn illuminated the sky to my right, while darkness still prevailed to my left. I watched a crane fly inches above the water as I listened to the birds gleefully singing in the woods. An insect fluttered aimlessly past my shoulder, appearing to have no destination in mind. I noticed the silhouette of a duck at the far edge of the pond, its movement creating a tiny ripple of water that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. Flashes of lightning from the last of the overnight storms that had just blown through appeared in the distance. I strained to catch the accompanying thunder, but heard rushing water from a nearby pipe entering the pond instead. I noticed droplets dangling from the edge of a branch. Every thirty seconds or so one would fall harmlessly, its descent culminating with a barely audible plop into the puddle below.

The horizon’s prevailing color transitioned to yellow as the sun continued to add light to the sky. I noticed a man riding a bicycle down the side street on the opposite side of the pond. He was crouched in a low stance, his legs churning as if he was being chased by something scary. He looked so focused on speed that I wondered if he had any inkling of the magnificent scenery that surrounded him. Then I decided that didn’t matter, as the amount of appreciation I had for all the stunning beauty in and around the pond covered us both.

The Four Year Nightmare is Over

 The presidency that ends tomorrow has been an ordeal like no other in our lifetime.

For me personally, the nightmare that is Donald Trump went to the lowest of depths I’ve ever felt toward any other politician in November, 2015. That’s when he mocked a disabled newspaper reporter during a speech. As a parent of a cognitively challenged adult, it hit close to home and hurt me deeply. That of course wasn’t his sole appalling action up to that point (see the racist, false birther conspiracy for one example) , but that’s the moment I began to truly loathe that man.

In the months that followed I was horrified as I watched him rise in the GOP, eventually getting the nomination in mid 2016. I still can’t believe he made it even that far. The ways others repeatedly dismissed his accountability and enabled his words and actions during his rise (see Access Hollywood tapes) were ominous and disturbing. 

I kept hearing from the right, ‘The media doesn’t treat him fairly’ over and over. Guess what? I’m an intelligent, educated individual fully capable of reading his tweets, listening to his words, and deciphering his administration’s policies. He is an immoral, abhorrent person. I didn’t need the media to define that for me.

My school held an election for the students on November 8th, 2016. Just before dismissal that afternoon, it was announced via the intercom system that Hillary had topped Trump by an overwhelming margin. Minutes later on one of the buses the kids were talking about the results, then suddenly started to chant, ‘Hill-a-ry! Hill-a-ry! Hil-la-ry!’ just before it departed. I was working bus duty that day with another adult who also heard the chants, then turned to me as the bus was leaving and said, ‘That’s scary’ with a smirk, arrogance, and tone that made my stomach churn.

I bit my tongue because it was the right thing to do amidst those particular work dynamics and circumstances, but it wasn’t easy. I was confident Trump would lose the election that night, which was far more important than anything said in that conversation, so in that moment I let it go.

My son Eric and I were talking and texting throughout that evening. I didn’t sleep much that night as the bad news kept coming in. I felt physically ill as I got ready for school the next morning, a feeling that was a polar opposite to the one I felt exactly one week before. When the Cubs won the World Series Eric and I were euphoric. The following Wednesday, we were stunned and despondent. Minutes after I arrived at school a co worker came in my room with a look of disbelief. She needed to talk, to vent, to find some answers. This kind, caring older woman was near tears, asking me how this man could have possibly won the presidency. I told her I wish I knew. She was scared for the future. So was I.

In his inauguration speech Trump said, ‘This American carnage stops right here.’ His presidency has created the complete opposite of that. Over these last four years we’ve watched repeated lies, name calling, bullying, immorality, xenophobia, homophobia, narcissism, racism, ridiculous conspiracy theories, and so, so much more revolting behavior come out of the White House. All of that has been immeasurably horrible to witness and experience as an American, yet the incompetence of this man’s term grew exponentially when it came to his mishandling of the pandemic.

Over 400,000 Americans have died from the virus as of this writing. I believe he is responsible for somewhere between ⅓ and ½ of those deaths. His response to our national health crisis has been an utter, unequivocal failure.

On top of everything else, there is his incitement in the Capitol insurrection. His speech during the rally in D.C. on January 6th was not the sole accelerant. The Big Lie and all of those who repeated and bought into it throughout his denial of the legitimate election results and accompanying rhetoric was the kindling for that violent fire. 

Near the end we saw many turn on him. Better late than never? I agree, but that doesn’t excuse those who coddled, supported, and enabled him up to that point. Such behavior is inexcusable.

When we awake tomorrow morning it’ll be January 20th, 2021 and tonight, I’m already overwhelmed with emotions.

I cry tonight because of the incomprehensible amount of damage this man, his supporters, and his enablers have done to our nation and the world as a whole. 

I cry tonight because it all could have been avoided long before the 2016 election even arrived.

I cry tonight because I’m reminded of the overwhelming happiness I felt this past November when 81,283,484 of my fellow Americans voted for Joe Biden and defeated Donald Trump, fairly and legitimately.

I cry tonight because I’m relieved that myself and those I care about most deeply have managed to survive the worst presidency of our lifetimes, and quite possibly our nation’s history.

I cry tonight because I’m overjoyed that tomorrow at noon the United States of America gets to officially move onward and upward with a new administration and put Donald Trump in our rear view mirror.

‘Scary’ is the word my co-worker used to describe thoughts of what a Hillary Clinton presidency would be like back on Election Day 2016. 

Sadly, we lived through the reality of what scary really is over these past four years. Thank God his term is over.

Retirement

        It's been a heck of a ride.

        It's hard to believe it's over.

        The road to becoming an educator started in my early years. A love for books. A neighborhood full of kids. A learning-rich, nurturing, stable home environment provided by Mom and Dad. An energetic, amazing, and inspiring fourth grade teacher. A sibling nine years younger who was, in so many ways, my first 'student'. A strong support network of adults, including doting grandparents and loving Aunts who made me feel like a million bucks via their guidance, love, selflessness, and kindness.

       

        I felt passionate about working with children. A four year stint as assistant coach for Dad's Little League team and a summer job as the YMCA's youth sports coordinator only solidified the decision to select a career of working with kids and in turn, making the choice to major in elementary education at Northern Illinois University an easy one.

        Student teaching at Jefferson Elementary School in DeKalb, IL arrived in the fall of 1990. Mrs. Ippolitti was near the end of her long career and ran an extremely structured, yet highly creative second grade classroom. I learned countless things from her during those 16 weeks, with classroom management techniques and the importance of daily preparation at the top of the list. She had a positive, indelible influence on my budding career.

        Graduation arrived in December of 1990. The day before graduation I was hired as an ESL aide at Jefferson; most of my time was spent working with two wonderful Asian-American boys. I taught them English and they taught me a bit of Chinese in return. We learned, joked, laughed, and had an incredibly fun time that semester.

        The summer of 1991 saw me job hunting. Resumes went out to schools all over Illinois but I didn't land a job until mid-August, less than two weeks before the school year was set to begin. Warren, Illinois, population around 1,400, was my new home. I scrambled, finding housing, setting up my new classroom, and learning the district's third grade curriculum all in a mad dash of eleven calendar days.

        I settled in fairly quickly in Warren. The kids were great and the people overall were nice, but it became clear to me within a few months that a big city boy landing in a small country town was never going to be a match. When the superintendent came to me in March sharing how much he loved having me there, yet wouldn't be able to offer me a position the following year because of low enrollment/staff reduction, I was relieved. I was now able to ask for a recommendation without feeling awkward.

        In late May of '92 I laughed at the irony of the Red Hot Chili Peppers singing, 'I don't ever wanna feel like I did that day' on the radio as I left town. I did want to feel this way. It was the beginning of summer vacation, and I was surely on to bigger (city) and better (horizons) in my teaching career.

        Alas, that summer saw frustration mount as the days went by. I had a year's experience and great references......but no job. Finally, just as I was about to resign myself to a school year of substituting, a principal from South Beloit, Illinois called in early August and stated she was 'just hired yesterday, they tell me I need a third grade teacher, and your resume is on my desk.'

        I had an interview with her the next day and left it both angry and frustrated, as her questions were too general; the interview itself was done in less than 15 minutes.

        Five hours later she called to offer me the job.

        I learned later she had already targeted me for the position and just needed to meet me briefly in person to confirm her choice. I was so excited to have a job that I completely forgot to ask how much my salary would be during that initial phone call!

        Another late summer scramble for housing and room preparations ensued before life started to settle into a new routine. About six months into that first year as a South Beloit Sobo I made the decision to stay in the area long-term. Lower cost of living than the suburbs. Friendly people. Little/no crime. No traffic jams. Aurora/family was 90 minutes away. Upon being granted tenure a year plus into the job, I officially had a new long-term home.

        A clear pattern began to emerge in the ensuing years. The most challenging second grader (usually a boy) in the school would inevitably be placed in my third grade room every fall, and there were times I had #'s 1, 2, and 3 on that 'challenging' list all in the same year. I became an expert at classroom management, out of both practice and necessity. Structure and routine were key elements to my days. Fun, learning, and laughter were certainly prominent as well.

        The national testing era began in the early 2000's, and it changed a lot of things in education. The differences didn't occur overnight, but it was clear that test scores were becoming the most important element of a child's education in the eyes of the powers that be. Some of the joys of teaching began to be sapped from the profession because of testing, little by little, with each ensuing year.

        The school years continued to go by. Some of them saw classes that were a pure joy to be with daily. Others triggered stress and sleepless nights. Wonderful children mixed with heartbreaking stories. Caring parents mixed with apathetic ones. Amazing moments mixed with varying challenges.

        Highlights of the days were consistent over the years. The Beverly Cleary read-alouds. Giant Step. Joking with the class. Everyday conversations with 8/9 year olds. The 'light bulb' moments. All-time QB during recess football games. Classroom holiday parties. I'll miss all of those. Terribly.

        This past August my wife and I made the tentative decision to make the 2019-20 school year my last one, which was solidified after a meeting with an Illinois teacher's retirement official last October. From that moment forward it became surreal knowing it was my last Halloween, last Christmas concert, last Valentine's Party, last go around for everything as a third grade teacher.

        COVID-19 turned the last two plus months of my career into bizarre, uncharted territory. E-learning took away the daily human interactions with third graders that I thrived on. My last day as a third grade teacher physically in the classroom ended like any other school day. No hugs or tears, as none of us knew in the moment that March 13th was the end of our school year together. It was certainly a less than ideal way to end it all.

        Looking back, I can't help but think about the fact I was not just an instructor in the classroom. I was also a role model, leader, cheerleader, actor, motivator, planner, teammate, nurse, comedian, organizer, disciplinarian, father figure, counselor, mentor, and friend.

        Now here I am on May 21st, 2020. It's the last day of a career that officially began in 1991, yet saw those beginnings occur as a boy growing up in the 1970's at the end of a cul-de-sac on Northfield Drive. That boy was able to live out his simple dream, a career of helping children.

        Hopefully I helped to make my students not just smarter, but most importantly, better people overall.

         Hopefully the world is just a little better place as a result of me being a third grade teacher.

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

         

       

       

       

         

Star

Star’s story begins a full year plus before she arrived in our home. 

I had to put our ten year old Shih Tzu down in late November, 2007. I found that ordeal to be
far more traumatic than I thought and, despite my children’s repeated requests (‘Dad, can we
get a new dog?’) over the bulk of 2008, it took me a full year before I was ready for a new pet.

In early December of 2008 I went to the Janesville Humane Society without the kids, curious
to see if Iwas emotionally ready for another dog. I saw several cute canines (none of them
Star), and left knowing the next time I walked in the doors, the kids would be with me and our
search would officially begin.

A week or so later Tyler, Eric, Ryan, and I agreed to adopt an adorable four month old female
pointer who went by the name of Star. Her cuteness, combined with a 15 minute romp in the
play area, resulted in all four of us quickly falling in love with our newest family member.

Energetic. Intelligent. Mischievous. Loving. Joyful. Food obsessed. These are some of the
words that come to mind when thinking of Star’s early years. She was basked in love,
residing in a houseful of kids who matched her high energy lifestyle. Star’s favorite game
became theirs: Keep away in the backyard. Throw Star a ball and the fruitless chase would
begin. The humans wouldn’t get that toy back until the quick and savvy canine was ready to
let them have it. Countless hours of joy were had in that quarter acre of fenced in yard, and
I’m smiling as I remember those incomparable moments in time.

The years went by. The kids got older. Overnights away with friends. Driver’s licenses.
Tyler moved into his own place. Eric went off to college. Before I knew it, it was down to
just myself and man’s best friend.

I really didn’t feel lonely. Looking back, perhaps she was a big reason why.

Arthritis started to creep into her life around the age of 8. For years she had slept on
my bed. Then one day, she was no longer jumping up there, no matter how much I coaxed.
Her walks had to be cut to 10-15 minutes max. Rabbit chasing days came to an end. Time
in the backyard went from multiple high-speed laps to slow, sniff-filled walks. Mobility was
becoming more and more of an issue those last few years. Lumps about her body added to
her health woes.

The end was awful, yet as perfect a script as one could write under the circumstances. A
last morning walk around the neighborhood. Treats and affection given by myself and the
now adult children that were her family. A caring, soothing home visit by the vet, alleviating
her from the anxiety she always felt during car rides and trips to the vet office. Cheese Whiz
sprayed in zigzag patterns on waxed paper for her to enjoy in those last moments.

How can one really summarize the life of such a cherished pet? 11+ years of companionship.
Playfulness. Unconditional love. 

She adored her family. We adored her right back.

Paisley Park

14 year old me initially became aware of Prince in 1982. MTV was the new thing
when it came to music, and when they put '1999' and 'Little Red Corvette' in heavy
rotation, I was immediately drawn to the visuals.

I had heard those two songs on the radio before the videos appeared on MTV, but
'seeing' the songs or better yet, seeing Prince in action, was mesmerizing. The hair. The
flair. The outfits. The dance moves. The passionate performances. And it was all presented
in the wonderful shade of purple, the same Vikings' jersey color that drew me to Fran
Tarkenton and the 'Purple People Eaters' in my early years. I purchased the '1999' album,
discovered the songs that weren't being played on the radio ('Let's Pretend We're Married'
Blew. My. Teen. Mind.), and listened to it repeatedly. I was hooked.

Before 'Purple Rain' came out in the summer of '84, my love for the man and his
music was already sky high. Once I purchased the album and saw the film, that love
reached stratospheric levels. Sure, the movie's acting was subpar and the storyline had
flaws. I loved it anyway because for me, it was never about those things. It was about
the music! 'Computer Blue' and 'Darling Nikki' in particular went to another level when
I saw him perform them in the film. (Note-I'm not one that can break down voices or
instruments in categorical terms. It's never been about that. For me, music is simple. I
hear something and either like it or don't like it. When it comes to Prince, it's love.)

The next two albums ('Around the World in a Day' and 'Parade') remain two of my

favorites to this day. 'Raspberry Beret' (from the former) is a classic and the song,

'Sometimes It Snows In April' (from the latter) stands as my favorite Prince song of

all-time.

By the time the '90's (and beyond) came along I was still a fan, but wasn't rushing out

to buy every new CD either. My teaching career and family life took up the overwhelming

majority of my time, but I would certainly take notice when one of his songs took off on

the pop charts or came on the radio. Prince's career marched on, as did my adult life.

Looking back, there probably wasn't one week that went by in which I didn't listen to his

music, see an interview/performance/video, or have him pop into my mental thoughts in

some way. When I learned of his death in the spring of 2016, like so many others, I was

shaken. Badly.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shortly after Prince passed away, there was talk of opening Paisley Park to the public.

Forty months after his death, my wife and I stood at the front desk inside the building in

the midst of our honeymoon on a beautiful summer afternoon in late July.

I was on edge the entire morning. We were playing his music in the car on the drive

to Chanhassen. My emotions were running high, with tears rolling down my cheeks at

one point, thinking how we would be inside his purple palace in just a matter of hours.

As we stood waiting for the tour to begin I could hear one of the lesser known tracks

from '1999' playing in the next room. My heart was racing. Shortly thereafter we were

standing in the atrium, complete with sunlight illuminating the room via the pyramidal

windows, as well as caged doves on the upstairs balcony. The guide shared that Prince

spent a lot of time in that room and that triggered the first of a handful of emotional

moments for me during the visit. I was in Prince's home. Even though he wasn't there

with us, I found the moment extremely moving.

The tour followed a simple pattern: Enter a new room/area, listen to the guide give

background details about that portion of the building, then we were given several

minutes to walk around and take it all in before moving on to the next part of the tour.

There were recording studios, exhibit rooms, a personal office, a small kitchen, an

editing room, a 'relaxation' room (complete with low lighting and an outer space theme),

three performance spaces, scented candles, videos, costumes, memorabilia, instruments,

portraits, newspaper articles, screenplays, painted murals, award-winning records, and

even a ping pong table Prince and his friends played on frequently, complete with

paddles and purple ping pong balls. The enormity of the complex was evident and he

had everything one could have possibly wanted in both a music and living space sense.

It was a 90 minute experience I will never forget.

Immediately after the tour (and several times since) my wife and I were discussing

what we had seen, heard, and felt. She pointed out that Prince had his work world and

personal life all in one place. Is that healthy? Feels like a no, but who knows for sure.

I've read how he couldn't go out in public without being swarmed by fans, so Paisley

Park felt equal parts necessity and convenience to me.

It felt a mixture of exhilarating, surreal, and sad to be in Prince's home. The tour

guide shared that Prince wanted Paisley Park to be open to the public upon his death

and that relieved some of the intrusive feelings I was having while there, yet it didn't

completely alleviate them. I guess I'm still sorting out some of the emotions from the

visit as I write this (a little over a week later). Here's the thing: It was an incredible

experience to walk through my all-time favorite musician's home. Alas, he not only

wasn't present, he's no longer here on Earth at all. 57 years old. A musical genius,

gone far too soon. If he was still here, there's zero chance I have the opportunity to

see his home from the inside.

I guess that's what's bothering me most about all of this because if I had my way,

life for him would still be as it was before April 21st, 2016. I'd be going through my

everyday life with never having stepped foot in or even thinking about the possibility

of visiting Paisley Park.

And Prince Rogers Nelson would still be here.