Please Hold Your Applause

All three of our children graduated from Homestead High School in Mequon, Wisconsin. Homestead was consistently ranked near the top of all high schools in Wisconsin for academic excellence. We were blessed to live in a community with such a great public high school. Homestead rivaled most private high schools in our area.

During the years our kids went to Homestead there were roughly 1,300 students; so graduating classes were typically about 300-350 kids. Because of the large number of graduates, each year at the graduation ceremonies they would ask all those in attendance to hold their applause until ALL students received their diplomas.

This worked. People complied. Except for the families of black students. Homestead had a minority student population of about 10% – most of those kids were black. There were Hispanic and Asian kids but they probably made up less than 2% of the total student body. So while most of the graduating class’s families sat politely quiet about 8% of those in attendance would cheer loudly for their graduates. I never found this particularly disturbing but it was always interesting to me – there’s probably a sociological study in there somewhere. The clapping and cheering likely only added an additional 20 – 30 minutes to the graduation ceremonies. So no big deal (or so I thought).

Our youngest child Blake was (and still is) an enigma! He was a National Merit Semifinalist. He was offered a full-ride scholarship to Ball State University in Indiana. He had been accepted (and enrolled) into the University of Wisconsin. And yet, we didn’t know until the day of his graduation whether or not he would actully graduate! It seems that he had not done most of his homework or term papers for the last quarter of his senior year. Furthermore not until we received his progress reports (lack of progress is more like it) did we even know that there was a problem.

Needless to say, graduation day for Blake had us on ‘pins and needles’. What would we tell grandparents that had made the trip from Missouri? What would it mean if he didn’t graduate? Would Wisconsin withdraw their acceptance? Would he have to stay home another year? God help us all!

But Blake turned in all his missing assignments; took make-up tests, finished term papers. And we waited. Because grading wasn’t complete until the Friday before Sunday’s graduation, we wouldn’t know whether his “make-up work” would work.

So on Sunday we sat in the Field House listening as names were announced (and I was silently cursing the fact that our last name begins with a “W” because we had to wait through nearly the entire alphabet). We sat for what seemed like days – and then a miracle: “BLAKE WILHELM”! And then the cheers! Why were people cheering for Blake? And why was it all the black families? And with that, I witnessed another miracle, Blake parading in with Honor Cords; not only had he graduated but he apparently managed to do work good enough to make the honor roll. I was torn between being relieved, proud and wanting to strangle him with those gold cords!

And why were the black families cheering for him anyway? Did they know what he had managed to pull off? Did they admire his ability to overcome his obstacles? Or did they just love Blake because he’s such a great kid? NO – none of the above. Turns out that Blake had gone to every black kid in his graduating class and asked them to ask their families to cheer when (if) his name was announced.

Life with Blake has always been like a roller-coaster – lots of ups and downs. But the ride is a hell of a lot of fun! Thanks for the ride Blake – I love you (and I’m still cheering, too).

Peace,

Dad

The Wads

Our daughter Bess’ first college roommate was a one of her best friends from Homestead High School.  Down the hall from her dorm room was one of her other best friends from grade school and high school.  So leaving her at the University of Wisconsin that freshman year didn’t seem quite so daunting because she had good friends nearby.  That year she would meet two other girls – one from Cedarburg High School just north of where we lived, and another from Minnesota.  Even though Bess and Laurie had been friends the longest (since 6th grade) and she had known Kristy since freshman basketball in high school, all five girls bonded pretty quickly.  They became a pack and carried (or were carried) by one another for the next four years.  Their friendship continues to this day and I suspect it will last their lifetimes.

Their junior year at Wisconsin it was decided that they would leave the dorms and move into a townhouse apartment – the five plus one more.  Six girls in a townhouse with 2 bathrooms – that’s three girls per bathroom – you can do the math yourself.  College-age girls share EVERYTHING.  They shared one another’s clothes; they shared each others cosmetics; they drank and ate after one another (I found this particularly disgusting); they even shared one another’s beds – perhaps if it was a stormy night or if they had nightmares (and probably when a roommate had a boy spend the night – I’m just sayin’…).  It was this habit of being so TOGETHER (literally and figuratively) that garnered them the nickname ‘The Gay-wads’.  Now for the record that nickname came from one of the other dads – not yours truly!  I’m not certain what he meant exactly (probably just that they were too close and that outsiders might think they were gay, I suppose) but the girls thought it was hysterical and after that they referred to themselves as the ‘The Gay-wads’; later shortened to ‘The Wads’. 

The following year the ‘plus one’ moved on and ‘The Wads’ moved to yet another place (sans Laurie who was studying abroad in Spain).  This time they lived in a converted bungalow with an additional couple of new girls.  But ‘The Wads’ remained solid.  I’ve only been allowed a glimpse or two into their world – the shared stories have been altered (and sanitized).  There’s a reason that the University of Wisconsin was voted the #1 party school.  I’m sure ‘The Wads’ helped maintain that reputation.  In spite of all the partying, I know that these girls were there for one another time and time again.  I’m certain that some actual studying took place, too.  After all, they did all five graduate!

Graduation from Wisconsin was bittersweet – they would all be moving on.  Some of them would work after graduation; some would continue on to graduate school.  But one thing was certain:  LIFE WAS CHANGING. 

Our daughter graduated with a double major in Political Science and Spanish and went to work in Human Resources at a large hospital in Milwaukee.  Kristy went on to a doctoral program in Boston via Purdue and Austin.  Laurie went to law school at Marquette in Milwaukee.  Katie went to work as a nurse in a hospital in Boston.  And Amanda joined the Peace Corp, eventually ending up in grad school in Michigan.  The ‘Wads’ were officially grown-ups (sort of).

Today all five are married (to people that I approve of – as if that matters).  Our daughter, Bess was the first to marry – seven years ago.  Katie was the last – two weeks ago.  Their lives have taken each of them in different directions and they all have a world of opportunities and experiences still awaiting them.  But when they get together once or twice a year they are still the ‘Wads’.  They laugh at the same silly jokes and reminisce about the same crazy adventures (or misadventures) that they shared.  The spouses have been allowed to come along on this journey and it’s a testament to their love that each husband or wife seems to enjoy/tolerate ‘Wad Weekend’.  I believe the spouses may have formed a support group of their own.

Sometimes I miss those girls that were – before jobs and spouses and children.  There was once an innocence about them and it seemed like collectively they would one day rock our world!  But you know, the reality is they are rocking our world.  They are all contributing members of our society.  They think before they act.  They work for positive change. They care for those in need. They are stewards of our planet.  They are the teachers, nurturers, builders of a future that embraces diversity and opportunity of all.  They are the best our world has to offer. 

When they get together they might still be “Gay-wads”.  They might giggle and act like 18 year-olds again but something happens when they go home.  They become the women of integrity and substance and beauty that they were meant to be.  And I am honored to know them. 

Our daughter Bess is raising her own beautiful daughter now and will give birth to baby #2 in just a few weeks.  My prayer is that someday my grandchildren have their own group of ‘Wads’ and that they will know that kind of true and lasting friendship.

Peace,

Denis

Momma’s Boy

My son Tyson is a ‘Momma’s Boy’.  I don’t say that with any disrespect or condescension.  I just mean he is unabashedly a man who loves his mother.  And he ALWAYS has.  He has never been afraid to openly show affection toward her.  His concern and love is at once both honorable and heartbreakingly beautiful.  I’ve heard it said that “the greatest gift a father can give his children – is to love their mother”.  I wonder if anyone has ever considered that “the greatest gift a son can give his father – is to love his wife”?  Ty loves his Mom and of course she loves him, too.  But I get to live with the comfort of knowing that should anything ever happen to me – Tyson would be there for Deb.  That’s what a ‘Momma’s Boy’ does: he loves his Momma!

When Ty was a little guy he needed his Mom like all little boys do:  He needed to be nursed; he needed dry diapers; he needed to be comforted in times of sickness.  As he grew older his needs changed but they still involved Mom: help with homework, lunch for school, clean uniforms, car-pooling to and from sports, scouts, etc.  And as he got even older:  wise counsel, a shoulder to lean on, endless moral support, and undying love.  All provided by good ol’ Mom. 

Once when Tyson was in grade school he came to me to upset because he cried too easily.  He always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.  Of course this made him a target for other kids at school.  I explained to him that he was like Mom – people that have really big hearts will get them bruised more easily.  I told him it’s the price that you pay for being tender-hearted; that when you have a greater capacity to love, you also have a greater chance of being hurt.  At the young age of 7 or 8, he seemed to understand this.  He decided then that his ability to “love like Mom” was worth the risk of an occasional broken heart. 

Tyson never shied away from hugging or kissing his Mom is public.  I still remember ‘Parents’ Night’ each year for the wrestling squad at Homestead High School.  The team would be presented and then the parents would be called forward.  Each wrestler had a bouquet of flowers for their mom.  Tyson always hugged and kissed Deb while presenting her bouquet – most of his teammates sort of sheepishly handed the flowers to their mothers.  I still feel tremendous pride for those evenings.  What a beautiful way to honor his mother.  And he didn’t flinch when ‘the guys’ would snicker or smirk – he was too proud of her to allow their immaturity to ruin his moment.

Momma and her boy

Tyson is a smart guy – smart enough to know that Mom is the rock of our family.  She’s the one that will sit up all night to listen to your heartache.  She’s the one that can provide emergency medical care in a pinch.  She’s the one that will put on a meal, make up a bed, throw out the welcome mat or get on a plane if you NEED her.  And it’s not always necessary to ask – Mom knows!  She’s got that ability (call it woman’s intuition or something supernatural) that makes her able to sense stuff that mere mortals can’t see or hear.  She’s like an oracle.  I swear she anticipates calls for help from her children and she’s always ready to spring into action.

When I say Ty is a ‘Momma’s Boy’ I don’t mean he’s a wuss or a cry-baby.  I mean that he’s a man who loves his mother.  I know that he understands what an amazing woman with which God has blessed him. And I know that he will be forever grateful for the man that she has helped him become.

Peace,

Denis

Baby Sister

Our 2 year old granddaughter Anna is about to become a BIG SISTER.  Our daughter’s second baby is due next month.  It’s amazing how the baby becomes the big brother/sister literally overnight.  When our daughter was born our son Tyson was only 19 months old – instantly he became THE BIG BOY.  Of course he was still sleeping in a crib and he was still in diapers but in comparison to his newborn sister, he was a big boy.  The same will be true for Anna – she’ll always be our special baby girl but next month she’ll be the BIG GIRL when compared to her infant brother or sister.  And so it goes…

When I was ten years old I was still the baby of our family.  I had two older brothers and it seemed that I was destined to always be the little one.  But then the most amazing thing happened:  My baby sister was born!  Being 10 years old and having a baby sister might have been traumatic to some kids (I think my parents were secretly worried that I might strangle her in her crib) but I was the happiest kid on the block.  The baby was OUR BABY.  We (my brothers and I) all got to share her.  Mom allowed (or needed) us to help out with diapers and bottles and babysitting.  I felt so big!  I wasn’t the baby anymore.  And I loved it.  Even more – I loved her.  And I still do!

Kay and me - Christmas 1968

My sister Kay will always be my baby sister.  She’s a grandmother now but she’s still my baby sister.  I often think about how God has blessed me with Kay.  The obvious blessing was that it got me out of being the ‘baby of the family’.  But more importantly I got “hands on” training with an infant, and then a toddler, and then a  preschooler, and so on.  When I became a parent myself, I wasn’t afraid of my own baby like some young parents – I’d already done a lot of this stuff!  Plus I learned some important LIFE STUFF, too – like how to share and how to love someone more than myself. 

I can still remember so vividly that tiny pink bundle in Mom’s arms the day she came home from the hospital.  I knew then that was I the luckiest brother in the world (and I still am).  I became a dorky teenager and while kids my own age were interested in things that I lacked the maturity to handle (they likely did as well) I could retreat into play-time with my little sister.  As we grow older we grow even closer emotionally.  We are joined in a way that brothers and sisters are meant to be – emotionally, spiritually, eternally.  I talk to her most every day and she understands things about me that only she can – we were raised by the same two parents (it’s called sibling empathy).  Even though we are ten years apart we have many of the same emotional triggers and we share a lot of the same quirks.  We laugh at the same lame jokes and we sometimes “get it” when no one else does.  We have shared good times and bad.  And we will always be there for one another, even for the shitty stuff. 

I hope that Anna has the same joys and blessings with her baby brother or sister that I have had with mine.  I thank God each day for her.  At ten years old I didn’t know what was coming my way – God’s plan is still being revealed to me even today.  But I do know that my baby sister is one of His many blessings and I will always be a grateful BIG BROTHER.

I love you, Sissy!

Peace,

Denis

Cousins

Our granddaughters are cousins –  five year old Charlise is our son’s daughter and two year old Anna is our daughter’s daughter.  These two really love one another and they love being together.  It’s pure joy to watch how they talk and play and care for each other.  They live about an hour apart now and we try to have them spend time together as often as possible.

I love to eaves-drop on their conversations when they’re playing. They play a lot of “pretend” and Anna usually follows Charlise’s lead but sometimes Anna decides to do things her way and Charlise usually obliges. Depending on what the “pretend” game is the conversations vary but generally it’s some variation on Disney Princesses or Dora the Explorer.  Most often Charlise is Dora and Anna is Boots, Dora’s faithful monkey friend.  Pretty fitting actually – Anna climbs on everything and Charlise likes to wear a backpack.

Yesterday they were playing together in the ‘blow-up’ pool on our patio.  Charlise has been taking swimming lessons and was showing us how she can hold her breath and swim underwater.  Of course whatever Charlise does, Anna MUST do as well.  When Anna put her head underwater she took a big gulp and came up coughing and frightened.  She started to cry and immediately Charlise held her in her arms gently and sang very softly “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star…”  The two of them held onto each other until the song was over.  And then Anna let out a little ‘fake cry’ and the process started all over again – both of them embraced, Charlise singing and Anna being comforted.  How I wished I would have had a video camera – talk about your Hallmark® commercial moment”! 

But unlike Hallmark® commercials this moment was completely unscripted.  And it wasn’t done for attention or approval.  It was just one sweet girl cousin comforting her baby girl cousin because she loves her and because she cares.  And I was blessed for having witnessed this.  These girls will grow up and may grow apart (but please God don’t let that happen!) and they probably will choose different paths.  Like many cousins they may have very different lives some day.  But for this one brief moment they connected in a way that was so profound it brought me to tears.  And I thanked God at that instant for granddaughters that love one another.  And I thanked God for parents that have taught their daughters so well.  I can’t help but wonder how many times Charlise has been comforted with “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star…”  And how good it must have felt in her little heart to share that gift with “Baby Anna”.

Dear God, thank you for our beautiful granddaughters.  It’s true that You give us more than we deserve!

Peace,

Denis