This decade held many significant changes for me. 2009 was the year I figured out I was gay. I started to realize it in January of that year, and thus ensued some discovery, heartbreak, and growth, which seemed to happen fairly quickly, only to start the process over again before the year was out. I learned a lot more about love—loving others and loving myself—that first year, than I ever had in my five year relationship with my boyfriend. Ending that was a huge moment of growth, as it was the first time I felt I really took control of a situation that no longer served or fit me, and had the strength to say so and walk away. Just over a year later, I met the woman who would, in this same decade, become my wife.
In 2010 I finally let my friend Jake Kulba convince me that I should work at the Wisconsin Lions Camp. I took in my first role as a nursing assistant, and, while I almost talked myself out of going in the weeks prior to camp starting, the moment I stepped foot on camp grounds, I knew I was home. The people I met (Chelsey included) and the work I did (as a nursing assistant, cabin counselor, and CORE director) changed my life. I spent five amazing years on those hallowed grounds, working with some super amazing kiddos and staff members. It was here that I learned ASL, which I largely attribute to Brian Nehls, who taught me all the useful words, and some of the naughty ones. Camp was arguably one of the most significant experiences in my life. WLC provides the camp experience to kids and adults with disabilities (blind/visually impaired, deaf/hard of hearing, ID, diabetic, epileptic) at no cost to families. While I love Disney, I’d argue that Camp is in fact the most magical place in Earth.
Between Camp and college, my mind would be opened more than I had thought possible. College gave me the opportunity to explore my privilege, and meet people unlike myself. This has laid much of the foundation for how I approach life now.
My last year of college and second summer at camp, my dad was diagnosed with mesothelioma. After months upon months of testing and misdiagnosis, the news came in May of 2011, right before I was to start my second summer at Camp. The initial prognosis gave him 8-12 months. My mom said I had a choice to make as far as what I wanted to do with my summer—go to camp, or stay home. My dad was quick to cut in and say, “You’re going. The work you do there is important and I am so proud of you for doing it.” So I went. He spent his summer doing chemo and radiation, doing the best he could to fight the inevitable. Mesothelioma is a terminal diagnosis. I came home in August and started student teaching.
I graduated college in December of 2011. This remains my proudest accomplishment, and the last major event in my life my dad would be a part of.
January of 2012 is a month I’d like to completely erase from my history. Actually while we’re at it, let’s forget the whole damn year. After being given another 8-12 months to live, we lost my dad just three weeks later. There is a strange dichotomy in watching someone you love slip away, wanting so badly for them to stay, and knowing that they are being relieved of their pain, wanting that for them as well. Losing my dad was the most significant and devastating thing that has happened up to this point. It tore me apart. It showed me what true grief was. It taught me that time is fleeting and that I should hold on to moments, because eventually they are only memories.
2012 was a painful year in so many ways. I lost myself. I felt deep pain or nothing at all. I was numb. I felt incapable of happiness, of love, incapable of anything but grief. Chelsey was integral in me surviving that first year without my dad, loving me unconditionally while I decided if I could love her, as I invented reasons to push her away, letting the grief determine and define my entire existence. It would take me all the way until early 2014 to finally decide that she was still the one for me, and there she was, patiently waiting. This is how I learned that love was stronger than grief. I put her through a lot of shit, but she stayed, strong and sure, simply because she loved me that damn much. It still blows my mind, even as I’ve used other opportunities to test her in this decade, and she has remained by my side. Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.
A moment of recognition to acknowledge the loss of my appendix, just three weeks after my dad died. It was my mom’s first day back to work, and she said it was just gas. I think she hates when I tell this story, because she feels guilty, but I have never felt any ill-will towards her over it. I mean, I had Mexican the night before, it was a logical assumption!
In 2012 I accepted my first position in education as a 4K paraprofessional at Elm Dale Elementary School. I explored the world of coming out in the work place, which was scary and has taken years to actually feel okay. One of our favorite stories is that I spent time one day tidying up Melissa Steigerwald’s closet, arranging the construction paper into color order—RAINBOW ORDER—and then later actually came out of the closet to her. I joked that I should have just burst out of the literal closet, paper sorted neatly behind me and just been like:
Anyway, that was probably the weirdest birthday present she ever got.
In February of 2013 I tore my second ACL while playing on an indoor soccer team with some former teammates from my Ladybug days. This effectively ended my soccer playing career, as I was told that if I continued to play I would more than likely tear my ACL again. While I wasn't afraid of that, I knew that I didn't have another 6+ months to dedicate to recovery from said injury. So I had surgery on the ACL, and soon after took up running--casually, at first, but we know where that's taken me. After months of being laid up and not being able to use my leg, I learned to appreciate having mobility. Running felt like a good way to honor that.
The next year, in 2014, I was moved to another school, Maple Grove, for reasons that remain to this day very unclear. The best I can ascertain is that there were other changes that were being made and I was collateral damage. They initially shuffled me into a first grade position, which I was less than thrilled about. I had previously interviewed at MG for a K5/1st position, and was told by the principal, Dana Croatt, that they loved me, but I was truly an upper grades teacher. To that end, when, later that summer she had a fourth grade position open up, she contacted me right away and asked if I wanted that instead. So this is how I came to teach 4th grade, with a great group of kids who I had the privilege of looping with. Prior to starting this position, the love of my life has asked me to marry her, and I asked her back. That summer I also went skydiving for the first time, in celebration of my golden birthday. I was finally in a place where I could feel happiness and love. Life was good.
That second year at MG, I began to feel at odds with the district in the sense that my philosophy about teaching no longer seemed to match. This discrepancy spurred me to take another scary step, and begin job searching. Although Dana no longer worked at MG, she was instrumental in helping me secure an interview in my current district. I can’t thank her enough for that. Leaving the people at MG was hard. My partner, Chris, pushed me and grew me as a professional. I found my coworker Cathy to be my rock, someone who was incredibly familiar with my grief and helped me navigate through it on more than one occasion. Friendships and connections I had started to make felt like a page of a book that was unfinished. But it was time to go.
2016 was an incredibly busy year. I got hired in South Milwaukee in May, spent the summer preparing for my wedding, and searching for a place that we could call home. In the span of about three weeks, Chelsey and I moved into our place, got married, went on our honeymoon, and I started my new job. It was a whirlwind.
My time in South Milwaukee has grown me in more ways than I can imagine. I always kid Rochelle (my teaching partner for the first three years) and Michelle (special ed teacher for my first two) by sarcastically saying, "Thanks for hiring me," because they were in on my second interview, and that first class did not break me in easy! But ultimately, I was glad to be working at Lakeview. The staff was welcoming and kind. The first few months were busy, and with little time to connect beyond a professional level, I was lonely. I began to wonder if I had made the right decision.
In time, I found my people. I found the most natural connection with Kristen, and proceeded to ask her a million questions (as I do, when I'm getting to know someone) in order to forge a friendship, one that soon became my anchor. Through Kristen I met her bestie, Chris, who graciously accepted me into their circle. From here, I went on to make solid connections with more people. My people. My tribe. The people with whom my connection far surpassed just "work friends". As I recently explained to my tattoo artist, I have always been surrounded by good people, people I needed who were there at just the right times. But these people are my people.
This decade has taught me so much about relationships. It has taught me to grow comfortable with the fact that they grow, and fade, and change. That there are different levels to relationships. Not everyone is meant to stay forever, and that's okay; some people are there for superficial reasons, and some just by circumstance. Some people fill your soul like a missing piece. And those, those are your people.
My first year at Lakeview brought me close with Janet, who not only helped me start GOTR at LV, but has played such a huge role in my journey as a runner. Running slowly became a huge part of me, a part that has grown me mentally, physically, and emotionally, as I've gradually taken on bigger and bigger challenges. Janet made me believe in myself, leading by example as I watched her keep showing up and putting in the work. From 5Ks, to my first 10K during the Winter Run Series, to my first half marathon, and later, something I never said I'd do--my first marathon. I have received so much support along the way (again, I take a moment to recognize my wife who gave up a lot of Sundays as I did my long runs, stood in rain and freezing cold at start and finish lines, and became an expert at race chasing so I always had someone cheering for me along the course.) After my marathon not going the way I expected, crossing the finish line and seeing my whole family+ in front of me was incredibly emotional. I fell crying into my mom's arms, a mix of disappointment in my race and gratitude for the support. And there was Janet, who has been my inspiration all throughout. What a beautiful moment.
After a few years of teaching summer school, I knew that it wasn't for me. Through Chris Steigerwald, I was introduced to Laura, who interviewed me and offered me a job at Club Rec. Similar to my work at camp, Club Rec is a therapeutic rec day program for kiddos with disabilities. while Camp will always have my heart, this job has made for several amazing summers.
In 2018 I traveled alone for the first time. I went to Denver, where I was lucky enough to be able to stay with my cousin, Kym. This trip gave me the chance to reconnect with myself, after a period of feeling like I had lost myself in my relationship. I needed to make sure I still had the things that made me, me. Colorado, I love you.
Late 2018 brought the start of our journey to parenthood. In the weirdest moment of my adult life, I ordered sperm over the phone. Then, because I'm only a part time adult, I joked with Roxanne and Cortney, our school secretaries, that I was going to have it shipped to the office. I'm lucky that they appreciate my sense of humor!
Along this journey, we have faced many challenges. 2019 taught us so much. It has brought us to our knees. It has made us strong. 2020, we hope, will make us happy.
Recently, it's been hard to look beyond the last year. But reflecting on this decade, I can see how much I've grown and changed. How much I've been affected by people around me in both big and small ways. Friends, coworkers, family too numerous to mention here. How the me I am at 31 is actually pieces of the me I was at 21, 25, 28, and so on. Life is a beautiful crazy thing.
Cheers to the new year, the next decade, and all that awaits us there.
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