Confessions from the School/Sports guy

Published 12:00 pm Wednesday, September 28, 2005

A little boy named Aidan stood in the corner of the playground, watching others play basketball on a small Fisher Price hoop.

Awestruck each time the small rubber ball swished through the basket, you could see in his big, round eyes how badly he, too, wanted to try it himself. But Aidan, who has autism, had never played basketball before.

Out of the blue, one of the other boys took the ball and brought it to the boy in the corner. The barrier broken, Aidan approached the hoop. Though too short to make a slam dunk, the boy lifted Aidan just enough to push the ball in.

The biggest smile in the world brushed across his face.

I was working on a series about an incredible autism program at Poulsbo Elementary when Aidan made his first basket. It was one of the most touching moments I’ve ever witnessed; tears instantly came to my eyes.

This was certainly not the only time, however, that I’ve been amazed while working the schools and sports beats at the North Kitsap Herald.

I’ve seen a holocaust survivor reunited with the American soldier who liberated his camp; watched several NK teams make remarkable state runs and some junior high ones go undefeated; had the pleasure to watch state legislators like Bev Woods and Sherry Appleton rally passionately for their constituents; been an “imbedded journalist” in a Civil War re-enactment; and watched the first day of school through the eyes of a kindergartner.

More than anything in this job, I have seen what it is to be a community; at its best and its worst. When it rallies together for the good of all residents; and when it falls apart and fails for everyone.

This community, however, has much more of the former than the latter, which I believe is proof positive of the incredible collective energy many of its residents put forth to see it succeed.

That is an impressive accomplishment — after all, North Kitsap is home to a rich, diverse population. From the Scandinavians who emigrated here to our two Native American tribes, from the officers of the military from all over the United States to the Kitsap born and raised, from the rich to the poor, and from the political left and the political right — we are from all points there and between.

Now, it’s time for me to leave my job at the Herald, to move on to a new position at a new newspaper. It will be difficult to go, but rest assured, I’m not straying from my Kitsap nest.

And let me tell you, leaving is not for lack of excitement. If anyone thought my job was dull, here’s proof — through only one single issue that I covered — that it wasn’t.

Take a deep breath (this is what your English teacher would call a “run-on”):

The Kingston High School project, approved by voters in a $60.1 million bond in 2001, hit a snag when the school district purchased land for the slated school that was the site of a former Nike missile silo and community members voiced concerns that eventually brought multiple EPA, Washington State Department of Health and private investigations to make sure there were no “contaminants of concern at the site,” but further problems arose because the EPA manager couldn’t guarantee the site “safe for children,” until finally the DOH did, but two private landowners then held up the district by appealing a key permit which was later settled by the courts and ultimately led to the uncovering of a possibly unlawful adult bondage business run near the high school site by one of the petitioners.

Eeyowza.

Whoever said school board meetings these past two years were boring has a nose as long as the 70-pound record-breaking King Salmon Poulsbo legend Chet Gausta caught almost 42 years ago.

And before I go, I’ve got one more secret to get off my chest: my job at the Herald was very much karmic in action.

In my school days, I was a teacher’s worst nightmare. I was the kid who had a little too much fun with fart jokes; the disrupter and instigator who spent as much time in the halls as I did in the classroom; the boy who knew what all of the shapes of the principal’s office ceiling resembled.

Every school you enter has a fascinating, eerie way of reminding you of your own time as a student. NK schools have been providing me with endless nostalgia, and as a result, I have grown to have tremendous respect for teachers and anyone who puts time into a child’s education.

Without fail, when I see the school, smell the hallways, hear the tardy bells, I breathe a quiet, “sorry.” When I leave, however, I say: “thank you.”

I did, eventually, get my act together at my own school. By my senior year of high school, my European History teacher, Sam Ford, was connecting with me, teaching me the illustrious “five paragraph essay,” the kind of scientific, exploratory writing that — little did I know — were the roots of my journalistic career.

As I traverse the hallways this past week of my job at the Herald, I’ll continue to whisper it ever more: Thank you, teachers. Thank you, Mr. Ford.

And thank you, North Kitsap.