Maragan Kori

Maragan loves Goodwill Day - the last Friday of the month that kids are allowed to shed their uniforms and dress up at GICC.

GICC senior Maragan Kori

He saunters into eighth grade English wearing a pristine shirt, long creased shorts and white tennis shoes that positively gleam.

"You look very nice, Maragan," I compliment him.

He nods sagely. "Got my swag," he grins.

Maragan Kori is cooler than cool. He's also an ornery little hooligan.

In art class, when his buddy Nick Nolan pesters him, Maragan threatens to tell the teacher.

"You'll never tell," cocky little Nick sneers.

Maragan jumps up, heads straight to Mrs. Zulkoski, and innocently inquires whether she'd be willing to ask Nick where he purchased his uniform shirt.

"I need one, but I'm too embarrassed to ask him," he ducks his head shyly.

Confused, Mrs. Z nevertheless calls to the front of the room a wide-eyed Nick who promptly groans, lays his head on his desk and cries.

Now a senior at Grand Island Central Catholic, Maragan and his classmates laugh recalling the incident.

"Maragan's so hilarious," senior Vann Stevenson laughs. "He's spontaneous like that and always comes up with something."

Maragan Kori, top center, with  some of his classmates, First row from left: Alex
McCarraher, Blake Kyriss, Aric Montgomery. Second row from left: Robert
Binfield, Nate Starman, Sam Tynan, Vann Stevenson, Matt Novinski, Jordan
Pebeck and Amanda Fay.

In his close-knit class, Maragan's made life long friends. He and his classmates have known each other since they were 11-years-old, and some friendships started in grade school. His friends tease him about the day Mr. Howard called him a cry baby and about his energetic passions.

"Remember when Maragan was upset because he had to miss his 900th episode of WWE?" senior Jordan Pebeck jokes. Maragan, embarrassed, shakes his head and laughs.

Maragan Kori will be the first to tell you he had a lot of growing up to do. "I was bad in middle school," he admits. "I was a smart alec running around this school. I couldn't sit still."

He credits his parents, Gadwal and Nema, and his teachers for turning him around. "My teachers didn't have the greatest opinion of me, but they kept telling me I could do it - that I was smart."

And his parents, he says, are the bravest people he knows.

Born in Sudan, Maragan's father was an engineer and a soldier before he packed up his family and fled from persecution to Egypt. Maragan was two-years-old and has fleeting memories of his next few years in Egypt.

"I remember going to church with my mom, playing in sand and going to a day care that had lots of slides," he recalls.

Just before Maragan was old enough to start shool, he and his family traveled to the United States to start their new life. Maragan began shool in Nashville, Tennessee, before moving to Grand Island when he was 7. His dad is now employed at a factory in Alda, and Maragan first enrolled at Wasmer Elementary where he met life long friend Chase Wenzl who would later accompany him to Central Catholic.

"My younger brother Mubarak and I learned English right away," Maragan recalls, "but my parents had a tougher time."  His father watched the news to learn the language, and his mother still tries to incorporate English into her daily life. His little sisters Misa and Magda were born here.

It was understanding his parents' tremendous courage and sacrifices for their children, especially as he grew older, that motivated Maragan to try hard in school.

"I started studying," he says. "My classes and my teachers became important to me. My classmates are all smart and athletic. They make me try harder."

He's enjoying this time in his life, but he knows he owes it to himself and to his parents to make something great of himself. "If I work as hard as I can, God will take care of the rest. He gave me parents who are brave. My mom always gave us a little extra love and made my brother and me feel safe. Now I have to do good things with my life."

Faith, Maragan says, has become the cornerstone of his life at Central Catholic."It's strange not being able to know my family from Sudan or where I come from. I still worry about them. But I've learned a lot about God and my faith, and it helps me to feel better about my family. I still, though," he says, "want to go back to Sudan - back to the capital city - to meet them."

In fact, Maragan hopes to study medicine after his high school graduation. Then he wants to go back home. To Sudan. "I've had it easy all my life," he says. " People in Sudan haven't. I want to go back to see where I came from and help them."

He'll do it, too. If Maragan can scare Nick Nolan into believing he's getting in trouble with the art teacher, he can do anything.

Kristen Klein

I hear it through the grapevine. Central Catholic's hired a new principal.

In a few days it's official. Kristen Klein, a young woman with barely two years' teaching experience, is the youngest administrator ever to be hired at GICC.

Kristen Klein

Dear God, I think. What can Bishop Hanefeldt be thinking? Are we really handing our school over to this slip of a girl?

It's a shame no one asks my opinion. I am an old teacher who could tell the Bishop a thing or two. I could tell him Central Catholic needs the guidance of a seasoned professional who's been around the block a few times. I have socks older than this girl. But does anybody bother to consult me? Come to think of it, nobody calls from the White House to ask me how to fix Social Security either.

The first time I meet Kristen Klein over coffee at Barista's, I am bowled over by her confidence and poise and faith.

"She's a gem," I admit to my husband afterward. "The Holy Spirit is looking out for us."

He cocks an eyebrow and pretends to be shocked. "You're kidding. They managed to find a good person without your help?"  He's a smart alec, my husband. I suppose I will have to forgive Bishop Hanefeldt.

Nobody works harder than Kristen Klein. Her inherent good work ethic propels her through college in three and a half years. She pays her own way through college by waitressing and working several other jobs.

Focused and goal-oriented, she nevertheless is distracted one day by a cute guy dining at Perkins. They make awkward eye contact, go out the next day, and in ten months will be married. "When you know, you know!" she laughs.

While earning her masters in education administration, she works for the Susan Buffett Foundation, teaches college transition classes, and is intrigued by the idea of entrepreneurial education. "You don't have to teach the way everybody else does it," she eagerly explains. "You can think outside the box."

Her husband Brett, who works for Waddell and Reed, persuades Kristen to move to Grand Island. As an interventionist at GISH, she becomes close to high-risk kids and works with them to transform their lives. The next year she teaches business, but Kristen remains attracted to the idea of entrepreneurial learning. Her professional life, however, takes an altogether different turn when Father Mike McDermott, her Resurrection Church pastor, issues a challenge.

"You need to think about applying for the Central Catholic principal job," he says. Kristen shrugs off the suggestion, but Father Mike is like a stubborn gnat. "I've been praying about this," he tells her a few days later. "You really need to consider applying."

The interview experience will be good for her, she finally relents. Never does she imagine she will be hired as Grand Island Central Catholic's youngest principal.

Father Scott Harter, St. Mary's associate pastor and GICC chaplain, is not surprised at all. He thinks Kristen Klein is "profoundly refreshing, competent, driven, and most importantly a believer." She allows her faith to to penetrate the mundane of her life, Father Scott says, so that all she does is informed and influenced by the God that she loves.

"When I'm watching her work," Father Scott says, "I most admire the freedom with which she operates, a freedom which flows from the fact that she is about one thing - the spiritual, mental and physical good of the students she serves." He also says she is a Velociraptor who eats students for breakfast. Like my husband, he's a terrible smart alec.

Father Scott agrees, though, that some things can't be taught - like the intuitive ability to build relationships with kids. Kristen does it like a pro. First thing in the morning, she's in the Central Catholic hallways talking to kids.

"I really try to be present before school starts," she says. "It's a good time to gauge how kids are doing." She greets them at the door with her lovely, warm smile and talks to them about sports and band and difficult classes.

"Sometimes in the morning, I need a friendly smile," eighth grader Julia Pilsl says. "Mrs. Klein is always out in the hall helping someone or having a great conversation. I always think she's definitely the kind of person I want to be around. She inspires me."

Her main goal, Kristen emphasizes, is to build relationships. In the end, having relationships with kids helps with discipline, too.

Eighth grader Russell Martinez is energetic and likable with a mischievous smile. "Mrs. Klein gets on stuff right away. If something's wrong between you and another kid," he says, "she knows how to get things settled." He refuses to muddy the story with details. "Let's just say she's good at solving conflict," he grins.

Senior Garrett Steinke is a genius at wearing anything but a school uniform. During his junior year, he manages to come to class sporting a variety of colorful sweaters and shirts - none of which meet the dress code standards. This year, however, he dutifully wears his Crusader polo shirt and khakis."I don't know how to explain it," he smiles sheepishly. "Mrs. Klein sits down with you and explains why the rules are the way they are. She's tough, but she's nice without being mean. So I guess I'll be wearing my uniform until I graduate."

Kristen is tough but fair. And she is a young woman of faith.

I am distributing the Eucharist one morning at school Mass. Kristen comes forth to receive Communion, and I am struck by her expression of reverence. "This girl," I think, "is a believer."

She admits her faith has "exploded" at Central Catholic. Always a dutiful Catholic, she doesn't realize how much her faith means until she marries Brett, a non-Catholic, and the subject of religion rises.

"I'm not leaving the Church," she tells him. At the time, she is unable to articulate why her Catholic religion is so vitally important. Brett, however, is drawn to the Church as well and chooses to convert to Catholicism.

Now, during the first challenging year as an administrator, Kristen relies on her faith more than ever. Periodically, she escapes to the school chapel for a few minutes to pray and journal. In these first few months, she confides, the job has been overwhelming with its many demands. But every day she rises to the challenge and is grateful for the kids, their good parents, and the band of teachers with whom she shares her days.

Her favorite Bible verse, on a wooden plaque in her school office, bolsters her with courage. From Joshua 1:9, it reads, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

Miraculously, during these first three months in her new job, the message has appeared on texts, photos and emails no less than 20 different times. Always, Kristen marvels, it appears when she most needs a lift.

"I'm impatient and frustrated sometimes," she sighs. "We need to be whippers and snappers at Grand Island Central Catholic. We should be recognized for more than athletics. We're so much more" she says. She wants Central Catholic to be lauded for students who are academically prepared for college and spiritually prepared for life. Next year, she hopes to share her passion for entrepreneurial learning and to teach a class herself. "I always want things to change quickly, and when they don't change fast enough, I get frustrated," she admits. "Those frustrating days, I believe, are learning experiences."

At the same time, she's gratified when parents and kids respond to her hard work and kindness. "I hope I'm making an impact and doing what I'm supposed to be doing," she says.

She has no idea the kind of impact she's making on all of us. There are plenty of us who are older and experienced. Youth brings a nice balance. It appears that a young, vital first-year principal is exactly what we need here at Central Catholic. I'm grateful for Kristen Klein. She is an answer to prayer, and it seems that even without my help, God apparently knows what he's doing.

But I wish President Obama would call. I really could fix Social Security.

The Henke Family

From top left clockwise: Connor, Brad, Stephanie, Kennadi,
Cedric and Hayley Henke.

Stephanie Sasges Henke is surrounded by her  brood - Connor, Hayley and Kennadi - in the school library. When her husband Brad arrives with second grader Cedric in tow, they all light up. Cedric rushes to his mother, climbs into her lap, and hugs her fiercely.

This, I think, is a happy family.

Stephanie is Central Catholic's afternoon librarian. In the morning, she's the director of the First Presbyterian Church Preschool. Her passion for children is a gift to the community. In her relatively new position as preschool director, a job she was handpicked for by board members, she implements her own ideas and provides preschoolers not only a safe place to grow and play but to learn as well.

"We're trying to get them ready for the Grand Island Public School system," she says. Stephanie works hard to align her own curriculum with Grand Island Public's.

I have known Stephanie since she was a kid. Before I teach her children Connor, Hayley and Kennadi at Central Catholic, I have taught Stephanie. She is a typical middle school girl who worries about everything middle school girls do - friends, volleyball, middle school mixers. After she graduates, I don't see her again for several years. Then one day our young boys, who attend the Wasmer Elementary's Almost Home program after school, tell me all about the new assistant Stephanie. I am amazed to discover it's our own Stephanie Sasges. She is radiant, filled with purpose, and loves her job and her Almost Home kids.

"My work and love for kids really started at the YWCA and Almost Home," she says. Children will become a life long passion for Stephanie. Having her own children will also become her most fervent desire. It will not be an easy road, though.

She and her husband Brad will try for years to have a baby of their own before they finally decide to adopt. Connor, a ninth grader at Central Catholic, is their first child. Because he is African American, Brad and Stephanie are required to take classes for raising a child in a biracial family. Connor is a happy, beautiful baby and the light of Brad and Steph's lives. He is a year old when Brad and Steph begin the lengthy journey to fertility clinics and a long hoped for pregnancy. Finally, at Omaha Children's Hospital, a doctor is able to help Steph become pregnant. The result is twins Kennadi and Hayley. It is an enormously expensive process, and Steph does not attempt it again. She and Brad, however, still hope to have another child.

"Let's just make sure it's a boy," Brad asks as he and Steph begin the adoption process again. Cedric, now seven, is their last child.  Like his brother Connor, Cedric is African-American. As adopted children, they are curious about their birth families. Connor, now 14, knows he has birth siblings, but his birth mother chooses a closed adoption and has not made an attempt to contact Connor.

"When I'm 18," Connor says, "I'll try to find her and my birth siblings. I just want to know where I come from. I want to know if my birth brothers and sisters look and act like me."

His sisters tease him. One day when Connor becomes furious with his mother, he storms out the door. "Goodbye, adopted mom!" he calls over his shoulder. He laughs now and shakes his head. "I was mad," he explains. Nevertheless, it's clear that Connor, like the rest of his siblings, adores his mother and father.

If there has been one bump in the road, it's been Hayley's health. Hayley and her sister Kennadi are eighth graders at Central Catholic. In her first grade year, Hayley complains to her mother that her knees are stiff and sore. The diagnosis is a long time coming. When it does, the news is grim. Hayley has juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. It's Dr. Jennifer Alberts, a Grand Island dermatologist, who urges Stephanie and Brad to seek a specialist. Stephanie is forever thankful to her.

"Everybody told us Hayley was just experiencing stress," Stephanie remembers. When Hayley's arthritis is discovered, she undergoes an operation to remove fluids and infection from her knees and begins to feel better. All in all, Hayley has endured nine operations and faces more surgery down the road. She is, however, uncomplaining about her health issue. The only downside, she says, is that because her arthritis affects her auto-immune system, it's difficult to fight off flu and colds.

"I get scared sometimes when it takes me a while to feel better," she says, "but otherwise I've just learned to live with it."

Hayley is given a weekly injection by her mother, which she hates, and takes six pills a day for her arthritis. In every other respect, however, she is like any other eighth grade girl who throws herself into school.

Stephanie has always loved Central Catholic and wanted her own kids to attend school there. "GICC has always meant a lot to me. Teachers really cared about me, and it's where I made some of my very best friends. I want my own kids to have that and to learn about their faith in a Catholic school atmosphere."

Connor, Kennadi and Hayley love their school and teachers as well. Hayley remembers that religion teacher Joanne Oltean took a special interest in her and was concerned about her arthritis. Kennadi, too, is a fan of Mrs. Oltean's. "She really taught me a lot about our faith. And I like Father Scott (Harter), too," she grins. "He gives the best homilies. I always listen because he makes it so enjoyable."

On this Friday afternoon after a long week of school, the entire Henke family is ready to watch some high school football. Connor is a freshman on the Crusader team, and all the Henkes are wearing Crusader blue shirts and sweatshirts. Stephanie beams at her happy, active family. Her children, she says, are all uniquely themselves. Connor is the outgoing kid, Kennadi's the positive one, Hayley's bighearted, and Connor is definitely the loving child.

"I always like to say that my boys are a gift from Heaven, and my girls are a gift from science. But they are all," Steph smiles, "a gift from God."

The GICC Class of 2016

One day sixth grader Josh Puncochar, who sits directly behind my desk, decides to stick his pencil into the bowels of  my computer.

A small fire ball explodes dangerously close to his face and shocks us all. Nobody is more shocked than Josh. He stares at me, eyes wide with fright.

"I swear to God!" he shakes his head vehemently. "I didn't do nuthin'!"

Mrs. Howard's fourth period English class

I bury my face in my hands. I do not care to be remembered as the teacher in charge of the kid who fries himself on my computer. If he has to incinerate himself, let him do it on Kester's watch. And didn't we just go over double negatives?

It is my first introduction to the class of 2016. I wonder on that day if I can outlast these sixth graders. Will they graduate before I drop dead?

Josh's partner in crime is Austin Walton, a daring little devil who swaggers through the halls in over-sized cowboy boots. I remember the afternoon he provokes an irritable senior boy and runs like heck. He almost gets away, too. But if you're running from an outraged kid twice your size, you'd better ditch the cowboy boots.

Lauren Webb and Daryn Willman are the girl equivalent of Josh and Austin. Joined at the hip, they raucously laugh and are always each other's best audience. Daryn has perfected an impression of her math teacher, Mr. Ross.

"It's hilarious!" Lauren shrieks. "Wanna see her do it?"

No.  No, I do not. I know with deep certainty that in Mr. Ross's class, Daryn performs an equally unflattering impression of me.

In the faculty lounge, sixth grade teachers stagger through the door to collapse. We congratulate ourselves on surviving another day and prop each other up with soft comforting words the way a mother soothes her colicky baby. Some of us speculate about drinking heavily. Or getting a job at Spin City Laundromat.

It's not that they all scream and blow up desktop computers. Some, in fact, are overachieving 11-year-olds who worry about taking the ACT still four years away and furiously edit and re-edit their college resumes. Emma Reilly hyperventilates when she misses a quiz question. Vasu Balraj agonizes over her history notes. At the other end of the spectrum is Jackson Anderson who strolls from class to class with not a care in the world - or any completed homework either.

Many teachers, like me, accompany them all the way through middle school and high school. We shepherd them to eighth grade field trips, hear about their first homecoming dates, wait anxiously for them to pass their driver's license tests, and choke up as they don caps and gowns. All the while, we are witnessing their transformation from 11-year-old almost adolescents to confident, accomplished young adults. And we know them very well.

Cheerleaders Regan, Rachel and Cynthia

Matt Huntwork and James Noble, twin towheads, have become tall handsome young men. Megan Wardyn with her heart-shaped face is the dancer extraordinaire. Leaping beside her, smile blazing, is Jenny Sindt. Katelin O'Connor and Haley Roush are the quiet blonde beauties who completely lose themselves to the roles of the evil stepsisters in the musical production of Cinderella. And Cynthia Calderon is the perfect compact cheerleader you see in all the movies.Sadie Goering and Emily Herbek are exceptional writers and wise beyond their young years. Lexie Socha, too, is a writer and a brave girl who speaks her mind to kids and teachers alike.

They all have their struggles, some more than most. Bryce Sealock holds his dying father's hand and helps usher him to Heaven. Stoic Regan Moorman keeps the pain of her parents' divorce to herself, and Justice Ritz endures surgery and is forced to give up her beloved softball team. Sweet Jordan Kerns-Schneider, my husband's favorite right hand man, endures daily migraine headaches without complaint. Some of these kids have dealt with alcoholism, depression and even abuse in their families. They write about those experiences in my class, and I am overcome by their forgiving and loving natures.

Josh, Toad, and Austin

Little Rylan Dvorak is true blue and innocent. In middle school, after a trip to Hawaii with his family, he tells us about a frightening moment just before the plane arrives in Hawaii. As the craft lands, the pilot announces, "Ladies and Gentlemen, prepare to get LAID!"

Rylan is horrified and refuses to leave the plane. Finally, he glances out the window to see exotic hula dancers throwing leis around the necks of the arriving passengers.

"I can't even tell you how relieved I was," he shakes his small head soberly.

Brayden Adair is sleepy eyed and movie star handsome, and Eshan Sood is the consummate joker. One day he carries scissors through the halls, pretends to snip off locks of hair from outraged girls, then captures it all on film to post on social media.

Some of these kids are so talented it's a sin. I think of Mallory Woods in middle school singing sweetly on stage as Alice in Wonderland. This year she is Cinderella in the school musical, and I can hardly believe her grownup poise and beauty. In English class, however, she writes about her biggest disappointment - that she is not an African American pop star called "Shaquisha".

There is nobody more musical, however, than Molly Magana who masters like a pro the flute, the sax, the ukulele, and is utterly devoted to her band teacher, Ms. Balasa.

Jackson loves beautiful Vasu, Josh Arends adores the enchanting Rachel Zulkoski, and Ryan Bernal and Shayla Serrato are the cradle snatchers of the group. I worry they are too young for such seriousness. Caring for another so deeply, however, has helped them become better people.

Idalis Erives, with her warm brown eyes, is sweet as cream, and Meghan Vaughn crinkles her nose when she laughs and endears herself to all of us. Nathan Boon's lazy smile greets teachers in the hallway, and he works our crowd like a pro.

In my fourth period English class, Aidan Ziller is a clown, and I can't wait for the good natured insults he showers on lovable Saul Llamas - or Poppy, as his friends call him, and Treyton Ruhl, the tall, patient kid everybody loves.

Laura Lowry, aged 2, with Kenny and Tommy Howard,.

Most of us remember the birth of Laura Lowry, whose father James teaches at GICC.  John and I babysit her when she is a toddler, and our boys adore her. Tommy, our eight-year-old, sighs. "Why can't she be my baby sister?"

Laura is still beautiful and blue-eyed but doesn't need a babysitter anymore. They are all young adults now, and they can hardly wait to barrel out the door.

As if I am propelled into the future, I can vividly see Jimmy Riley astride his tractor on a hot July day. Vasu, in a white lab coat, gently listens to her patients. and Michael Cornelius is always in a pressed suit striding around with a microphone. What the heck is he doing with a microphone, I wonder? It will be something exceptional and important - that's all I know.

In any case, they are ready to leave us. They are no longer 11-year-olds. Our little worry wart Emma Reilly has focused her discipline and drive for perfection into tennis and is determined to come back from Lincoln as a champ. Daryn and Lauren are still joined at the hip but are steeling themselves to part ways and begin their own lives. Jackson Anderson, who never bothered with middle school homework, is now an A plus English student. And Josh Puncochar? He hasn't blown up a single computer in six years. They are - all of them - beautiful, strong, brave young men and women.

Armed with the love of good parents, a strong faith and the support of lifelong friendships, our class of 2016 is ready for the next chapter. If they have any qualms at all, it is not evident this week. This week is all about bonding at retreat, laughing at their senior slide show, and walking down the aisle to the stirring notes of Pomp and Circumstance.

They are ready, however, to leave, and we understand we must let them go. My husband and I have said goodbye to two generations of students. But they come back. They become our doctors, our priests, our plumbers and our neighbors. They turn up at Karnival Kapers with their children and grandchildren, and my husband teases them as in days of old.

"You still owe me a history assignment!" he bellows to the balding father of three.

We learn to rely on them in our old age. The Class of 2016 will be no different. They will one day come back to us with their spouses and offspring to tell us about their lives. They will make us very proud.

But what am I saying? Heck. They make us proud now.

Grand Island Central Catholic Class of 2016

Vasu Balraj

I imagine that the young Blessed Virgin Mary was a lot like Vasu Balraj.

 If the Blessed Mother was a practicing Hindu. And had a boyfriend to die for.

Vasu's smile is open and radiant. It is a smile for everybody. People are immediately drawn to her - people who are vulnerable and shy. "With this person," they think, "I will be safe."

Vasu Balraj

On her first day of sixth grade, Vasundhara Balraj arrives at Grand Island Central Catholic. Her mom, a sweet overly protective Indian mother, is the only mother in a hallway that teems with hundreds of excited, scared, sweating adolescents.

"Vasu," she hovers anxiously over her small daughter. "I will help you with your locker."

Vasu rolls her eyes in agony. "Mom!" she turns on the woman who adores her. "You have to go! I'm fine!"

Thinking about that day seven years ago as she prepares to graduate, Vasu is touchingly grateful for her beautiful mother, Seema. "I'm so lucky to have my mom," Vasu says. "She does everything to keep my sister Seerat and me safe."

Vasu appreciates all the adults in her life - her father, Kavir, who teases her and makes her laugh. She is thankful, as well, for her GICC teachers who have become important to her through the years.

"It was the teachers who made the biggest impact on me here," she recalls."They were so welcoming that first day of sixth grade."

She remembers that Mr. Kester tips them in their desks and makes them shriek with laughter. Mrs. O'Connor welcomes them at the door of her classroom, and gentle Miss Wiles talks to them about their Catholic faith.

Except that Vasu is not Catholic. It's a tricky dilemma for a tiny Hindu girl to navigate her way through Catholic school waters. But not so tricky. Her religion teacher, Miss Wiles, poses thoughtful questions about Vasu's Hindustani culture and faith. Vasu is reluctant to answer at first. Her classmates, however, are fascinated by their lovely classmate with her big dark eyes and beaming smile.

They ask questions about Hinduism. She asks questions about Catholicism. Somewhere, in the mushy middle, they come to recognize the great teachings that filter through all faiths: to love one another, to thank God for all his blessings, to recognize and repent of our sins.

"Studying Catholicism has helped me grow in my own faith," Vasu says. "Sometimes, I presume other faiths or cultures might say my faith is the wrong one, but I know that's not true."

GICC chaplain Father Scott Harter teaches Vasu's religion class that God has come to save all his people. He tells students that being Christian or Muslim or Jewish doesn't matter. "God loves us all," he tells them. "We are all his kids." His words hit home with Vasu. In a world that seems increasingly suspicious of other cultures and faiths, she is reassured that God is still loving and tolerant.

Her confidence grows at Central Catholic. In the ninth grade she commits herself body, soul and spirit to speech and drama. Vasu is not only good and gentle to the core. She's a big time ham. Her speech coach, Brian Mohr, persuades her to develop a humorous speech for the district contest. Vasu decides to find humor in a subject nearest and dearest to her heart -  her Indian roots. Her mother and father, who have grown up in northern India, come to the United States the year after Vasu's birth. Although Vasu is completely Americanized, she is deeply in tune with her Indian heritage and visits her family in India regularly. For her humorous speech,Vasu has discovered plenty of material in her own family.

In a flawless Hindustani accent born of many vacations with her northern India family, Vasu's speech wins award after award. Her spot on impersonations of her parents and grandparents bring the audience to their knees.

Her parents, she confides to the audience, are so obsessed with her grades that nothing but perfect scores are acceptable. Even her B positive blood type is forbidden.

"Vasuuu!" she imitates her traditional grandmother. "Have you gained weight? Why aren't you TALLer? Are you darker than before?"

Vasu, a high school freshman, does something unheard of. She bares every adolescent insecurity on stage for all the world to see. And she laughs at herself.

I insist that she perform her speech in our ninth grade English class. Vasu is happy to do so. It is perhaps the hardest thing in the world - to perform in front of your peers. But Vasu abandons herself and hurls her pride out the window. Her classmates explode with laughter. I think I have never laughed so hard myself. This beautiful dark eyed girl turns all our  insecurities and foibles into a universal bag of laughs. She has made it safe for her classmates to examine their own ludicrous fears and find that there is nothing so fearful after all. They're all in the same pimple popping, hormonal wrenching, I-hate-myself boat. And it's funny as heck. Vasu's humorous speech takes a third place finish at the state tournament.

Now the end of her high school career approaches. She has entertained hundreds with her honest depictions of life. She's been part of an award winning golf team. Most of all, though, she's made many good friends, the kind of friends that last a life time.

Next year she will enroll at St. Louis University to study medicine.There will be no speech meets or golf teams. Instead, she will study hard to help other people. Inspired by her grandfather from India, Vasu hopes to be like him.

"He was a doctor who opened up schools and hospitals for the underprivileged," she explains. Her parents have always understood Vasu's great compassion for others. Vasu is beginning to understand it herself.

Last weekend is junior-senior prom. Vasu dresses for the formal event in traditional Indian garb. She is beautiful and looks every bit the exotic Indian princess.

In her prom pictures, she radiates joy and confidence. Even at her last high school dance, she embraces her culture and family. She has no desire to be anybody but who she is.

Why would she? She is Vasundhara Balraj. And she is perfect.

Michael Cornelius

Michael Cornelius paces furiously on stage in the old gym.  Bombastic and angry, he portrays the father of twelve children in GICC's fall production of Cheaper by the Dozen.

Senior Michael Cornelius

I watch him striding across the stage in his turn-of-the-century suit yelling irritably at his long suffering stage wife, the poised and lovely Mallory Woods. Michael has channeled the perplexed Frank B. Gilbreth to a tee, and he and Mallory charm the Central Catholic audience.

There is nobody quite like Michael Cornelius. He fills every activity with his unique brand of energy. In my American Lit class, he immerses himself in the novel A Prayer for Owen Meany and finishes Of Mice and Men before anybody else. During our class discussions, he is quiet and absorbed. After class, however, some part of the discussion triggers a memory about his grandparents, and he is eager to share the age old stories he finds so fascinating about these people he loves.

When Michael first arrives at Central Catholic in middle school, he neglects to tell any of his teachers that he is deaf in his left ear. It is up to his mother to inform us of her son's hearing loss. Michael stubbornly refuses to elaborate.

"I hate asking for special treatment," he says with quiet loathing. So he doesn't. Unobtrusively, he sits toward the front of the classroom to hear his teachers. Although he loves football, the helmet prevents him from hearing the plays. Silently, he lines up on the left side of the formation in order to listen with his good right ear.

"I don't let my hearing hold me back," he shrugs. At the very most, his deafness is a nuisance. It has not changed his life, he insists adamantly, in any way, shape or form.

But Michael is wrong. Whether he realizes it or not, the determination with which he stubbornly overcomes his hearing loss makes him different from other kids. Now in his last year of high school, he is the executive president of the Student Council, the highest honor our kids bestow upon one of their own. He snares the lead in the fall drama production, is a state qualifying speech team contender, wails on his trumpet in band, and writes for the school newspaper. He doesn't merely participate in these activities, however. He excels.

"You need to step it up!" he encourages kids during Christmas Cheer. As executive Student Council president, it is up to Michael to challenge our kids to raise thousands of dollars for local charities - Hope Harbor, Race for Grace, and other institutions. The donations are slow in coming, and Michael is frustrated.

"It's for charity!" he vents after school one day. "Why isn't anyone giving?"

They will, I assure him. But to Michael, meeting the donation goal is a reflection of himself. "It's like I judge my self worth as Stu-Co president by Christmas Cheer," he shakes his head. He's not doing a good job, he reasons, if he can't get our students and staff to dig into their pockets for those less fortunate.

To his relief, his persistent persuasive powers triumph at the end of the day, and Grand Island Central Catholic raises the money by the last day of Christmas vacation.

If graduating from Central Catholic has taught him anything, Michael says, it's that pitching in and serving the church and community is vitally important. And while he refuses to pat himself on the back for growing into the self-assured, hardworking and generous young man he is, he gives credit to Central Catholic for helping him to discover his leadership skills.

"I guess Student Council has really helped to give me courage," he says. "And competing in speech has made me brave, too." This spring, he qualifies for the state meet in two categories: humorous and serious. It never occurs to him that it's at all unusual for a boy who's deaf in one ear to compete at state speech. In fact, he makes light of any success he's enjoyed at Grand Island Central Catholic. But he does not take his faith lightly.

He's grateful for religion teachers Father Richard Piontkowski and Father Mike McDermott who have taught him so much about his Catholic faith. Fr. Scott Harter, the GICC chaplain, has given him a brand new pespective about being Catholic, and he will never forget Miss Mary Wiles.

"In middle school, we sat on the floor in her room and talked about our faith," he remembers with affection. It was a meaningful part of his younger years at Central Catholic. "My faith has grown so much stronger at this school," he says. "It's not that I ever doubted, but I question some things about my faith. I always want to be a stronger Catholic, and school has helped me."

Learning to trust God has been part and parcel of his Central Catholic experience. In spite of his hearing challenges, Michael believes in the bigger picture. His struggles have made him stronger, more generous and compassionate.

Last year in American Lit, I ask the kids to write an essay patterned after Patrick Henry's famous speech to the Virginia Convention. "Write about the very thing you believe most,"  I instruct them.

The juniors wax poetic about believing in family, patriotism, and the simple act of offering a helping hand. They read them aloud, and I am stirred by their passion. Then Michael reads.

"I believe in my Catholic faith," he says in his straight forward fashion. "I believe in Jesus Christ and his death and his resurrection. I believe that all things are possible with faith."

It is such a firm declaration, and it is everything we're trying to teach our kids at Grand Island Central Catholic. His classmates listen, quiet and reverent. They stare in awe at this boy, their classmate, who has risen above his own struggles without complaint and, in doing so, encourages them to do the same.

Without ever intending to, Michael Cornelius touches us all and is a shining example of how young people should live and pray and work.

And how one old teacher should, too. 

Father Scott Harter

Right away you notice the hair, barely restrained, that seems to possess a life of its own.

Father Scott Harter with GICC students Mallory Woods, Molly
Magana and Laura Lowry.

The long, lanky man beneath the shaggy mane smiles nicely. He is young, I think. Too young to wear a collar. Is it too much to ask that a priest be older than my own children? I am an old teacher and cannot be expected to confess my sins to this wild-haired boy.

Father Scott Harter, however, our new Central Catholic chaplain, weaves his way seamlessly into the school community and charms us all. He is young, to be sure, but he is exceptionally smart, funny and passionate. And he gives a dynamite homily. With the skill of a stand-up comedian, he reels us in with big laughs. In an instant, though, he is fascinating young and old alike with the compelling idea that God loves us, is proud of us, and has big plans for each of us.

Except nobody delivers that message quite the way Scott Harter does.

Senior Bryce Sealock loves Wednesday morning Masses at GICC. He is not Catholic, but he considers Wednesday morning his "church" time. Father Scott, he says, has helped to give him a new perspective, especially during this difficult year after the death of Bryce's father. "None of his homilies are ever about judging," Bryce says. "Father Scott just has this great, positive energy. He's pretty cool."

Father Scott shrugs off any praise. "What do I do? I say Mass," he says. "And I show up."

He does more than show up. He runs with the cross country athletes, practices with the boys' tennis team, applauds the kids in their One Act performance, and even sits with the kids to cheer at athletic events.

Clowning in college - fake
senior picture.

Last December, as part of a Christmas Cheer fundraiser, he surprises kids in their classrooms bellowing out Christmas carols as he accompanies himself on the banjo. One cold morning, he arrives with a burst of energy to my fourth period English class to serenade senior Jackson Anderson.

"I'm tired of singing carols," Father Scott apologizes to Jackson. And no wonder. Kids have paid good money to send him and his banjo all over the school. "Instead," he grins,  strumming a chord, "I'm singing 'The Ballad of William Bloat.' "  It turns out to be a vociferous Irish ballad about a man who attempts to murder his wife but ends up committing suicide. Very Christmasy. We dissolve into laughter. The kind of laughter that makes your sides hurt.

Father Scott Harter's joy, zest and passion for his faith is more than contagious. It's life changing. One teacher, a lapsed Catholic, confides to me that he has begun to attend church again with his family. Father Scott's homilies, he says, have profoundly stirred him.

Scott Harter, though, will be the first to tell you he didn't always have a remarkable faith. Back in Elm Creek, Nebraska, he grows up as the youngest of five children -the only boy and a long way behind his four sisters.

"I always wanted a little brother named Kevin," he jokes with a straight face. But he had a few friends in high school, he says, who filled the brotherless gap.

I imagine him in high school and can see him sitting in my own classroom. He has more than a few friends, of course. "Legions" is more like it. I know he is a kind, earnest, outrageously funny kid who grows quickly absorbed with a good story, a basketball, and the thrill of a twanging banjo.

Scott Harter considers himself a model Catholic in high school and all the way into college. He attends Mass every Sunday. But he never examines his faith very deeply, he admits, and he's not even remotely aware of the mystery of the Eucharist.

At UNL, he earns a major in fisheries and wildlife.

"I took a class on dirt called SOILS 153," he cracks. "But don't ever call it 'dirt'. That's offensive."

In his junior year, during a trip to Ogallala to catch turtles, he strikes up a friendship with a fellow UNL student. The friendship will change his life.

"Ed was a cool guy," Scott recalls. A devout Catholic, Ed goes to Confession, reads the Bible and is extremely knowledgeable about his faith. "He was alive and very confident," Scott recalls. Ed wakes Scott up to all the Church has to offer and makes it abundantly clear that God has a special vocation for Scott Harter.

Back in Lincoln, Scott begins to attend a Bible study. He is invited by a friend to attend daily Mass. Scott stares at him, bewildered. "Did you not go on Sunday?" he asks. Surely, the friend is not aware that Mass once a week is all that is required. But in the brief space of two months, Scott's world is turned completely around. He is intently learning about his Catholic faith.

More than anything, Scott Harter is attracted to the idea that he is meant for something special - that God has a vocation for him. From that point on, he explains, everything about his faith turns from obligation to attraction. It is all about, he says, a relationship with Jesus.

Eventually, the vocation question is forceful. To be the person he is meant to be, Scott realizes, he has to be a priest. Just like that, the pieces fall into place. He feels nothing but joy and peace and a strange sense of freedom. Walking outside, he observes the world with wonder.

"Did somebody turn the colors up?" he thinks in awe.

After graduation from UNL with the coveted fisheries and wildlife degree, Scott enters St. Mary of the Lake Seminary just outside of Chicago. In May, 2014, he is ordained a priest.

As an associate pastor at Grand Island St. Mary's Cathedral, he is knee deep in parish life. He loves his life as a priest but understands only too well the necessity of praying. Prayer all throughout the day means survival, he says. And in spite of his busy parish demands, he is devoted to the kids at Central Catholic. And they are devoted to him.

If he wants GICC students to know anything about their faith, it's that it's really only about a relationship. "And a relationship," he says, "that makes all the difference. Jesus is saving us from being distant with God. The truth is, we're already God's kids - we always have been. And he loves us."

One day, my husband and I see Bishop Joe Hanefeldt at school.

"Listen," I plead with him, "you've got to leave Scott Harter with us for a while. We need him."

The bishop smiles. And I get it. After all, there's half a state in this diffuse diocese that needs the likes of Father Scott Harter. We can't be selfish. Dammit. So I will hope that for another year, or even two, Central Catholic kids will soak up Father Scott like sponges - that they will passionately grow in their relationships with Jesus and bask in the freedom of knowing, like Father Scott Harter knows, that they are all God's beloved children.

And maybe, one more time, we could all hear the banjo ballad about the guy who tried to kill his wife.

Monica Kozisek and Greg Kozisek

Monica Kozisek breaks me up.

Even in high school, she is queen of the one-liners. Her quips during English class make me laugh so hard that sometimes I have coughing spasms. But I am the teacher. Should we be having so much fun? It doesn't matter. If Monica's in class, everybody has fun.

She is the eleventh of 12 children. Or, as she likes to remind her siblings, "I'm number one. Twice."

Greg and Monica, Christmas 2015

Her crazy sisters Alice, Margaret and Barb are her best friends. But as well, she is part of a tightly knit group of friends in the Grand Island Central Catholic Class of 1982. They are some of my very favorite kids. Perhaps because my own sister Mary is in that class or maybe because I am so young myself, I enjoy those kids to no end.

Mary and Monica play volleyball for Coach Sharon Zavala. I am an assistant coach. As much fun as those girls have practicing and playing together, there is a grit to them that is unusual. Several of them have suffered tragedy in their families. My sister has just lost our mother. Karla Rork loses her brother. Monica has lost her 14-year-old sister to complications from diabetes.

It is the 80's, though, a time in which we don't talk much about the heavy burdens in our lives. After Monica's sister Mary dies, the Koziseks continue with their lives. Monica knows her parents are suffering, but they do not speak of Mary. Volleyball becomes Monica's lifeline. She and her teammates leave their heartbreak and difficulties at home and abandon themselves to the sport.

Everybody is delighted for these nice girls when they earn a berth to the state tournament in Lincoln. Nobody expects too much. So it is nothing less than astonishing when Central Catholic claws its way to the finals. Monica's mother and sisters send a note scrawled with loving messages to Lincoln with her. Although Monica is a bench player for most of the season, inside her something comes alive. She wants this state championship more than anything. By the end of the state tourney, Monica is a crucial starter with a determined focus and a killer serve.

She and her team will win the school's first ever state volleyball title. The Central Catholic faithful is frenzied with excitement. Suddenly, anything becomes possible, and there is a seismic shift in girls' sports at GICC. For the next 30 years, little sixth grade girls enrolling at Central Catholic will believe they, too, can achieve the impossible. After the historic 1981 win, eight more teams will go on to win the big title for Coach Sharon Zavala and GICC.

Monica Kozisek believes she can do anything, too. She is only the second of her brothers and sisters to graduate from college. Although she earns a teaching degree, she discovers she prefers sales. Eventually, she becomes a lottery sales rep for IGT and enjoys both teaching store clerks the business and the camaraderie she shares with her clients.

Monica is in her 30's living in Lincoln, however, when she loses her lovely mother. It is up to her and her sisters to keep the big Kozisek family together, and they care for their father and organize holiday gatherings. But Monica misses her mother and yearns for more in her own life.

"Please," she prays to both God and her mother, "give me a new direction."

As if in answer to her prayer, the life of foster care presents itself. Monica plunges in. During the months ahead, she cares for five or so foster children for sporadic weekends until permanent shelter can be arranged. One day, however, a six-year-old boy with big dark eyes comes to her clenching a small bag in his hand. He is called Greg.They appraise each other.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" Monica asks.

Before they settle down, he carefully puts away his clothes and situates his room. Monica is amazed at the enormous courage it takes for a small boy to walk into a strange home. They settle down to watch the movie. Greg looks at her.

"I was hoping you'd be hotter," he says. They suddenly laugh, and Monica knows she's been gifted with a kid whose humor is as quirky as her own.

But it is a long process for Greg to develop trust. A self-reliant little boy, he has grown up as the youngest of several siblings. His own mother collapses under the weight of her struggles. Every morning, Greg wakes himself up and makes his own breakfast. Then he walks to the bus stop to go to his Lincoln public school. His mother has not registered him for the first grade, but Greg will not let that deter him. He presents himself to the school office, a small grave boy, and waits patiently for whatever must be accomplished to allow him to attend school.

Now he does not quite believe that Monica will take care of these important details. One day, he comes down with the stomach flu and is forced to stay home.  "You have to call the school!" he urges Monica. "Don't forget to let my day care know!"

She reassures him. "I know what to do, Greg." When he finally understands he does not have to be a first grade adult, Greg visibly relaxes. He excels in school, transforms into an exuberant little boy, and grows closer and closer to Monica.

When it becomes clear that Greg's own mother will not be able to care for him, Monica and Greg make the monumental decision to officially become a family. After a long and emotional wait, the adoption becomes finalized, and Monica and Greg, along with Monica's sisters, assemble at the Lincoln courthouse for the big day. In the austere courtroom, heavy tables are lined with microphones. Clowning, Monica's crazy sister Barb speaks into what she believes is a dead mic.

"Excuse me, Senator, but I refuse to answer the question." She is mortified to hear her own voice echoing back and leaps away from the microphone. Somehow it adds to the flavor of the whole crazy day. Greg realizes with a shock these funny, wonderful women are now his family.

It is almost nine years since the fateful day a little dark eyed boy arrived at Monica Kozisek's door. She and Greg now live in Grand Island. Monica wants him to be closer to aunts and uncles and cousins. As well, she wants him to graduate from her own alma mater, Grand Island Central Catholic.

It has not always been easy for Monica, a single mother, to scrape together the tuition for a Catholic school. She is grateful for the school's financial aid, scholarships and work study which have made Greg's education very affordable. "All you have to do is ask," Monica says. Whatever sacrifices are required on her part, she says, are completely worth it.

Greg feels his life opening up before him at Central Catholic. As he learns about his faith, he also experiences the joy of belonging to a tightly knit school community. He is a high honor roll student, an athlete, and most of all, he is a boy who is loved by his mother.

There was a time in his young life when Greg Kozisek worried relentlessly about every new uncertain moment. Now he looks forward to his future without fear. "God helps us. He's always been there for me," Greg says, "and he put me on the right track."

Someday, he says, he hopes to have a solid job and a solid family. Like the one he belongs to now. "I just want to be happy," Greg says.

Long ago, such a thing would have seemed impossible. But his good mother has taught him otherwise.

With a little faith, she assures him, anything is possible.