Tommy McFarland

The bell rings to end American Literature class. My students gather their books laughing and jostling each other out the door.

All but Tommy McFarland.

He lags behind at the window staring out at a raw January day until the last of his classmates departs. Then he shuffles deliberately to my desk.

"Sorry about Mr. Howard's brother," he murmurs, eyes full of sympathy.

My husband's youngest brother has just passed away, and I am deeply touched by Tommy's concern. But not surprised.

A senior at Grand Island Central Catholic, Tommy McFarland has a reputation for being one of the kindest kids you could ever hope to meet. "T-Mac", as his classmates call him, is the first one to acknowledge every student and teacher in the hallway.

"He's our Simba," grins classmate Mayra Almayra. In spite of his serious purposefulness when it comes to studies, Tommy nevertheless is as funny and playful with his classmates as, well, as a lion cub.

"Tommy's got this laugh that fills up the place," says Luke Wemhoff, another classmate. "You always know when Tommy laughs because every person around him starts to erupt. There isn't a single person who's as happy and fun loving as Tommy McFarland."

Be that as it may, Tommy knows when to be serious. Deeply reverent at Thursday morning school Mass, Tommy says his faith is enormously important. He is not, he explains, one to talk about his religion, but he has no qualms about quietly saying grace before meals even in a public place.

"Father Scott Harter's really made an impact on all of us," Tommy says about GICC's school chaplain. "He's helped us understand faith isn't just something for the weekends. It's part of our every day lives."

And Tommy McFarland walks the talk. Nobody's left out or excluded in his sphere.

"T-Mac's so nice," says classmate Ben Benton, "that he invited every kid in the class to his house after Homecoming our sophomore year."

Tommy is quick to credit his family for supporting and loving and teaching him what's important. "They mean a lot to me. My mom and dad and sister are always there for me and each other."

His grandfather, the late Bob McFarland - a retired Grand Island High School public teacher who coached boys' golf at GICC for several years - was a huge influence in his grandson's life. Tommy remembers his grandfather's love for his GICC players and his three consecutive state titles in the early 2000's.

"He was such a loving man who always looked for the best in all of us," Tommy recalls. "He taught me that if you're going to do something right, you have to work hard at it."

Nobody works harder than Tommy McFarland. The boys in his class tease him about a particular Spanish class in which they sit behind Tommy and whisper noisily back and forth.

"Would you guys cut it out!" Tommy finally snaps. "I'm trying to LEARN!"

He doesn't mind the teasing. "All the kids in my class take academics seriously," he says.  "We're all looking to the future, but we're part of a family here. We look out for each other, too."

Tommy plans to attend Wesleyan University next year and hopes to study medicine. It's not hard to imagine him in a white jacket talking gently with a patient. I can see him bending solicitously and holding the hand of a small, scared child. He's compassionate and confident and reassuring.

But that kindly, good physician will have to wait a few years.

Today Tommy McFarland looks forward to his last year of high school. Today he'll joke with friends, practice hard on the football field, and maybe find the nerve to ask a girl to Homecoming.

Today, he only has to be our T-Mac.

Sam Tynan and Grace Tynan

I'm grateful for the Tynan kids. They teach me so much more than I could ever teach them.

Grace Tynan and Sam Tynan

Take "purple nurple", for instance - the act of grasping a person's nipple between the thumb and forefinger to roughly twist until it bruises.

Did not know this. Thanks to Sam and Grace, however, I'm thoroughly educated. Grace describes, in vivid detail, the numerous times during her grade school days she's inflicted this particular pain upon her brother Sam.

"The thing is," she says now, "he never fought back." She reflects more with a sense of wonder than of guilt. "Oh, he absolutely deserved everything he got," she defends herself vigorously.

Sam, one year older, grins. "Grace and my older brother Jack are the same person. They can't express their anger with words," he says. With the calculated brilliance of a typical middle child, he picks his siblings apart piece by piece, drives them crazy, then waits patiently until they physically assault him. Nothing gives Sam more satisfaction.

He and his sister laugh together. No two siblings are less alike than Sam and Grace Tynan. They clearly, however, enjoy and rely upon each other.

"She's pretty Type A," Sam teases, "and a hundred percent motivated at everything. But she's so loyal. She helps me with my homework, which is a little embarrassing, and she completely gets my sense of humor. We have all these inside jokes."

It's true that while Sam is a laid back, take-life-as-it-comes kind of kid, Grace is the model student. She arrives to English class prepared and ready for a quiz. She loves to read, checks her homework twice, and knows exactly what has to be accomplished by tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and even the day after that.

Sam? Not so much. If Sam, though, is not a perfect student, he's still enormously gifted. In my senior composition class, he reads his written assignments out loud - memoirs from grade school, middle school and high school days. I can hardly wait for the next installment.

"Sam," I tell him, "you write like Jean Shepherd." Shepherd wrote A Christmas Story. "These accounts could be published," I urge him.

He grins, embarrassed, but pleased nevertheless. It's true. Sam's descriptions of his youth as one of the "Gator Boys", his little posse of friends who attended Gates Elementary, are the highlight of my school day. He writes of pals Garrett Steinke, Tanner Staab, Nick Nolan and the Bernal brothers, and long summer afternoons romping and playing at the "Press" - the Presbyterian Church - on acres of endless green grass. Garrett and Tanner attend Central Catholic now, Nick is at GISH, and Ryan and Noah Bernal are in Ralston. Yet, the boys are still close. Sam will hold those idyllic summer days dear for the rest of his life.

But his middle and high school days at Central Catholic with old and new friends are just as important, and Sam has never lost his spirit of fun and adventure. He recalls the time in eighth grade he and Nick Nolan make up their own secret language to communicate with each other across the classroom. He remembers his big brother beating him up in football practice and secretly setting the alarms of  his friends' cell phones to go off in Mrs. Oltean's religion class.

Grace, the perfect student, is as sweet, pleasant and heaven sent as they come. She, too, has made lifelong friends at Central Catholic and relishes her own nostalgic days at school. Because of her two older brothers, she steps into a ready-made comfortable space at GICC. Not only is she familiar with the facility, but teachers already know her. Some are relieved she in no way resembles Sam. Grace, however, knows her big brother always has her back and is extremely protective of her.

"Sam acts tough," she smiles knowingly, "but he's not."

Grace will always remember trying to hide on the stage with her best pal Courtney Wilson so that they don't have to play Dodge Ball and storming the field when Sam's Crusader football team beats Wilber by one point.

"Central Catholic has been a great place to grow up," Grace reflects. "It's a place where you become close to friends and teachers for the rest of your life."

Both Grace and Sam acknowledge that Central Catholic has been important to their brother Jack and their parents Jerry and Sue Tynan. Their dad, they explain, who attended a huge school in Connecticut, wanted his kids in a smaller environment to have relationships with teachers and classmates, to participate in a multitude of activities, and to learn about their Catholic faith.

"My dad loves Central Catholic almost as much as Mr. Schumann does," Sam laughs.

He and his sister imitate their father Jerry - a much loved, wonderfully gregarious man who can talk to anybody - shaking a complete stranger's hand. Grace, the stranger, pretends to be locked in an everlasting grip.

"He doesn't let go!" Sam laughs. "He holds on until it's awkward for the other guy."

Grace giggles. "My mom says it's because he grew up back East and doesn't understand personal space boundaries."

But the kids love their father and are grateful for the importance both their parents have placed on the small, family atmosphere of Central Catholic. Because of their school, their Catholic faith has become essentially important to both of them.

"Father Scott (Harter) brought life to my Catholic faith," Sam says about GICC's school chaplain.

Grace agrees. "He makes it fun to be Catholic, and I love to listen to his homilies at school Mass. He tries to sit at a different lunch table with all the kids and answer any questions we have about Catholocism."

And because of the religion department's spring service day project, Grace discovered her love for helping animals at the Humane Society.

"That was a great day. I knew how much I wanted to be a vet after that," she says. "I have two dogs, and they're my favorite family members," she grins wickedly at Sam.

Like his sister, Sam has discovered his calling, too. Working with younger kids at football and other volunteer activities helped him to realize he loves kids. "I'd like to be a teacher or work in child psychology someday," he says.  His sister calls him the "Baby Whisperer" because of his great rapport and connection with babies and small children.

Graduation looms on the horizon for Sam, and neither he nor Grace seems

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.