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.
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.
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| Senior Michael Cornelius |
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.
