John Partington

Johnny Partington is the most infuriatingly stubborn kid. 

GICC senior John Partington

Ever since his eighth grade year at Central Catholic, I've begged to write about him. 

"Nope," he says.

End of conversation.

The next year, I try a more subtle approach. "You've got a great story, John. It would be a disservice not to share it."

He pretends to consider. "Not now. Maybe next year."

Finally, just as I am ready to admit defeat, he relents. Beyond excited, I begin to make plans. We can use his senior picture for the story, I say, as well as a family photo and one of all his buddies.

"No pictures, Mrs. Howard," he says abruptly. "You've got the story. Compromise."

But I'm tired of taking no for an answer. Instead, I do what older, experienced and utterly professional teachers do.

I blackmail the heck out of him.

"That's fine, John," I say easily. "But I think it's time your little video went viral."

John with siblings Joe and Jamie

Just recently, Johnny and his friends Charles Armstrong, Kobi Bales and Will Goering have made a carefully researched video for their beloved religion teacher George Ayoub. All four boys rap as they chronicle the life of St. Francis and, in one startling scene, John appears for a second in a blue strapless prom dress and wig. He really goes all out. I've come into possession of this video - never mind how - and am supremely aware of its value.

John stares hard at me. "You wouldn't."

If only I had a mustache to twirl. "Oh, wouldn't I?"

The difficulty with John Partington is that he shuns any kind of limelight and would prefer to blend into the woodwork. Part of this is inbred modesty. The rest of it, however, is because of his Escobar Syndrome. A genetic condition which tragically took the life of John's infant sister, Escobar Syndrome affects the joints and muscles. John is unable to fully extend his arms and legs and is much shorter than his classmates. He also stutters, which for someone as bright and creative as John, is a relentless frustration.

John with parents Mary Jane and Jim

Friends and teachers know John Partington as the smart, thoughtful, funny kid who makes his classmates laugh out loud and feel good. 

"John Partington," writes one of his classmates for an English paper last year, "is the coolest kid in our class." He judges no one and possesses infinite wisdom beyond his years.

In grade school, however, when kids laugh and call him "Penguin", John's immediate impulse is to beat them up.

"This five foot whatever kid knows how to throw a punch," he laughs. Eventually, he becomes the mob boss of elementary school. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em - that was my grade school mentality," he recalls.

However, middle school angst catches up with him. It isn't his nature to bully, but he can't play sports like other kids. The reality of his life slams John in the face, and by the time he's a freshman, he stops caring altogether - about grades or people or himself.

Fortunately for John, he belongs to a tribe of beautiful, determined warriors. Jim and Mary Jane Partington, John's parents, raise him to be brave. His older siblings Joe and Jamie adore him, and it doesn't hurt that he's surrounded by a gazillion extended family members of grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who love, tease and support him.

Johnny with big brother Joe

Slowly John releases his "self-loathing", as he refers to it, and begins to enjoy his teenage life.

"It was hard enough being a kid, but add in being short, looking different than the typical human being, and a stutter - it's a lot for a little kid," he says. "But I think I just ultimately gave myself a break."

Interestingly, John never stutters when he sings. Last year when students were learning at home because of Covid, my husband John Howard assigned his students the task of filming one of their talents. John Partington, a crazy good musician and composer, sent a clip of his singing and guitar playing.

Not once did he stutter. It was so good that when we all return to school this fall, I show it to my classes on the big classroom screen.

"Good God," John groans in agony from his desk.

"Get over it," I snap, "and learn to gloat a little."

The kids love John's video and clap enthusiastically. They're wild about the way John whales on the drums in High School Band, too, and brings a gym full of fans fervently to their feet. Sometimes he composes and sings in rap. His friends consider this a thing of beauty and marvel at the complicated lyrics John delivers without so much as a glimmer of his stutter.

John, bottom left, with grandparents, aunts,
uncles and cousins

John never stutters if he doesn't have to think about his words either. In English class this year, we somehow enter into a discussion about what constitutes a perfect mate.

"She should be smart and funny and not taller than me," John says. It takes a while to say it, and he pauses several times to regroup between his stuttering.

"And curvaceous," he adds suddenly as an afterthought.

I notice he has no trouble spitting that out.

John is no longer the quiet little bespectacled boy reluctant to speak because of a stutter. Those middle school years are eons ago. Now he's a confident senior laughing and bantering with his friends and thoroughly enjoying this last year of high school. And music is always what John enjoys most.

John with best friend, GICC
senior Charles Armstrong

Charles Armstrong, John's best friend since grade school, loves making rap music with John. 

"We've added our friends Will Goering and Koby Bales to the mix and formed our own group," Charles says. Charles and John also have an obsession for two on two basketball games with Will and Zach Cloud, another good friend. "That's how we occupied ourselves during quarantine," Charles says.

The two friends share many memories. "In grade school," Charles remembers, "John's mom would pick us up after school and take us to the Sonic drive-through." Then the two spent hours playing Call of Duty, Halo and mini-hoop basketball. They created their own rock and roll band called "Adrenaline", and even started a Black Friday tradition. On that day every year, Charles still picks John up to shop for great Christmas deals at 5 in the morning.

"Except one year he overslept and kept me waiting until 6," Charles laughs. "I seriously thought about laying into him for being late, but I was just so happy to finally see him."

Sometimes they go for long drives to discuss their college plans. They wonder about life after Covid, and occasionally they even talk about the big stuff - God and the meaning of life.

John, middle, with friends (from bottom right
going clockwise) Russ Martinez, Reed Martinez, Zach
Cloud, Daniel Rey-Martinez, Kobi Bales, and
Charles Armstrong

John's good friends come from all over the school and from every community. He feels close to his band mates, especially some who have graduated. Joe Mueller, Nettie Van Heufeln and Faith Koralewski are still good friends and band allies. He loves everything about band and band instructor Monika Peters. "We're a bigger band than we've ever been - which is a pretty big accomplishment because we're typically a jock school," John says proudly.

With music, John has discovered articulation and expression for his life. His favorite songwriter ever, he says, is Jeff Tweedy from the band Wilco. "His lyrics tend to be pretty abstract and nonsensical. But I think it's cool to have lyrics that ultimately mean nothing. People can make their own interpretations. That's a tool I try to use in my own song writing."

Next year John plans to study computer programming and eventually hopes to major in Computer Science. But he'd like to study music, too. His ultimate goal is to become a musician.

"I guess the financially safe side of me tells me to get a more financially safe job first," he grins ruefully.

Those of us who who know and love him, however, believe he'll venture into the musical world someday.

"That's John Partington!" we'll tell a future generation when he hits it big. We will remember the small stuttering boy with the big mind and heart who made us all smile, and we'll puff out our chests and be very proud.

But who are we kidding, Johnny. We're very proud now.

Our Nini

You'd be proud of your classmates, Nini. Your teachers, too. This first week without you was a kick in the gut. Even now, we stumble in the middle of speaking, walking, breathing. How can this be? Our minds will not comprehend your passing.

Nini Pham

Only days before, I have scolded you in my English class.

"You didn't follow the assignment," I explain, "which was to write about a grandparent."

"But I want to write about my mom," you say with that quiet stubbornness I know so well. "She's had an interesting life, and I want to share her story."

You are never a demanding child, but you are a determined one, and I suddenly lose the will to argue.

"Fine, Nini," I sigh. "Do it your way."

Even though you're pale and unwell, I am irritated and hardly bother to ask you about your ailing asthma. But the essay you read to all of us about your brave mother - a young woman who left VietNam with your father to come to America - touches and inspires us all. Was that only a week ago Monday, Nina?

When your principal Jordan Engle summons us with the news that you've collapsed, your teachers gather together at school. Some weep, others sit dazed in the school library. There is nothing much to say, but we find comfort in the nearness of each other.

Your religion teacher Mrs.Dee Hanssen springs into action rocking Mrs. Amy May's baby daughter, handing out bottled water, leading a Rosary. With Father Sid Bruggeman, she quickly prepares the chapel for a hastily arranged Mass.

Her small but kind ministrations soothe us and strangely bring helpless tears to my eyes. Praying fervently together in the newly renovated chapel, still smelling of new paint and fresh pine, your teachers give you to Jesus.

Nini, center, with her little sister Tina
and Tina's best friend Lillie Encinger.

After Mass in the school hallway, small Lillie Encinger runs straight to teacher Jennifer Koralewski. The best friend of your little sister, Lillie sobs in Mrs. Koralewski's arms. I will never forget how Sheridan Puncochar, a sweet eighth grade girl filled with concern for her distressed friend, pats Lillie awkwardly on her shoulder.

All week long your classmates and teachers reach out to each other.

Your own best friend Lizzie Calderon drives to Omaha to be with your family in your hospital room. She is with you until the very end when your family must make the terrible decision to remove you from life support.

Your cheerleader sponsors Kate Schendt and Makenzie Mudloff lovingly paste scrapbook photos together for your grieving family. Mr. Engle, in only his second year as principal, rises to the task at hand and works hard to make all our kids feel safe.

That first day back at school, comfort dogs receive GICC students in the library. Father Jim Golka who patiently ministered to you and your family in the hospital now counsels your friends through the terrible first day without you. Emilie Ziller, a fellow cheerleader, silently leaves class to pull herself together and prop up others. I am dreading the thought of your empty desk in English class, but Ashlyn Kucera wordlessly slips into your seat to fill in the gaping space.

Nini and best friend Lizzie Calderon

Hardly able to speak, your classmate Raegan Gellatly asks me finally if she might have the poem she wrote about you in English. I make sure also to give Miss Lucy Long, our student teacher, the beautiful poem you penned.

"Miss Long is like a cup of tea - " you wrote. "Calm, relaxed, nice. Making me feel warm inside."

We long for these small momentoes of your life. They make you seem very close.

At the end of the week when we know you are safely in Heaven and funeral arrangements have been made, we all relax a little and begin to conduct business as usual.

Miss Long poses a question to our 6th mod senior English class: Would you rather possess more intelligence than good looks or more good looks than intelligence?

Nini with classmate and
homecoming date
Russ Martinez.

Without hesitation class clown Sam Herbek replies, "I'm fortunately lucky enough to possess both."

We laugh. We laugh hard. Maybe too hard. It's a great release and the beginning of healing.

Your classmates will graduate without you next year. They will attend college and work and marry and raise families. Eager to gather at good ol' GICC for a class reunion in the far distant future, they'll return as gray-haired grandparents. But you, Nini, will always be16.

Someone will say, "Remember the day Colby Setlick accidentally set off the fire alarm in weight lifting class?"

Others will remember with great laughter the dead goose seniors buried behind the track memorializing its grave with cast off corsages and boutonnieres.

They will recall Mrs. Peter's glorious lunches, Tanner Turek's undying passion for the losing Cleveland Browns, and Johnny Partington's stellar dance performance at Homecoming.

Finally, someone will say, bringing a hushed silence, "That was the year we lost Nini."

Nini Pham
2002-2019

Today we say our last goodbyes. At Blessed Sacrament Church, Father Marty Egging reminds us during your funeral of your courageous decision to leave the devout faith of your good Vietnamese family and to embark on your own journey to Catholicism. Last year you are confirmed and even teach CCD classes with your best buddy Lizzie.

"Nini longed for Christ," Father Marty says simply.

Your 16-year-old faith is our biggest comfort, dear Nini. Thank you for that last gift. Thank you for the smile that crinkled your nose, your swinging pony tail, and your infectious laugh.

Somewhere you're laughing and dancing and leaping with Jesus in a lovely place of light.

We will see you there, sweet Nini.

KoriAnne Moslander

KoriAnne Moslander brims with excitement - even more so than usual. She and her Central Catholic dance team have just been named Class C state champs for the tenth year in a row.

“It was all so worth the work - the 6 a.m. practices and breaking down every move,” she beams. “We were all crying, but we know we have to work hard next year to make it happen again.”

KoriAnne, a GICC junior, is a vivacious, smiling teenage girl. Good grades, state championships and making new friends all come easily to her. She seems, for all the world, to have the privileged life every kid dreams of.  People are amazed to hear otherwise.

KoriAnne Moslander and grandmother Donetta Nye

“My grandma saved my life,” KoriAnne says simply. “She’s the only parent I have, and she’s my best friend.”

Before she arrived at Central Catholic as a sophomore, KoriAnne was unwilling to share much of her life with her new friends and classmates. Growing up, she felt relentlessly bullied in her old town and high school. Kids refused to include her because of her family history, and finally her grandmother convinced her to move to Grand Island and attend Grand Island Central Catholic.

“I tell her now it was the best decision ever,” KoriAnne grins. “My friends are like family, and I feel connected to everybody. Classes can be hard, but they’re really good.”

KoriAnne didn’t immediately share her story with her new friends in Grand Island, but as she began to build relationships and trust her classmates, she confided to them little by little her traumatic start in life.

“My parents were divorced before I was born,” she says quietly, “and they both suffered with addiction.”

Although her father was able to conquer his own addiction, her mother could not. KoriAnne was two months old when her mother left her alone at home with her three-year-old brother and forgot about them both. KoriAnne’s grandparents - her dad’s parents - stepped in to remove the children from their mother’s home. Although KoriAnne’s father was able to conquer his addiction, several years later he died.

Grand Island Central Catholic State Championship Dance Team: First row
from left- Taryn Dimmitt, Ellie Alberts, Aubrey Moritz, KoriAnne
Moslander. Second row from left - Stephanie Huntwork, Kathryn
Rohweder, Tatum Hedman, Kennedi Henke, Coach Erin Neuhaus.
Last row - Coach Nicole Hicken

Donetta Nye is actually KoriAnne’s great-grandmother and just celebrated her 80th birthday. When she and her husband took in their two small great-grandchildren, Donetta had to learn how to diaper a baby all over again

“She told me she’d never used disposable diapers!” KoriAnne laughs. “When she took care of her own kids and grandkids, it was with cloth diapers and safety pins.”

Nevertheless, KoriAnne’s great grandparents provided the stability their two little great-grandchildren had never experienced. Tyler, KoriAnne’s brother, is on his own now. He’s very protective of his little sister, KoriAnne says.

“But my grandma and I are pretty much everything to each other,” she says.

A few years ago when KoriAnne’s great-grandfather died, she helped her grieving great-grandmother.

 “When my dad died, Grandma did everything she could to help me. So when Grandpa died, I knew I had to help my grandma through that.”

Even at 80, Donetta Nye is a busy, active woman. The long time director of the St. Paul Senior Center, she often brought a small KoriAnne to work with her. The little girl enchanted the senior citizens, and every Thursday KoriAnne danced for the residents. She loved accompanying her grandmother to work and hanging out with her elderly clients.

“My grandma is so extraordinary,” KoriAnne shakes her head. “She’s the most caring, super-wise, most educated person in the world. She’s overly generous and has the hugest heart.”

Though KoriAnne has many good friends, she prefers to be with her grandmother more than anybody else. They spend time together every night and giggle uproariously together.

“We love The Bachelor,” KoriAnne laughs, “and making fun of those stupid girls. I also got Grandma into taking funny selfies, and she poses with me all the time. She tells me all her crazy stories, and I can tell her anything.”

KoriAnne plans to study respiratory therapy at UNO after she graduates next year. She’d also like to specialize in Alzheimer’s care since her grandfather suffered from the disease.

“I’m pretty sure Grandma will move to Omaha with me when it’s time,” KoriAnne says, “and I couldn’t be happier about that.”

She smiles her radiant smile.

“Grandma’s my rock. I love her so much.”

Beverly Yax

Beverly Yax is a breath of fresh air.

Beverly Yax, GICC senior

Bursting into class, she greets friends with her laughing brown eyes and mega-watt smile. On this bleak afternoon in January, Bev floods my classroom with her own particular sunlight.

"Here's my best friend - the queen of the ball!" she congratulates her friend Ciara, another lively student in Senior English just crowned Winter Ball queen at our Central Catholic school dance last weekend. "I was so mad at you when you danced with my date," Bev teases Ciara before giggling like the sweet school girl she is.

It is always like this. Bev radiates smiles and warmth and cheer. I never suspect life is anything but untroubled for this adorable girl. She works hard for her nearly flawless grades, competes joyfully with her friends on the cross country team, and is universally adored by all who know her.

Two years ago as a sophomore, however, Beverly's world turns upside down. The girl who comes to school every day with a gleeful smile leads a far from untroubled life. Only days before Christmas, Beverly's mother is arrested at her work place by immigration officials for possessing a false identity. She immediately phones Bev at home and calmly instructs her to call her big brother Abidan who lives and works in Lincoln.

"Mom!" Bev sobs over the phone. "How can you be so calm?"

"Leave it in the hands of God," her mother soothes.

It is almost, Bev believes, as if her mother has known for 18 years that this moment will come.

Long ago when Bev's mother is 16-years-old living in Guatemala with her own widowed mom and 12 siblings, she flees with her 17-year-old boyfriend Benjamin to Los Angeles. Benjamin Yax speaks English and quickly finds a job as an electrician. Juana, however, speaks no English. Nevertheless, she finds work as a maid and diligently saves money to support her large family back in Guatemala.

When she and Benjamin marry, they decide to move to Grand Island to raise their family. Because Juana is an illegal immigrant, she purchases a fake social security number from a woman in California. It's the only way she will be able to find work, and her Guatemalan family is depending on her. The woman, however, tells Juana it will cost 10,000 dollars. For five years, Juana and Benjamin work hard to pay off their debt. Juana never uses the fake social security number for anything except a job application, but the worry of discovery hangs constantly over her.

In Grand Island, Benjamin and Juana raise their three children Abidan, Bev and Bambi. Juana finds a good job at JBS, and Benjamin works for Ziller Tile. The Zillers, all Central Catholic graduates, convince the Yaxes to send their hard working children to GICC. Benjamin and Juana have dreams for their children. Although Ben is a high school graduate, Juana has only a fifth grade education. Their children, the couple is determined, will go to college.

With exceptional sacrifice on their part, they manage to send both Abidan and Beverly to Central Catholic. Abidan is athletic, and Bev is smart. While the kids thrive, Benjamin and Juana's marriage falters. Benjamin begins drinking. Not long after, he is unfaithful to Juana. Then one day as Juana works hard at her job, immigration officials raid the office to arrest her. In a fell swoop, life has fallen apart for the Yax family.

Juana is released on bond, but there is every reason to believe she will be deported. Because her mother is forbidden to work, Bev finds a full time job to help support her family. She pushes away from her good friends and refuses to go to school. Never has she felt more alone.

When she doesn't appear at GICC for two weeks, GICC comes to her. Principal Kristen Klein and Spanish teacher Amy May show up at the door of the Yax family home.

"I'll never forget that day," Bev recalls. "Mrs. Klein talked me into coming back to school. She told me Central Catholic would be there for me and would find a way to help with tuition."

Her friends and teachers, especially religion teachers Deb Houdek and Mary Wiles, support her through the next 14 months.

Bev with friends Ciara Hernandez, left, and Kenna
Culler, right.

"They were so good to me," Bev smiles tremulously. "I couldn't have gotten through that time without them." Mrs. Houdek is always there to listen, she says, and it's Miss Wiles who helps Bev with her faith.

"Our family is not Catholic," Bev says, "but in 7th grade, Miss Wiles taught our class the Rosary. It's become my very favorite prayer and makes me feel so close to God." She sighs raggedly. "Once I thought God was against me, but now I know he's always been with me."

In spite of her 40 hour work week at the Field House, Bev manages to stay on top of her nearly 4.0 grade average and even participates in softball and basketball. Her school and friends are the lifeline she needs. Just before her junior year, though, as she and her family wait anxiously for her mother's court date, Bev injures her knee and must have surgery. Because of her mother's illegal status, the family has no Medicaid insurance, and Bev and her father must pay for her surgery.

"St. Francis helped us, but the rest was up to us," she explains. "We have six thousand dollars still to go," she flashes a hopeful smile, "but we're getting there!"

In the meantime, her mother and father have worked on their marriage.

"Find God, and go to AA!" Juana insists of her husband. He does, and only recently is baptized at Centro Vida Christian Church. It's a great day for the Yax family.

In February, Juana's court date is finally scheduled. Bev is terrified, and so am I. She will miss school, she explains, but promises to let me know the results of the hearing. All that day at school I stare at the clock waiting for a text from Bev. During 8th period, at the end of the day, she all at once appears in the doorway of my classroom. We stare at each other, and I wait.

"It's okay!" she sobs. Running to me, she flings her arms around my neck, and the two of us grip each other, oblivious to the stares of my startled 11th grade American Lit students.

It's scary going to the courthouse, Bev tearfully explains. For the first time in her life, she sees hardened criminals all around her. When it's time for her mother to appear before the judge, Bev says, Juana apologizes. She describes to the judge her dilemma of trying to find work in the United States to care for her mother and younger siblings. Then it's Bev's turn to speak to the judge.

"If you take away my mother," Bev pleads, "you take away my family. My little sister would have to go to Guatemala with our mother. We would all be split up."

The judge decides in their favor, and even the prosecutors apologize to the Yax family. "You're a good family," one attorney pumps all their hands. "I'm sorry for all you've endured."

Never has Bev been so happy.

"I don't have a family like everybody else at Central Catholic," she admits. In awe, she sees the way her classmates' parents anticipate their children's every need and smooth their way. Bev, in the meantime, is still working 40 hours a week. Her mother will not be able to work until her immigration status is resolved, and Bev must help pay the family bills and her surgery balance. Nevertheless, she's as happy as she's ever been.

"My family is together," she smiles, her face alight, "and I have the support of this school and my friends. It's all I need."

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.