Fifth grade graduation

Overscheduled beyond reason, I didn't have high hopes for the fifth grade graduation ceremony. But it didn't take long for reality to strike.

Goodbye Johnson School of the Arts. Hello McKinley Middle School.

And, oh my, what a lady you've become.

Apparently, the first female president is still up for grabs. It's hard to say what the next 20 years will bring, but you will own whatever it is. This much is clear.

I love you.

Tornado twists fortunes of Iowa town

Leave it to the LA Times to best describe an Iowa tragedy.

Parkersburg, population 2,000, had seen its economic fortunes improving. The storm kills four people and destroys at least a third of the town.
By Jay Christensen and P.J. Huffstutter
Los Angeles Times Staff Writers

PARKERSBURG, IOWA — In a place where a man's fortune often depends on which way the wind blows, Parkersburg was enjoying a time of bounty. Farmers across the region, flush from a nation hungry for corn-based ethanol, had splurged on new tractors and sporty trucks for the first time in years.

Along the main thoroughfare, business was brisk. Civic leaders routinely boasted about how -- in a state without a professional football team -- this hamlet of fewer than 2,000 people had turned out four NFL players over the last two decades.

Such good times in a state that has seen its economy roller coaster and its population dwindle in recent decades made Sunday's deadly storms all the more painful.

The tornado that ripped through this blue-collar agricultural town -- destroying at least a third of Parkersburg and killing four people -- was nearly a mile wide in spots and cut a path almost 50 miles long. National Weather Service officials said early estimates indicated the tornado might have traveled on the ground for as long as an hour.

Two more people were killed in nearby New Hartford, about nine miles to the east. And at least 65 people were injured when the tornado barreled across freshly planted fields in this eastern portion of the state, about 80 miles northeast of Des Moines.

"You really are overwhelmed when you see it," said Iowa Gov. Chet Culver at a news conference Monday. "You can't imagine this kind of devastation, homes completely gone."

The search for the injured and the dead stretched into the early morning hours Monday as emergency vehicles raced across debris-littered roads. At least two of those killed in Parkersburg had been huddled inside their basements, city officials said.

"We get tornadoes here, but it has been years and years since we've seen anything close to being this bad," said Rod Donavon, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service in Des Moines. "The sirens went off. People sought shelter. And they still died."

The storm system was believed to have been at least a 3 on the Enhanced Fujita Scale, which estimates the strength of tornadoes from 0 to 5. A level 3 means the winds were between 136 mph and 165 mph.

After the tornado hit about 5 p.m. Sunday, Jason Johnson and his wife, Barb, crawled out of the basement and gazed upon miles of overturned trucks and houses blown off their foundations.

Their house was destroyed.

Johnson's parents had recently sold their home in nearby Waverly, and were expecting to move next week -- to a place just down the block from their son.

That house also was demolished.

"None of us has a place to go after Friday," said Jason Johnson, 39. "I'd like to find my wife's wedding ring. That would make my day. I found mine this morning in the backyard."

On Monday, Mayor Robert Haylock had to duck under downed power lines as he focused on Parkersburg's other immediate problems: clean water, steady phone service and housing hundreds of residents in a town that had lost 21 businesses and more than 200 homes.

Some of those homes were on the town's south side, part of a new subdivision near a nine-hole golf course tucked in the middle of farm country. They're all gone. Debris was scattered across fields, and chunks of rebar and siding had pierced the trunks of wind-stripped trees.

Haylock, who has served on the City Council since 1973, was out of town when the storm hit. He arrived about 10 minutes after it passed.

Parkersburg's lone grocery store was in ruins, as was the only gas station. The same was true of City Hall, along with government records and historical documents that date to the 1800s.

Just last month, Parkersburg had passed a multimillion-dollar bond measure so the school district could build a fine arts auditorium for concerts and community plays.

It was another sign, Haylock said, of how Parkersburg "was growing and the economy was good."

Aplington-Parkersburg High School now has no roof, no windows and few standing brick walls. The gymnasium, where at least 1,000 people gathered for graduation last week, was a mangled pile of crumbled brick, shredded roofing tiles and sodden paper.

On the football field, a goal post was twisted and broken, as were the aluminum bleachers. Much of the high school's memorabilia honoring the Falcons' proud football past was either missing or buried beneath piles of debris that, in some places, were nearly two stories high.

Dozens of parents and teachers spent Monday digging through the rubble for reminders of local heroes such as the Denver Broncos' Casey Wiegmann and the Green Bay Packers' Aaron Kampman -- who have returned home over the summers to work out in the weight room and inspire young players with stories of life in the NFL.

Their high school football coach, Ed Thomas, was busy Monday answering frantic calls from out-of-town family and former students -- and trying to dig a few mementos from the wreckage of his home.

Nearly everyone he knows was affected by the storm. Wiegmann's father still lives in town. A tree hit his house, Thomas said.

Kampman raced from Kansas City, Mo., to get back Monday. His grandfather was one of the people injured in the storm, Thomas said.

"We'll put this town back together," said Thomas, who has lived in Parkersburg for 33 years. "We're going to rebuild and stay here, coaching and teaching. God give me help."

56 games hath June

It's practically a doubleheader a day, except the 1st, 3rd, 7-8, 12th, 19th, 22nd, 24th and 26th are actually baseball/softball free -- not counting practice. This is revision #184 of the composite schedules of my daughter's softball team and my son's baseball teams.

The latest revision is the result of my high school freshman son's apparent promotion to the sophomore squad. He more-than filled in tonight -- playing second and short while holding his own at the plate throughout the double-header sweep in Dubuque. I missed most of the first game and left my camera and scorecard behind, but saw all of the nightcap and was within earshot of the postgame chat when Coach told Zach and Jordy "you're with us."

What an ego boost! I wonder how Zach felt. My only regret is he probably won't pitch much, but he's still got USSSA baseball for that. He also plays on the high school feeder program's 14U team by virtue of not turning 15 until June.

So for the next month or so, he'll alternate between overage little leaguer and underage high school baseball player. This is indeed a rare point in time that I know he's going to seize.

I can't say that I've seen him go to lift weights at 6:30 EVERY weekday morning because I'm always asleep, but I know he did it. And I've watched him evolve from a chubby, plodding kid who loved the game into a chiseled, hustling competitor who hates losing.

I'd like to think I've helped -- financially, if nothing else -- but the work was all his. I couldn't be prouder, son. Go for it!

Kobe's finest hour?

Perhaps the coolest thing Kobe Bryant has ever done.

a reason to celebrate

"I believe Ms. P can make a cake, and it's pretty good." This the final pronouncement.

"I should make you write that on the board," I retort. 500 times, I think, half-seriously.

If she only knew. Maybe someday I'll tell her the story of having to re-make half the batter for an excess of flour and how this shortcake was probably a wee bit shorter than it could have been for all the dumping out and re-mixing after I nearly forgot the sugar (sick and tired and baking at midnight is not exactly conducive). But since proving that I could do it was as much my purpose as pleasing the Seniors, for now we'll stick with, "I believe Ms. P can make a cake, and it's pretty good."

As were the tamales and japchae, tostadas and nian gao, pizza and sushi and very very very very hot wings (our no-longer-so-new Brazilian friend may never recover from one, but his new girlfriend made it through five on a dare) and everything else that covered that table. Perhaps some things that go on in my classroom can be questioned, but our ability to celebrate? Never. Instead we acknowledged our graduates by eating well and giving gifts and listening to music and taking dozens and dozens of pictures.

"Now that was a party," said one of the Seniors, at the end.

"Not bad for 7th block," I concurred. And finally it feels like Spring: even the sun came out to join us for the afternoon, not that I have a window. Or a window into the future, either, to forsee how many of those above wannabe Top Models will be around in three years when their class puts their hands out for their diplomas. Life is too unpredictable; I know too much to assume.

For one might follow through with a vow to quit in December, the minute of turning sixteen, despite being the smartest of the bunch. One might really flee to an uncle in California and leave notebooks full of despair behind. Two will graduate from somewhere, absolutely, guaranteed. Unless the unthinkable happens, as sometimes, we know, it does. And one will just think she's playing until she wakes up and realizes she's decided something about her life, or not, and that it's just happened and now what. Regardless, I will be here. For whoever is left and whoever in their stead walks through that heavy door. Doing what I do, doing what I can. Trying to make a difference. Glad to have a part. So sure if, come 2011, they want me to, or if they again kinda dare me, I'll absolutely bake a cake.

Keith Never Fails

easy as pie

"YOU can bake a CAKE?"

"What do you mean, can I bake a cake!?" I'm up in arms, offended. Don't they know better by now? We're settling our graduation party menu, and I've just offered to satisfy a wish for something strawberry by going to the trouble to bake a from-scratch spongecake with real whipped cream and the berries--the deluxe treatment as much because it is my favorite as to honor our few Seniors.

As I assure myself--the same self that barely gets any dinner cooked barely any nights at all--that it won't be that much trouble, I hear an echo with a Chinese accent from the other side of the room as "strawberry cake" is listed by my name on the whiteboard, and again the reaction is incredulous, and again I demand to know why.

"You a teacher." And not for the first time in any context I feel kind of insulted. But this time I just don't get it.

"What does that have to do with anything?!" I try not to stamp my foot. And they can't really explain. It's just not who they assumed I am when it's a skill I take for granted. At this point, I should be glad to have any secret, any unrevealed side, as much as they casually pry into my life. But instead it's a thrown gauntlet. I may have only bought eggs so far, may not know the exact whereabouts of my springform pans, may not have done anything but make rude gestures at the stack of work in my bag, may need to provide technical assistance to a 5th grade video book report in between the beating and the folding and the slicing and the so on, and really, may need to make two, but I swear those doubting unbelievers shall be having some Deluxe Strawberry Shortcake, as the cookbook calls it, Friday, and if they don't like it? I don't even want to hear it.

Back to the future

Obama wins most pledged delegates and returns to Iowa, where victory led to this historic moment.

Read on for the text of his speech.

You know, there is a spirit that brought us here tonight - a spirit of change, and hope, and possibility. And there are few people in this country who embody that spirit more than our friend and our champion, Senator Edward Kennedy. He has spent his life in service to this country not for the sake of glory or recognition, but because he cares - deeply, in his gut - about the causes of justice, and equality, and opportunity. So many of us here have benefited in some way or another because of the battles he's waged, and some of us are here because of them.


We know he is not well right now, but we also know that he's a fighter. And as he takes on this fight, let us lift his spirits tonight by letting Ted Kennedy know that we are thinking of him, that we are praying for him, that we are standing with him, and that we will be fighting with him every step of the way.

Fifteen months ago, in the depths of winter, it was in this great state where we took the first steps of an unlikely journey to change America.

The skeptics predicted we wouldn't get very far. The cynics dismissed us as a lot of hype and a little too much hope. And by the fall, the pundits in Washington had all but counted us out.

But the people of Iowa had a different idea.

From the very beginning, you knew that this journey wasn't about me or any of the other candidates in this race. It's about whether this country - at this defining moment - will continue down the same road that has failed us for so long, or whether we will seize this opportunity to take a different path - to forge a different future for the country we love.

That is the question that sent thousands upon thousands of you to high school gyms and VFW halls; to backyards and front porches; to steak fries and JJ dinners, where you spoke about what that future would look like.

You spoke of an America where working families don't have to file for bankruptcy just because a child gets sick; where they don't lose their home because some predatory lender tricks them out of it; where they don't have to sit on the sidelines of the global economy because they couldn't afford the cost of a college education. You spoke of an America where our parents and grandparents don't spend their retirement in poverty because some CEO dumped their pension - an America where we don't just value wealth, but the work and the workers who create it.

You spoke of an America where we don't send our sons and daughters on tour after tour of duty to a war that has cost us thousands of lives and billions of dollars but has not made us safer. You spoke of an America where we match the might of our military with the strength of our diplomacy and the power of our ideals - a nation that is still the beacon of all that is good and all that is possible for humankind.

You spoke of a future where the politics we have in Washington finally reflect the values we hold as Americans - the values you live by here in Iowa: common sense and honesty; generosity and compassion; decency and responsibility. These values don't belong to one class or one region or even one party - they are the values that bind us together as one country.

That is the country I saw in the faces of crowds that would stretch far into the horizon of our heartland - faces of every color, of every age - faces I see here tonight. You are Democrats who are tired of being divided; Republicans who no longer recognize the party that runs Washington; Independents who are hungry for change. You are the young people who've been inspired for the very first time and those not-so-young folks who've been inspired for the first time in a long time. You are veterans and church-goers; sportsmen and students; farmers and factory workers; teachers and business owners who have varied backgrounds and different traditions, but the same simple dreams for your children's future.

Many of you have been disappointed by politics and politicians more times than you can count. You've seen promises broken and good ideas drown in the sea of influence, and point-scoring, and petty bickering that has consumed Washington. And you've been told over and over and over again to be cynical, and doubtful, and even fearful about the possibility that things can ever be different.

And yet, in spite of all the doubt and disappointment - or perhaps because of it - you came out on a cold winter's night in numbers that this country has never seen, and you stood for change. And because you did, a few more stood up. And then a few thousand stood up. And then a few million stood up. And tonight, in the fullness of spring, with the help of those who stood up from Portland to Louisville, we have returned to Iowa with a majority of delegates elected by the American people, and you have put us within reach of the Democratic nomination for President of the United States.

The road here has been long, and that is partly because we've traveled it with one of the most formidable candidates to ever run for this office. In her thirty-five years of public service, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton has never given up on her fight for the American people, and tonight I congratulate her on her victory in Kentucky. We have had our disagreements during this campaign, but we all admire her courage, her commitment and her perseverance. No matter how this primary ends, Senator Clinton has shattered myths and broken barriers and changed the America in which my daughters and yours will come of age.

Some may see the millions upon millions of votes cast for each of us as evidence that our party is divided, but I see it as proof that we have never been more energized and united in our desire to take this country in a new direction. More than anything, we need this unity and this energy in the months to come, because while our primary has been long and hard-fought, the hardest and most important part of our journey still lies ahead.

We face an opponent, John McCain, who arrived in Washington nearly three decades ago as a Vietnam War hero, and earned an admirable reputation for straight talk and occasional independence from his party.

But this year's Republican primary was a contest to see which candidate could out-Bush the other, and that is the contest John McCain won. The Bush tax cuts for the wealthiest 2% of Americans that once bothered Senator McCain's conscience are now his only economic policy. The Bush health care plan that only helps those who are already healthy and wealthy is now John McCain's answer to the 47 million Americans without insurance and the millions more who can't pay their medical bills. The Bush Iraq policy that asks everything of our troops and nothing of Iraqi politicians is John McCain's policy too, and so is the fear of tough and aggressive diplomacy that has left this country more isolated and less secure than at any time in recent history. The lobbyists who ruled George Bush's Washington are now running John McCain's campaign, and they actually had the nerve to say that the American people won't care about this. Talk about out of touch!

I will leave it up to Senator McCain to explain to the American people whether his policies and positions represent long-held convictions or Washington calculations, but the one thing they don't represent is change.

Change is a tax code that rewards work instead of wealth by cutting taxes for middle-class families, and senior citizens, and struggling homeowners; a tax code that rewards businesses that create good jobs here in America instead of the corporations that ship them overseas. That's what change is.

Change is a health care plan that guarantees insurance to every American who wants; that brings down premiums for every family who needs it; that stops insurance companies from discriminating and denying coverage to those who need it most.

Change is an energy policy that doesn't rely on buddying up to the Saudi Royal Family and then begging them for oil - an energy policy that puts a price on pollution and makes the oil companies invest their record profits in clean, renewable sources of energy that will create five million new jobs and leave our children a safer planet. That's what change is.

Change is giving every child a world-class education by recruiting an army of new teachers with better pay and more support; by promising four years of tuition to any American willing to serve their community and their country; by realizing that the best education starts with parents who turn off the TV, and take away the video games, and read to our children once in awhile.

Change is ending a war that we never should've started and finishing a war against Al Qaeda in Afghanistan that we never should've ignored. Change is facing the threats of the twenty-first century not with bluster, or fear-mongering, or tough talk, but with tough diplomacy, and strong alliances, and confidence in the ideals that have made this nation the last, best hope of Earth. That is the legacy of Roosevelt, and Truman, and Kennedy.

That is what change is.

That is the choice in this election.

The same question that first led us to Iowa fifteen months ago is the one that has brought us back here tonight; it is the one we will debate from Washington to Florida, from New Hampshire to New Mexico - the question of whether this country, at this moment, will keep doing what we've been doing for four more years, or whether we will take that different path. It is more of the same versus change. It is the past versus the future. It has been asked and answered by generations before us, and now it is our turn to choose.

We will face our share of difficult and uncertain days in the journey ahead. The other side knows they have embraced yesterday's policies and so they will also embrace yesterday's tactics to try and change the subject. They will play on our fears and our doubts and our divisions to distract us from what matters to you and your future.

Well they can take the low road if they want, but it will not lead this country to a better place. And it will not work in this election. It won't work because you won't let it. Not this time. Not this year.

My faith in the decency, and honesty, and generosity of the American people is not based on false hope or blind optimism, but on what I have lived and what I have seen in this very state.

For in the darkest days of this campaign, when we were dismissed by all the polls and all the pundits, I would come to Iowa and see that there was something happening here that the world did not yet understand.

It's what led high school and college students to give up their vacations to stuff envelopes and knock on doors, and why grandparents have spent all their afternoons making phone calls to perfect strangers. It's what led men and women who can barely pay the bills to dig into their savings and write five dollar checks and ten dollar checks, and why young people from all over this country have left their friends and their families for a job that offers little pay and less sleep.

Change is coming to America.

It's the spirit that sent the first patriots to Lexington and Concord and led the defenders of freedom to light the way north on an Underground Railroad. It's what sent my grandfather's generation to beachheads in Normandy, and women to Seneca Falls, and workers to picket lines and factory fences. It's what led all those young men and women who saw beatings and billy clubs on their television screens to leave their homes, and get on buses, and march through the streets of Selma and Montgomery - black and white, rich and poor.

Change is coming to America.

It's what I saw all those years ago on the streets of Chicago when I worked as an organizer - that in the face of joblessness, and hopelessness, and despair, a better day is still possible if there are people willing to work for it, and fight for it, and believe in it. That's what I've seen here in Iowa. That's what is happening in America - our journey may be long, our work will be great, but we know in our hearts we are ready for change, we are ready to come together, and in this election, we are ready to believe again. Thank you Iowa, and may God Bless America.

Where are the heroes?

Just as I'd come to grips with Brett Favre's retirement, Mike Piazza calls it quits. They owe me nothing, of course, but, man, these guys were my heroes. Who can possibly replace them?

Mike Piazza is retiring from baseball following a 16-season career in which he became one of the top-hitting catchers in history.

"After discussing my options with my wife, family and agent, I felt it was time to start a new chapter in my life," he said in a statement released Tuesday by his agent, Dan Lozano. "It has been an amazing journey ... So today, I walk away with no regrets.

"I knew this day was coming and over the last two years. I started to make my peace with it. I gave it my all and left everything on the field."

The 39-year-old Piazza batted .275 with eight homers and 44 RBIs as a designated hitter for Oakland last season, became a free agent and did not re-sign. He was not available to discuss his decision, according to Josh Goldberg, a spokesman for Lozano.

Taken by the Los Angeles Dodgers on the 62nd round of the 1988 amateur draft, Piazza became a 12-time All-Star, making the NL team 10 consecutive times starting in 1993.

"He was one of those hitters who could change the game with one swing. He was certainly the greatest-hitting catcher of our time, and arguably of all time," said Atlanta pitcher Tom Glavine, Piazza's former teammate on the New York Mets.

Piazza finished with a .308 career average, 427 home runs and 1,335 RBIs for the Dodgers (1992-98), Florida (1998), Mets (1998-05), San Diego (2006) and Oakland (2007).

"It's the end of a Hall of Fame career," Mets manager Willie Randolph said. "It was a privilege to manage him for the short time that I did."

Los Angeles Angels manager Mike Scioscia was a teammate of Piazza's on the 1992 Los Angeles Dodgers and remembered back to Piazza's first season in the majors and what he accomplished.

"To put yourself in the same ballpark with what a guy like Roy Campanella did is saying something and Mike is definitely up there with what Roy did," Scioscia said.

Piazza's 396 homers are easily the most as a catcher, according to the Elias Sports Bureau. Carlton Fisk is second with 351, followed by Johnny Bench (327) and Yogi Berra (306).

"If I'm half the hitter he was, I'll have a pretty successful career," said Atlanta's Brian McCann, one of the top-hitting catchers currently in the majors. "He did a lot of great things for the catching position."

Piazza never had a great throwing arm but was praised by pitchers for his game-calling.

"You'd have to really go back and see Mike from the early days of trying to catch to where he ended up, the hard work he put in, the dedication he had to get good enough on the defensive end to where he could get his at-bats," Scioscia said. "He made himself into a guy who could go out there and catch and do the job he needed behind the plate."

Piazza thanked his family, teams and managers, some of his teammates -- and even owners, general managers, minor league staffs and reporters.

"Within the eight years I spent in New York, I was able to take a different look at the game of baseball," Piazza said. "I wasn't just a young kid that was wet behind the ears anymore -- I was learning from other veteran guys like Johnny Franco, who taught me how to deal with the pressures of playing in New York, and Al Leiter, who knew what it took to win a world championship."

He did not bring up two of the more memorable moments in his career: When the Yankees' Roger Clemens beaned him on July 8, 2000, and when Clemens threw the broken barrel of Piazza's bat in his direction in Game 2 of the World Series that October. Clemens denied intent both times.

"Last but certainly not least, I can't say goodbye without thanking the fans," Piazza said. "I can't recall a time in my career where I didn't feel embraced by all of you. Los Angeles, San Diego, Oakland and Miami -- whether it was at home or on the road, you were all so supportive over the years.

"But I have to say that my time with the Mets wouldn't have been the same without the greatest fans in the world. One of the hardest moments of my career, was walking off the field at Shea Stadium and saying goodbye. My relationship with you made my time in New York the happiest of my career and for that, I will always be grateful."

Movin' up, and leaving Dad behind

It was bound to happen, but I wasn't ready. Tonight I learned that my freshman son is playing baseball for the sophomore team in its season opener tomorrow night in Bettendorf. I can count on one hand the number of his games that I've missed over the years.

At minimum, I maintain the score book. Increasingly, I've served as team photographer too. Since he's long since outgrown my ability to coach him, I've also proudly served as tournament director and concessions organizer too.

And now, just like that, he's going on the road for a double header I can't possibly attend.

I'm proud, of course, that he's even being considered for the sophomore team. He certainly deserves it for the hard work he's put in year after year. I'm not concerned about him playing up a year -- he's been doing that since he started playing t-ball.

I just hope it's what's best for him. Since I can't be there, I'll just have to trust the coaches' judgment and hope they make the right decision. For his sake, I just want him to keep his eyes open.

Kobe fever: catch it!

Abigail

She is the queen of magical thinking, of "I wish it: make it so." She knows what she wants if only it were easy. She knows what she wants if only it were possible. She is dramatic and mercurial, charming and sometimes giving. She is beautiful. She is young. She is in too many was exactly the same person she was when she was twelve. She is only a kid, only a student. Delete the onlys, make it true. She is a constant presence in my life whom a few short days hence I will likely never see again. The thought of it makes me cry.

It's not that I will miss her in a way I'd miss a friend. It's not that the ending here is necessarily unhappy. I hope, I wish. It's just that it's so final, in every sense the end.



Her family is moving back to Mexico; her older brother is already gone. That came as a shock to both of us, that he got up the nerve to do it. Ciudad Juarez is not the suburban midwest, and we both understood that calm, quiet boy didn't know what he was getting into. His messages home have been brief and blunt, protective of his sister: "Abi shouldn't come." Think on that for a little while, imagine what truths are stretched around those few warning words.

And so while her Senior classmates mostly prepare to celebrate their launch out into the world, their independence, their next step, she sits, half serious, half sentimental, and wonders what to do. Reality has sobered her in unaccustomed ways, and there's nothing I can say. No good answers I can give her. That has mostly been my role in her life: six years of telling her how things work. Yelling in frustration. Offering advice. Explaining and explaining and explaining. Being whoever Ms. P is to her. Certainly not just a teacher. I cannot even articulate, but when she turns in a PowerPoint, one of her lasts projects, with "Love ya, Ms. P" randomly on the title slide, well. Maybe she is trying.

I wish she were heading off to something. Anything. I wish her unrealistic half-baked dreams were attainable. I wish she could just visit her old home--"I remember the cardboard houses on the corner," she says, when she makes that same wish. "But now they have paved streets."--so she would know for sure what she's missing. But for someone in her position, cross the border, north to south, and for all practical purposes, jig's up. The commentators may argue differently, but in her mind, there's no coming back. But maybe there's also no staying. Living with her Jehovah's Witness aunt and her ex-military husband in Georgia until she reaches 18 this fall is the other option she's been given. Neither of us can see that, not to mention the big Then What. So maybe she just stays with her family--so important to her--and tries to make a life in the land that's now foreign. A place that makes her uneasy to contemplate. I imagine that she will. And maybe it works out okay. But her brother's words still echo: "Abi shouldn't come."

On June 1, she and I will both wear caps and gowns, both walk through the commencement. I'll sit at the end of her row. She'll get her diploma--hallelujah--and we will celebrate our accomplishment. Plural possessive adjective there intentional. And then I'll greet her family, minus her big brother, another former student, again for the last time. I will tell them how much I've appreciated knowing them. I will wish them well. I will tell her that she better, somehow, let me know what happens. And then I'll say goodbye.

Fun times

So tonight's softball opponent didn't show, superior communication options notwithstanding. I was all set to be a base coach. Instead, I pitched batting practice.

I'm not sure the girls got much out of it, other than whatever modicum of confidence one gains from hitting the ball, hard, off of an old man whose only objective is to give you a pitch you can hit without hitting you in the process.

As for my own little player, I love the effort. She didn't like it much when I threw her out at first base, but what's a dad to do? But she swung the bat, and she hit the ball, and she laughed when I nearly took a liner in the chest. And she works her tail of at catcher, a position I adore.

Perhaps she knows this. Perhaps next time we come home and she gets out a bucket of balls, I'll work with her. Perhaps it's time she gets the attention her brother enjoyed. He's bloomed into a solid ballplayer and there's no reason to think she won't too.

Regardless, time spent throwing batting practice or just playing catch is priceless.

what's in the air

"Thanks, Ms. P." I have to close the quotes there. Because what followed was lost to my exhale. I know he used the word "always," which means whatever he said is only true within his head. I know he was satisfied when he walked out the door, that whatever I said about how to handle idiot jackass rat bastard boys who roam the high school hallways struck him as true, and for the first time in several hours he was not considering the penalties for assault and whether it would really be worth it.

So I did accomplish something on Thursday, whether my to-do list was abandoned or not.

Ironic, perhaps, that when news of yet another intraclassroom couple came around I was right there on the "Can you believe it?!" bandwagon. Heavy sighs and mock indignation all around. To their classmates, I think it feels nearly incestuous: too much like kissing your sister. To me, it's a hassle at best; the typical teen distractions cranked up to a twelve. "No touching!" on the way out to a fire drill. Dread of the inevitable spat. Because now, after hearing what those idiot jackass rat bastard boys have been saying about one of my girls, again, especially to rile up one of my boys I now feel like this new couple’s staunchest defender-- a feeling that may well last longer than theirs will. Or not. It’s high school: hard to say. I just find myself glad that it seems that they’ll have a chance to figure it out for themselves. Especially if it’s out of my sight.

Postville

Gazette columnist Todd Dorman hit this one out of the park.

The sprawling Agriprocessors packing plant on the outskirts of town is imposing and intimidating even if you don’t know about the jaw-dropping lawlessness our government says went on inside these fences.Knowing sends a chill up your back.

So it’s probably lucky you can’t stay long. Tuesday, a stern, but polite, woman told Gazette video journalist Mike Barnes and myself to leave, pronto.

Fair enough. Nothing to see. No one’s talking. But there was plenty to see elsewhere.

There was St. Bridget’s Catholic parish near downtown, where dozens of plant workers and their families milled around inside the church and outside in the courtyard. Many here have family members among the 390 plant workers detained by federal immigration officials at Monday’s historic raid.

I know workers broke the law in coming here and working here and must deal with the consequences. Fine.

But you’d have to be one hard-bitten, coldhearted Minuteman to look into the anxious, dazed faces of these people, as their children played around their feet, and not feel some sort of sympathy.

“They’re lost,” said Sister Mary McCauley, pastoral administrator at the church.

McCauley wishes Iowa’s congressmen could be here to see this. So do I.

But I’m less forgiving.

This would have been a great spot for a congressional junket. Time for our so-called leaders to see what dereliction of leadership and government malpractice look like, close up.

This is what it looks like when you do next to nothing to rein in a meat packing industry that’s mutated into a monolithic monopoly of misery fattened by illegal immigration. Could it be that the folks who run this industry line political pockets with campaign donations? Campaign finance records show that members of the Rubashkin family, which owns the Postville plant, donated tens of thousands of dollars, mostly to Republicans, over the last decade. Say it ain’t so.

I think we’ll all be watching to see if top Agriprocessors executives take one of those famous federal perp walks. Justice demands it.

Add congressional inaction on big ag’s excesses to its inability to control the nation’s southern border or come up with a realistic plan for dealing with illegal immigrants already here, some for years, and you understand why Congress gets the kind of dismal approval ratings it so richly deserves.

This is a crisis, and all we get from Washington is a deficit of courage and a surplus of rhetoric.

I listened to federal officials describe, with straight faces, the detention center at the Cattle Congress fairgrounds like it was a summer camp, complete with bilingual board games in the rec room. Then they touted portable federal courtrooms on wheels, pulled onto the fairgrounds to dispense American justice by the truckload like kosher hot dogs.

So let me get this straight: After allowing illegal immigration to explode and for plants like Agriprocessors to reap the benefits for years, and now, after federal helicopters and buses roar in to save the day, tear up a town and scores of families, do they want us to stand and cheer? No thanks.

Instead, I’ll pray that the next Congress and president can fix this. And that Postville can heal.

What stimulus?

This ill-advised government stimulus program is a farce. I was opposed from the beginning, but who am I to refuse a check from the government? I had grand ideas like installing a retaining wall in the front yard or sensible ones like replacing the pipes. But there'll be none of that.

I blew through $1,800 in nothing flat, and it wasn't stimulating in the least. All I did was catch up on some bills. I did splurge, finally, on one of those GPS navigation units for the car. Ironic for a guy who seldom travels outside my 1.5 mile comfort zone -- unless I'm on my bicycle.

250 Days and Counting

I call them the human raccoons. Twice yearly the city declares large trash day, and twice yearly strangers in pick-up trucks troll through the neighborhoods scanning for stuff on the curb that looks good or good enough to sell. Free is free, I suppose, or most profitable. I don't get it--or I've never seen anything worth getting--but the schoolhouse equivalent is largely how I've furnished my classroom. It's how I came by a brand new bulletin board, now half covered in calendars and policies and schedules, and half covered in stuff that says "me": Packer ticket stubs, photos from prom and vacation and commencement, postcards from New York. The item that draws the most comment, however, is a black and white bumper sticker: "01/20/09. The end of an error".

"What is that?" The perplexed queries have come from both teachers and kids. But when I explain to those who wouldn't know or gently point out, "inauguration day" (the "duh" is implied) to those who should, every single person gets a very satisfied smile. Tempered, of course, by the realization that we still have to wait that long, but AT LEAST we're almost to the end of this kind of appalling, pathetic nonsense:

For the first time, Bush revealed a personal way in which he has tried to acknowledge the sacrifice of soldiers and their families: He has given up golf.

“I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the commander in chief playing golf,” he said. “I feel I owe it to the families to be in solidarity as best as I can with them. And I think playing golf during a war just sends the wrong signal.”

Bush said he made that decision after the August 2003 bombing of the United Nations headquarters in Baghdad, which killed Sergio Vieira de Mello, the top U.N. official in Iraq and the organization’s high commissioner for human rights.

“I remember when de Mello, who was at the U.N., got killed in Baghdad as a result of these murderers taking this good man's life,” he said. “I was playing golf — I think I was in central Texas — and they pulled me off the golf course and I said, ‘It's just not worth it anymore to do.’“

Do you know Jack?

Did that give you the chills? Want to do something? Why not support the American Cancer Society's Relay For Life? Supporting or, better yet, participating in your community is the best option. I'd also gladly accept your support for my participation here.

Now what will you do?

Lies (And the Lying Liars Who Tell Them)

Major League Baseball home run record holder Barry Bonds was charged with 14 counts of lying to a grand jury and one count of obstruction of justice in a new indictment that was a result of the BALCO doping investigation.

Bonds originally was charged with four counts of perjury and one count of obstruction of justice for lying about whether he knowingly used illegal substances on Nov. 15. However, U.S. District Judge Susan Illston ordered government prosecutors on Feb. 29 to rework the indictment so that each charge alleged only one lie rather than combining several alleged falsehoods into single counts.

The new indictment doesn't add any new alleged falsehoods.

The case against Bonds is still built on whether he lied when he told the grand jury that his personal trainer Greg Anderson never supplied him with steroids and human growth hormone.

Somehow, this didn't happen in Wisconsin

Man fined for buckling in beer, not toddler
Police 'shocked and appalled' after Australian leaves 5-year-old on car floor

DARWIN, Australia - An Australian man has been fined after buckling in a case of beer with a seat belt but leaving a 5-year-old child to sit on the car’s floor, police said Tuesday.

Constable Wayne Burnett said he was “shocked and appalled” when he pulled over the unregistered car Friday in the central Australian town of Alice Springs.

The 30-can beer case was strapped in between two adults sitting in the back seat of the car. The child was also in back, but on the car’s floor.

“The child was sitting in the lump in the center, unrestrained,” Burnett told reporters Tuesday.

“I haven’t ever seen something like this before,” he said. “This is the first time that the beer has taken priority over a child.”

The driver was fined 750 Australian dollars — about $710 — for driving an unregistered and uninsured vehicle and for failing to ensure a child was wearing a safety belt.