Family History: 16 More Family Photos I Couldn’t Live Without

My Uncle Jimmy and friend Maurice in New York City

“Find any more pictures?”

My mother’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! I found that one of Jimmy I’ve been hunting around for. He’s on top of the Empire State Building!” Sure enough, she had found a picture of my Uncle Jimmy and his friend Maurice in the city I called home for 11 years. The best part of it is (aside from the hairdos) is that the east side of the city is behind them. One can make out the Chrysler Building, UN Headquarters, and the 59th Bridge going into Queens (and Roosevelt Island underneath it).

“He’s in my city!”

“It’s not your city anymore,” my mother said.

“She’ll always be my city. Even though she bled me dry and nearly sucked the life out of me.”

After eating a Whoopie pie—okay, fine, two Whoppie pies—I started scanning in some of the other treasures my mother had found since our last photo project. After adding the new ones to our collection, we realized our tally had reached nearly 400 family photos.

That’s a lot of Fords and Blanchettes.

Here are some of the other pictures I decided to share with the world (even though some of them might get me killed).

Grandma and Grandpa Ford looking young and in love. 

Here they are at their 45th anniversary party. Still pretty frisky. 

My cousin Melissa and I dancing at said party. That was the last time Daniel Ford pulled off wearing white pants. 

My mother’s sister Rolande and her husband Don (on right) with an unidentified couple. 

Another great photo of my mother’s sister Artheline. 

 

These compilations wouldn’t be complete without my Uncle Pit and his truly awesome hair. Here he is with my Tante Lucille. 

Uncle Stephen, Aunt Kathy, and my father hanging out. So far, we’ve only found one picture that includes my Aunt Ellen. 

My Uncle Bobby looks thrilled with my mother in this picture. 

These Mainers are up to no good. My mother is the second from the left. My cousin Ivan is in the cage. No one knows why...

No one looked cooler than my Uncle Jimmy out and about. He always looked like he was about to get into trouble and enjoy doing so. During one of the last conversations we had, I told him not to get into too much trouble in the hospital. "Don't worry, if there's trouble here, I'll find it," he said. He was pretty sick, but he still had plenty of humor left. As you can see in the following picture, I can't quite pull off the same look (although I did manage to convince a beautiful woman to sit next to me):

(That sound you hear is my mother screaming, "Oh my god! You look just like him!)

Speaking of uncles I look like: my Uncle Clifford’s wedding.  

My Pépère is unimpressed with being surrounded by several young girls. 

To keep things fair, here is one of me wearing a Superman outfit. My cousin Judy—who I followed around like a shadow—is helping me tie my cape. 

My Aunt Avie (who my father calls "a peach") with my grandmother. I’m going to let my Aunt Kathy write the rest of this caption: “How beautiful can any woman be! You can see by these pictures that her sweetness has always been there (except when she talked about that girl's basketball coach that she couldn't stand or the Red Sox!).”

Also check out:

• 15 More Family Photos I Couldn’t Live Without
• 15 Family Photos I Couldn’t Live Without

Brothers, Baseball, and Beer: Perfect Pat

When half your life is hanging out with your younger brother in the backyard playing Wiffle ball, why wouldn’t you make him a central character in your novel about baseball?

My brother Patrick was a pretty damn good pitcher in Little League, and I had the privilege of being his assistant coach throughout his career. When I started writing Pastime in high school, I knew I was going to base a character on him and make him do something memorable (my older brother Tom makes an appearance later in the novel as Dante’s Pony League coach).

So enjoy the tale of “Perfect Pat” while you wait for Spring Training to start. And I don’t care how cold it is, I’m going to find a way to have a catch with my brothers.

My brother Patrick during his last year on the Phillies

Little League World Series: International Championship

Italy is known for food, wine, and beautiful women, but not its baseball. That’s because their Little League team in recent years hasn’t played much better than a tee-ball team.

However, this year, the Italian team had been struck by the destiny bug and had swept their way unto the Little League World Series’ biggest stage. Two teams of destiny in one game? Which team would the baseball gods’ favor, and which would be tormented by baseball demons?

“All the hoopla crap going into that game was totally bogus. Don’t get me wrong, I’m Italian and I love Italians, but there was no way they were going to even try to beat Patrick Russell.”—Dante Cimadamore 

Both teams had more than each other to contend with. When Russell took the mound, the temperature had risen to a sweltering 97 degrees. There was a slight breeze that had, but it scalded rather than soothed. Russell showed no signs of being affected by the heat.

“I had a job to do and I wasn’t going to let a little hot weather keep me from doing it right.”—Patrick Russell 

Italy’s first batter grounded out weakly to second baseman Simon Capodi who easily scooped up the ball and threw to first base in plenty of time to get the out. The second batter whiffed on three straight pitches. The last batter of the inning hit a lazy fly ball that Tim Nix tucked away in his glove for the final out. Russell had thrown five pitches.

Italy’s pitcher Franco Vennero was no slouch. He hadn’t given up a run in the two games he’d pitched in Williamsport, and at the start of the tournament he pitched a one-hitter against powerhouse Japan. He looked to put the U.S. team of destiny to sleep from the start.

“I never saw the first three pitches he throw at me. He had to be throwing 85 m.p.h.”—John Machado 

Jeff Prince willed a bloop single down the right field line with two outs. Capodi followed with another to left. It was time for Vennero to meet Dante.

“Everyone who watched ESPN knew the kind of season he was having. I pretty much wanted to wet myself when he stepped to the plate with runners on.”—Franco Vennero 

He handled the slugger with ease. Dante hit a weak liner to the Italian shortstop who stepped on second base to double up Prince who had strayed too far off the bag. The first inning was in the books.

Russell went back to work. The heart of Italy’s lineup had done damage throughout the tournament, but left the plate with broken hearts after their first at-bats. The third batter of the inning tried to bunt one by the American pitcher, but Russell darted off the mound and made a strong through to first base. Italy had nothing to show for their six weak at-bats.

“Looking back it was tough to say who had the upper hand early on. It was a pitcher’s duel from the word go.”—U.S. coach Tom Doyle 

Vennero didn’t give the next three batters in the U.S. lineup any chances. Two strikeouts and a fly out later and the Italians were back in their dugout. The pitchers weren’t letting up and neither was the weather.

The temperature at the top half of the third inning was nearing 100 degrees. Tournament officials debated on whether to let the kids keep playing or have them take a break from the heat. Russell was on the mound throwing warm up pitches before they could rule one way or the other. The game continued and so did Russell’s dominance.

“There is no other way to put it folks, this kid from Connecticut is the real deal.”—ESPN television announcer 

Russell actually threw three balls to the first batter he faced in the third. He quickly found his focus again and blazed three straight fastballs by him. It would turn out to be the only three-ball count from either pitcher. Another strikeout followed. Dante and company headed back to their dugout after Russell left the last batter in Italy’s lineup crying for pasta.

All of the American parents thought Vennero was finally going to falter in the bottom half of the inning. All they got was three groundballs and a smile from the Italian pitcher.

“This guy, what’s his name, Franco? He wasn’t making things any easier for me.”—Patrick Russell 

Italy’s first batter the next inning became Russell’s sixth strikeout victim, and his fourth in a row. The next batter fouled out to catcher Kurt Saucier, affectionately known as Pig Pen. The last batter of the inning upped Russell’s strikeout total to seven. Vennero got Dante to hit into a nifty double play to end the bottom of the inning. It seemed the game had lasted mere minutes.

As the U.S. team trotted out the field once again, it began to dawn on them that their pitcher was unscathed. With only six more outs left in the game, the players behind Russell were 100 times more focused and serious about winning. And they didn’t say another word to Russell. Well, with one exception.

“After the fifth, I was the only one who could get away with talking to him.”—Jocelyn Nocera 

The heart of Italy’s lineup gave Russell his first scare. The crowd held its breath as it heard the high-pitched ping! emanate from the bat of Italy’s cleanup hitter. Tim Nix dove for the ball headed for the outfield, snared it in his glove, and stepped on first base.

“Let’s just say, whenever we play poker and we go up against each other on a hand, Russell always folds.”—Tim Nix 

Another Italian batter tried to bunt his way on base. Russell once again made an easy play to get the out. Three strikes latter the last batter of the inning was wearing his glove again.

Vennero was too busy trying to get outs that he didn’t realize at first what was going on. It wasn’t until the bottom of the fifth inning that he felt the electricity of the crowd reach another level. Instead of being intimidated, Vennero used the crowd noise as fuel to strike out the next two batters. Russell and Vennero exchanged smiles as Russell made his way to the batter’s box. He was a great hitter, but up to that point hadn’t done anything worth remembering with a bat that day. The crowd buzzed with anticipation that the game was about to be decided by the two kids who had so far defined it.

“Yeah, no would believe this story if it hadn’t actually happened. There’s video footage, and I still have trouble believing it.”—Dante Cimadamore 

The young competitors showed no sign of fear. Russell fouled off two pitches and eyeballed two others out of the strike zone. Russell knocked the dirt off of his cleats with his bat and stepped in to face Vennero’s next pitch.

“Here’s the pitch from young Franco Vennero…Russel takes a swing and launches one to deep center…the fielder is drifting back…the outfielder just hunched over…that ball is gone! On the verge of pitching a perfect game, Patrick Russell just gave his team a one-run lead with a monster homerun! The only thing hotter on this field is this kid from Connecticut!”—ESPN television announcer

The entire stadium was shaking. No one was sitting down, not even Italy’s cheering section. Russell stepped on home plate and was out of breath because he had run the bases so fast. Everyone low-keyed the celebration at home plate because there was still work to be done. Russell looked back to the mound and Vennero was still smiling at him. The two pitchers tipped their caps to each other and Vennero finished his near-perfect outing with a strikeout. He didn’t feel anything but pride in himself and his country as he walked off the mound to a hearty applause.

The temperature at the start of the top of the sixth pushed past 100 degrees. It seemed everyone in the crowd was pounding Gatorade. Russell looked unperturbed as always, and finished up his warm up pitches. He wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t anxious, and he wasn’t unfocused. He was ready. The first batter struck out. The crowd gasped as Russell lost his grip on a pitch and it came close to hitting the next batter. Once the batter recovered from the accidental brush back, he saw Russell mouth a silent “sorry.” Three pitches later, the batter was headed to the dugout. The next batter stepped to the plate eager to put an end to perfection.

“He had our number all day and I felt like I was going to be the one to steal his glory.”—Italian Little Leaguer 

Confidence would get the young Italian nowhere this day. Russell fired a quick strike. The next pitch beautifully caught the outside corner for strike two. If anyone was still sitting in the state of Pennsylvania, they were deaf, blind, and dumb. Russell didn’t hear any of that. His focus was on Pig Pen’ glove. It looked as big as a beanbag chair. He went into his pitching motion and fluidly threw the ball toward the plate. The batter put his head down and ripped the ball to the gap in right center.

Neither Dante nor Tim heard the other call for the ball because the crowd was so loud. The two boys collided. Dante was about to spring up and chase after the ball that undoubtedly skipped past the two outfielders when he heard Tim whisper,

“Sorry, pal. You got the homerun record, but I caught the ball that won us the Little League World Series.”

“Bastard.”—Dante Cimadamore 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Dante replied. “Oh, you might want to show the umpire you caught the ball so we can start celebrating.” Tim smiled and shoved his hand in the air. The pure white baseball was clutched in his dirty hand.

“I really could have used all the Gatorade in the park at that point. My teammates pig-piled on top of me instead.”—Patrick Russell 

The U.S. team that year started out as underdogs and ended up perfect American heroes. The players stayed on that field for as long as they could before worried officials and parents made them return to the shade. However, they would always stand in the summer sunshine of glory and their story became baseball legend. 

For more from Pastime, check out: 

• The Great Little League Homerun Race

15 More Family Photos I Couldn’t Live Without

Earlier this year, I featured 15 family photos I couldn’t live without. 

The editing process getting it down to 15 was torture. Good thing everyone loves a series!

My mother keeps unearthing photos of Blanchettes and Fords that we spend all night scanning and re-touching. It not only has brought us closer as mother and son, but has put us in contact with relatives all over the country that are eager to share in our discoveries.

In honor of the above, and the family members that are no longer with us, here are 15 more photos that I could never part with.

You wouldn’t know by looking at my Uncle Clifford’s smile in this picture of him as a boy, but he was the embodiment of the Blanchette temper. I was too young to appreciate him while he was alive, but I’m proud to say I’ve carried on a little bit of his temperamental legacy (my mother would say much more than a little bit).

My dapper Uncle Roland posing for a picture. The Blanchette man clean up very well…before someone hands them a drink. 

My mother was born and raised on a farm in upstate Maine. How upstate people ask me? As evident from this massive snow pile my pépère, mother, and Uncle Bobby are standing on, just about as far north as you can go in the continental United States. Across the street is Canada. 

I could write a novel about this photo of my mother. And one day, I probably will. 

This is the photo that could get me murdered. But it is too good not to share. My Tante Peewee (the one who is holding my mother as a baby) after looking at it said: “This picture is why I decided to become a hairdresser.” It will also be the reason she smacks her godchild the next time she sees him. 

 

A great wedding photo of my Aunt Rolande (why yes, we have a plethora of Rolands and Rolandes) and her husband Don. 

Words cannot express the awesomeness of this photograph. My Uncle Bobby and Uncle Roland are wearing aviator shades, my Uncle Jimmy has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face while rocking a bowtie, and my Uncle Pit looks like a 1950s movie star with a cigarette in his hand. These are my uncles and I love each and every one of them whether they are with us or not. 

I challenge anyone to find a sexier picture of their grandparents (and be comfortable writing that sentence). Grandma and Grandpa Ford were lookers. 

My father as a baby. He was adorable. We don’t know what happened. 

The Ford family in the 1950s. Don’t worry, my Aunt Ellen is featured in a photo coming up. 

My father tells me all the kids used to climb all over Papa Bauer and he loved every minute of it. He certainly looks like a man who has everything he wants in life in this picture. My Nana Bauer (who used to call me Frenchie) is flashing quite the smile on the far left. 

My father makes a smorgasbord of funny faces in the trove of Ford family photos we found recently, but this is the only one I feel like subjecting the public to. It also is one of the few that we have that features the whole Ford clan, including my Aunt Ellen. 

This photo of my father as an altar boy can still be found in the Our Lady of Mercy educational center. Maybe the fact he once helped in the blessing of Olm Elementary School will help some of us out at the pearly gates. 

My nephew Jack and the Pink Cowgirls, Katie and Madeline. I kid that since I moved back to Connecticut that my best friend is a 7-year-old, but it’s probably not far from the truth. 

My girlfriend Stephanie may not legally be family yet, but I consider her to be a de facto member of the Ford clan. She’s been a source of inspiration and support since I’ve known her, and dating her has been a refreshing and invigorating experience. Our transition to Boston hasn’t been the easiest, but we haven’t lost our desire, sense of humor, and love for one another. I hope she knows I have no intention of ever losing an ounce of my love for her. 

My mom after showing her this picture: "Could your girlfriend look any sexier?" 

Me: "Hey, what about me?" 

Mom: "I didn't really see you, she's kind of distracting." 

From the Archives: The Tree, A Christmas to Remember, Lost in the Woods

My girlfriend has this reaction after reading the following examples from my personal archives: “Whoa, Ford, this is deep stuff. How old were you?” 

I had a tendency to be a bit overdramatic when I was younger. I will now wait for the snickering from my family to die down. This may take awhile.

Okay, I’m back from accepting the Biggest Understatement of 2013 Award. As a young writer, I explored themes that I didn’t understand thanks to spending a significant amount of time with my older cousins Judy and Caryn (it didn’t help that we watched a lot of Days of Our Lives during the summer and there was always a V.C. Andrews novel lying around). My early writing is chock full of hostage situations, long-lost relatives finding their way home, abductions, rape victims searching for their attackers, and lives falling apart in myriad other ways. Needless to say, had I shown many of these stories to an authority figure, I would have been sent to a team of psychiatrists.

However, these three are harmless and down right inspirational. Allow me a few more comments before you start reading. When someone died in something I wrote as a kid, they did so without fanfare. There was a lot of “they died” and “he/she died.” No mercy or remorse, just the facts. Also, I was just starting to hone my ability to write dialogue, so what you’ll read below has more wooden dialogue than an hour-long CBS drama. Finally, how much do you want to bet that Ben in the third piece would have been arrested five seconds after helping those kids home?

The Tree

A happy tree in Ithaca, N.Y.

A tree sprout came in the early spring.

It was nearly 1 inch. A boy came along and watered it. He and the tree were best friends.

When the tree was older, raccoons came to live in it. Birds made their nests on its leafy branches. The boy came every day to eat its lush apples.

During the winter, the tree would get cold and lonely. The birds would fly south for the winter and the raccoons would burrow somewhere else for the long winter.

When spring came, the tree’s leaves would start to grow again. The boy would play on a tire swing on its aging branches.

But one day, the tree got so old that it died. The boy, raccoons, and the birds were all heartbroken, but in their hearts, the tree lived on.

The End. 

A Christmas to Remember

How Christmas should look.

Christmas is almost here.

Marty was decorating Kristen and Katie’s dorm. The two girls walked in with the tree.

“Oh, what a beautiful tree,” Marty said.

“We got it for half-price,” Katie said. Kristen went to get the bulbs out of the closet.

“Where do you want the tree?” Marty asked.

“Before we get the tree set up, I need to talk to you,” Kristen said.

“Sure,” He replied. They walked into the kitchen.

“Marty, I just found out Katie is our long lost sister,” Kristen said.

“Oh my word,” Marty replied (editorial note: please Marty, you’re getting too emotional, I can’t take it).

“I have an idea,” Kristen said. “Let’s arrange a little Christmas party and tell Katie as a Christmas present.”

“Okay, now can we set up the tree?” Marty asked (editorial note: Marty is an insensitive dick).

They walked back to the living room. It was night by the time they finished decorating. The next day, Marty took everyone to breakfast.

“What do we do on Christmas Eve?” Katie asked.

“Let’s have a party,” Kristen said.

So after breakfast, they started getting ready for the party. Marty called people they knew. Kristen cleaned the house.

Finally, the day of the party came. After presents were opened, Marty finally said something.

“Kristen and I found out that Katie is our sister,” He said.

Hugs were given out and everyone was happy.

Merry Christmas.

Lost in the Woods

Taken at Macedonia State Park in Kent, Conn.

I woke up from a long sleep.

I looked out my window.

“Jane, do you want to go for a walk in the woods?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

We got on our jackets. Jane and I started down the path. We saw a deer.

“Don’t say anything,” She said.

We went toward the deer. The deer let us go up and pet him. I saw a little fox chasing a white muskrat. Jane noticed a path deeper into the woods.

“I think it’s a shortcut to the lake,” Jane said excitedly.

We followed the path for an hour. Then we realized we were lost. We wandered around until we found a cave. The sky was getting dark.

“Are you whippersnappers lost?” A man asked.

We turned around. A man and his dog were sitting by a fire.

“Y-y-yes we are,” I said. I was a little scared.

“I will tell you a story,” He said. His dog barked. “Ten years ago, I set out on a hike. It was a beautiful day. Suddenly, it started to pour. I ran to this cave. A pack of hungry wolves was waiting inside. Then a dog came to my rescue. He battled those wolves off.

“It’s getting late, you two better get some sleep,” he said ending his story.

In the morning, I asked him his name. He told me it was Ben. In the afternoon, he led us home. We were very happy to be home safe and sound.

The End!

Baseball Runner: If You’re Going to Run, Run Happy

To say I’ve been in a running slump would be in understatement. Actually, to be in a slump, you have to actually run, so it’s more of a running lull.

However you choose to define it, I’ve been in serious need of motivation to pull my sneakers back on. The last race I was signed up for was a 5K in Connecticut with my 9-year-old niece Elizabeth. Unfortunately, two Metro North trains decided to crash into each other, crippling my options out of New York City. As bummed out as I was about not being able to be there for Elizabeth, I heard that she crossed the finish line at 29.32, and breathed a sigh of relief. There was more than a good chance that she would have beaten me, and I give my family enough ammunition in which to make fun of me with. Elizabeth besting me in a 5K would have been a staple of family parties for years to come.

I recently set a personal goal to get back in running shape and take on the 2013 Hartford Half Marathon in October. I had the structure of a blog post in mind earlier this week, and asked Elizabeth if she had any inspirational tips she would want to include in it. What she sent me was far better than anything I had imagined.

Uncle Daniel is going to make sure he’s running happy from now on!

Elizabeth running with a smile!

Run Happy

 

From the Archives: Northeast Middle School Presents ‘The Wizard of Oz’

I was an extremely shy kid. 

People who know or work with me now will have a hard time believing that. However, before March 13, 1998, I was so shy and timid that I didn’t play Little League, had to be coaxed and coached into making friends, and was generally afraid of my own shadow.

When my 8th grade teacher Mrs. Carroll—who had assigned my autobiography project the year before—announced that the school was putting on a production of The Wizard of Oz, there was not one fiber of my soul that wanted to audition for a role. However, in a rare display of ambition and guts, I asked if I could be the backstage journalist that documented everything leading up to and including the performance. Mrs. Carroll agreed, and I was unaware that she did so just to get me into the audition room.

“You’re trying out for the Cowardly Lion,” she said when I walked into the band room on the day of tryouts. “Go.”

She caught me at just the right time and in just the right way. I didn’t have time to be scared, and I certainly didn’t have time to back out. I was in a scene and I did what I had excelled at my entire childhood. I pretended to be someone else so convincingly that Daniel Ford ceased to exist. For however many minutes that scene went on for, I was the Cowardly Lion.

Mrs. Carroll had me audition for the Tin Man too, but my destiny was already determined. No one was going to be the Lion but me. 

The cast list. I pretty much had a nervous breakdown after seeing this the first time. I got chills looking at it all these years later. This is the piece of paper that changed my life.

I was shaking right before my first scene of the first performance. I don’t know how my costume didn’t fall right off my body. Maybe it was the pillow tied around my midsection that kept everything together. I listened for the line from Dorothy that signaled I had to leap out and roar. I wished for that moment never to come.

A funny thing happened when it did. A switch went off inside me and I instantly got into a zone. All my lines, all the music, all the dance moves came to my mind one after the other and I don’t remember taking a breath until it was all over.

Me as the Cowardly Lion

I remember I walked out for the curtain call and the whole auditorium went bonkers. This isn’t me over exaggerating for effect. If I had heard a crowd that loud up to that point, I would have run in the other direction. But Daniel Ford the Ham was born that night and played up to the standing ovation by flexing my Cowardly Lion muscles and strutting across the stage.

We're singing "We're Off to See the Wizard" in this picture. I nearly tripped over my tail every time we ran this scene, but never went down.

 I’ve had people recently come up to me in Bristol and say they remember when I brought the house down during The Wizard of Oz. No matter how old I get, it’s going to define me in my hometown and I couldn’t be prouder of that. My 8th grade math teacher called me “The Best Kept Secret in Bristol,” and that gave me the drive, incentive, and more importantly, the confidence to leave home and conquer in New York City. I actually did produce a piece of journalism—or what I considered journalism to be at that age—after all of us lost the immediate glow of being talks of the town. It brought back a lot of memories for me and I hope it brings back similar fond memories for my co-stars.

I signed everyone’s program with my mother’s well-worn inspirational phrase, “Reach for the Stars.” Here’s hoping the former inhabitants of Oz have them firmly in their grasps.

The full cast and crew.

The 'Wizard of Oz' Retrospective

The story of how Dorothy finds Oz and learns there is no place like home has been entertaining people of all ages since the movie’s release in 1939. Fifty-nine years later, the student’s of Northeast Middle School presented The Wizard of Oz for the public at Bristol Eastern High School.

The performing of The Wizard of Oz was a labor of love and persistence to succeed. To steal a line from Tom Hanks in Apollo 13, “Even the guy sweeping the floor was proud to be apart of it.” The actors and actresses should be congratulated for their hard work to bring The Wizard of Oz on stage for the people of Bristol, Conn. As for our talented director Mrs. Carroll, words cannot express what a great job she did transforming the students of Northeast into the characters we’ve all grown to love. Let us not forget Ms. Luke, Mr. Carlson, and the tech crew, who we could not have put on the show without.

As for me, going from a backstage reporter to one of the leads was something I could not do without any of the people I have just mentioned. Although the yellow brick road that the Northeast students have been following for four months has come to an end, we wish the future students who might travel on it the best of luck.

Other ‘Wizard of Oz’ Memorabilia

A letter from the Bristol Board of Education thanking the cast individually for a preview performance. I need more people need to address me as “master.” 

Ticket stubs. The green one would have gotten you into the March 13 performance and the yellow is for the March 14 show. $4 for a night of homegrown entertainment? That’s a steal. 

 

 

Front and inside covers of the program for The Wizard of Oz. Here is my actor profile in said program: “Daniel is in 8th grade and is an honor student. He is in a number of music groups including the Express Singers and the NEMS band. Daniel plans to write and act in his own musicals and plays. Dan would like to thank Mrs. Carroll for her support and guidance.” 

 

 

A card from my favorite social studies teacher Mr. Simpson. He’s a big reason why I became a history nerd. I came back to visit him during my sophomore year and he had just given his annual quiz on the Constitution. He fired four or five questions my way and I nailed them all. #nerdtriumph 

 

A letter from Mrs. Carroll that I will always carry with me as a reminder that risks are worth taking and that hard work and having a positive attitude pays off.