For three years now, I have sat at my desk (the location of which has changed in the office) at the Advocate, writing story after story of news from our community. Good news, bad news and all that fits in between, this newspaper and the people that read it have become such a big part of my life that I consider it a privilege, not work.

I spend hours working on my stories, some have even taken weeks to put together. Yet, the thing I get the most compliments on from readers is my column. I try to write it weekly, but sometimes I run out of room, thinking that the news is more important than what’s going on in my world.

I write my column to fit the space available, writing about whatever is important to me on that particular day. I never thought about naming it, because, again, I just wrote to fill a void. But, it turns out, it was filling more that an empty space on my page. I’ve been told one of my columns was read at a funeral service, and another I received numerous emails and phone calls thanking me for being the voice of reason.

So, with all that said, I’ll do my best to save a little bit of space each week for my thoughts on community issues, national debates and, of course, updates on the cutest little boy I know. It won’t be a lot, and it probably won’t change lives, it’ll just be All That Fits.

Fourth Grade

I have very clear memories from fourth grade. I remember the sound of Mrs. Fryer’s voice and I remember Mr. Grube’s class pets. During language arts that year, I remember having to give an oral book report. Mine was on a book I read about horses and I remember getting creative and videotaping myself in a sort-of interview fashion.

Fourth grade was also the year of the "missing portrait," as I like to define it. For some reason, there is only one picture of my fourth grade portrait in existence. My mom insists that I gave them all away, but I sincerely don’t know what happened to them. I remember, in full detail, getting my photo taken that year. I missed the regular picture day, and had to go in on retake day. Only two people in my class missed the first go-around: Nicole Jones and me.

Nicole and I were sent down to the gym, where the photographer was set up, and we promptly detoured into the girls’ bathroom to primp our hair. We giggled and laughed until we both felt we were as beautiful as we could manage, and we headed to our photo shoot hand-in-hand. I remember I wore a fancy green dress that day that had a shimmery skirt.

Michael, my son, began fourth grade today at Belvidere. When I asked him last week if he was ready to go back to school, he responded by saying, "I don’t really want to talk about that, but I am ready to see my friends again."

He’s looking forward to getting back into the routine that school brings and, according to him, he might even consider running for student government this year. "That is if I can convince people to vote for me. Would you vote for me?" he asked.

Of course I’d vote for Michael. I’m completely biased, but I’m fairly certain he’s the best kid for the job, whatever job he goes after. That’s the difference between him and me: he’s already focused on being a leader, where I was more concerned with who I sat by and looking cute in my school photo.

Whether I gave all my fourth grade photos away that year, or whether they were truly lost, the memories I have remain. I hope my son can hold onto some memories from the upcoming year as well.

Dueling developments score points with communities

Last May, developers announced plans for Gateway Village in Grandview, a $300 million all-turf soccer complex to call south Grandview home between Byars and Kelley roads. According to Shane Hackett, executive director of Heartland Soccer, the country’s largest soccer league, Heartland Soccer will be the main tenant of the complex and the development will consist of 240 acres of residential, commercial and retail.

"This is slated to be fifteen all-turf soccer fields," said Hackett. "This is the synthetic turf that you can currently see at the Overland Park Complex and Swope Soccer Village."

Within the last few weeks, a similar announcement came for our neighbors to the east. Paragon Star sports village and complex, a $200 million project, will be located at the intersection of View High Drive and I-470 in Lee’s Summit. This development will feature ten synthetically-turfed fields, including a championship field that will hold up to 5,000 spectators as well as office, hotel, housing, food and entertainment features. The initial phase of the project is estimated at $154 million, but total development costs are expected to exceed the $200 million price tag upon completion.

Paragon Star’s anchor tenant will be the KC Select Soccer Club. Developer Phillip "Flip" Short said the 100-plus acre project is intended for visitors to have an experience unlike any other in the United States.

"We’ve indicated from the on-set of this project that we were going to make it the country’s number-one amateur field sports facility and it truly will serve as a model of excellence," said Short.

A bold statement, considering six miles to the southwest will be Grandview’s Gateway Village. However, continuing with the spirit of the game, a little friendly competition never hurt anyone. Bring on the families, the fans and visitors to both locations. Visitors to our area will help the communities as a whole.

A mere 10 minutes apart, the projects are quite similar in their plans to bring more soccer options to southern Jackson County. Just this week, WalletHub ranked Kansas City seventh on their list of the best cities for soccer fans. Surely two new massive developments catering to soccer families won’t hurt that ranking.

Both projects have the potential to bring massive amounts of people to the area: people that will shop here, eat here and stay here. The goal should be, now, to find ways to get these visitors to venture out of the complexes and into our respective downtowns to visit local merchants and boost our economies even further.

Family Reunions

 

As a little girl, I loved spending time with my family. Not just my immediate family, but grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles and the like. I have fond memories of getting together over holidays, or swimming in the pool in my grandma and grandpa’s backyard while all the grown-ups sat around and talked.

Most memorable for me, though, were the family reunions we’d attend every few years with my dad’s extended family in Arkansas. My great-grandma was still around for a few years of my childhood and the whole family would meet at the farm house in Sardis, with my grandpa’s siblings and their families in tow. My great-grandpa, before he passed away, was known for his watermelon and sweet potatoes that he grew on that old farm south of Little Rock.

By the time I visited as a kid, the farm’s heyday had passed. I still found the whole experience fantastic. I remember being completely terrified of the cows, but still wanting to get as close to them as they’d allow. My great-uncle Kenneth and his wife Barbara (a real-life Barbie and Ken to my six-year-old self) lived in a house next door to the old farmhouse and I remember borrowing great-aunt Ruby’s swimsuit to go play in their hot tub. The suit was too long on my little body and the rear hung down to my knees, but I was happy as could be to hang out at Barbie and Ken’s house.

It’s been several years since I’ve been back to the farm; the last time was while I was in high school. I returned over the 4^th of July weekend with my parents and my son to a family reunion hosted by distant cousins of my grandpa Rodney. Sadly, he passed away in 2013, but I’m certain he was with us in spirit as we visited with family he grew up with.

I spent much of my time talking with my great-uncle Ken, whose real-life Barbie died just a few months ago. He reminded me so much of my grandpa and it was hard to not get a little emotional to see how much they look alike. He couldn’t get over how “grown-up and beautiful” I am, and he held my face in his hands and kissed my cheek, much like my grandpa always did.

The farmhouse has sat empty for some time now, but the memories of family, food and bonding still remain. What once was a land full of my great-grandpa’s sweat, blood and hard work is now acres and acres of green. Walking up to the front door of the house, I still imagined my great-grandmother’s petite frame welcoming us with a warm hug and something to eat.

Unfortunately, this may have been the last time I’ll get to see the old farmhouse, as the family continues to age and grow. I’m grateful my son had a chance to see it and meet some of the people that make up his family, a family that I hold so close to my heart.

This Independence Day, I celebrated my heritage, my family and the memories I have spending time on the farm in Sardis, Arkansas.

Yearbooks

The last week of school was always a little bittersweet for me while I was growing up. If it were an option, I would have gone to school all year round. Though, making friendship bracelets and exchanging phone numbers at the conclusion of each grade was something I looked forward to each spring.

Along with the end of the year came yearbooks. I loved yearbooks before I even started kindergarten, as my mom was a yearbook advisor for oodles of years. I remember being a kid and poring over the many black and white pictures used in the layouts, the pica rulers used to line everything up, and the pages and pages of clipart of every category in the thick books of images.

At the first opportunity, upon entering middle school, I knew I wanted to be on the yearbook staff. By that time, the majority of layout design was done on the computer, rather than by hand. I continued to be on staff throughout the next few years, and my passion for yearbooks grew during my four years of high school.

I remember I still loved going through photos, color by then, and by graduation, I knew almost every person in the building by name, due to the amount of time spent looking at and laying out page after page of photos and names. To this day, when I see old friends on Facebook or other social media, I can still picture in my mind what their school photo looked like in 2001.

I have every yearbook, from kindergarten through my senior year of high school, on shelves at home. My son likes to pull them out each year and compare how he looks to the way I did when I was his age. Each time, I’m reminded of the memories I have from so long ago, and the friends I have since forgotten but remember when I glance at their photo.

Being the editor of a community newspaper is not much different than being the editor of a yearbook. Though my work is now published weekly, I still tell the stories of my neighbors and "classmates," and I still very much enjoy going through photos from events, though digital now. This newspaper is like the weekly yearbook to the community, and I still approach the job with as much passion and love as I had when I was just a preschooler sitting on the living room floor surrounded by photos.

After Third Grade, You'll Know Everything

I loved school as a kid. I loved everything about it: my teachers, my friends, new dresses and school supplies. Granted, I was there for more of the social aspect than to learn, but I managed to do well enough. I was teacher’s pet and desired to make everyone proud.

Once, while I was in kindergarten, at home around the dinner table we were discussing our days. I’m unsure of what transpired, but I imagine the conversation was driven by my not having a great day at school. My brother, wiser and three grades above me, said, “Just wait, Mary. When you’re in third grade, you will know everything and your whole life will change.”

This quickly became a phrase that is said often in the Davis house, to this day. So much so, that my own third grader has heard it. With just over a week left of school to go, Michael almost has another year of education under his belt. He started the year off informing me that third grade is going to be a snap and when it comes time for statewide testing, “I already know it all, anyway.”

Turns out, he may have been onto something. Standardized testing has come and gone, and he said the tests were easy. His grades have been near-perfect all year, and on Friday of this week, he’ll be inducted into the National Elementary Honors Society. To say I’m a proud mom would be an understatement.

So it seems the third grade mentality of knowing everything there is to know is a common thread, at least with the boys in my family. I don’t remember anything significant about third grade, or my life changing for the better or worse that year. Michael’s had his share of changes in the last year, yet he continues to succeed and amaze me. He teaches me lessons every day, and I’m incredibly honored he calls me “Mom.”

Race and Riots

When I was growing up, I don’t remember seeing color differences until I was in about third grade. I grew up in a pretty diverse community – this one, as a matter of fact – and the reality that some people are different than me because of their skin color was not something that I heard in the house I lived in.

When I was two years old, I met my favorite childhood friend. Brandy lived behind us, and we played outside most every day until my family moved from that home after sixth grade. At my birthday party while we were in third grade, Brandy gave me a small token of our friendship that I still display on a shelf to this day. It was a small plaque with a picture of two kittens on it – one black kitten and one white kitten – with a quote that reads: "How nice they always seem to be, the times we share, just you and me."

Upon opening the gift, Brandy, with a huge grin on her face, told me she picked it out because the kittens on the picture looked just like us. My little third-grade mind was blown away, as this was the first time I remember realizing that I do, in fact, look different from my best friend.

My own child is now the same age as I was when I had this revelation. Just the other day, in the car on the way to school, Michael informed me that another little boy in third grade called him the "N" word. Thinking I hadn’t heard him correctly, I asked him what word he was referring to. Sure enough, the other little boy didn’t call my son nice, neat or even nerdy.

I attempted in the best way I could to explain to Michael the significance of the "N" word, and why he, along with any other person, black or white, should not say it. After the conversation, he was full of questions, the same questions I continue to ask, the questions that I’m not sure there are answers to. Such as explaining away the rioting that transpired in Ferguson, and most recently in Baltimore. Why do people feel the need to go to extreme measures to prove a point? I don’t have the answer for that. But, the way I can do my part to prevent a future of civil unrest regarding race in our community is to raise a son who more than tolerates other races. I want my son to become best friends with all kinds of kids, regardless of race. I want him to see people the way I see people – not what color they are, but what qualities they bring to my life.