As parents, we worry about our kids in ways they don’t comprehend, at least until they become parents themselves. We do our best to prepare them and send them out into the world, hoping against all odds they make good decisions along the way, but knowing full well that they are going to hit a few bumps now and again.

This week, I encountered the biggest bump yet as a mom. I’m sure a lot of you have been there...your kid leaves the house, and, nowadays, has a cell phone with him that he is told to answer or respond to if you call them. Of course, the times he doesn’t answer, you picture the worst in your mind. You know deep down that your thoughts are likely irrational. And then, your worst fears are realized.

On Monday evening, Michael didn’t answer his phone when his dad called him. Being a parent, like any of us, his dad feared the worst. He hopped in the car, called a few more times with no answer, when he came across Michael on the ground with his friend standing over him. With no choice but to, he reacted. Michael was unresponsive, but then was talking. When his dad asked if he was okay, he responded with a weak and mumbled, “no.”

I met them at Belton Regional Medical Center, where Michael was thoroughly checked out, his head and neck scanned, and he was monitored closely for some time. A short while later, he and I took our first-ever ambulance ride over to Children’s Mercy, where they would do more tests and examinations.

It was a long night, and without a doubt one of the most terrifying of my life. But, despite a baseball-sized goose egg on the back of his head and an obvious concussion, Michael is okay. As I write this, he’s at home in his bed sleeping as the rain falls on yet another dreary morning. Despite the rain, there’s sunshine in my world today.

I’ve told Michael before that he’s got some of the greatest guardian angels looking after him. I am positive that they were there with him this week. His dad is a superhero. The nurses at BRMC, the medics from Belton, and the doctors at CMH were amazing and took good care of my boy. And, Michael is the strongest, bravest kid I know.

He’s okay. And I thank God for that, and I’ll continue to count my blessings for a long, long time to come.

Are you a runner? I’ve never really been much of one. When I was younger, and more fit, I used to run now and then, but I think I did it more for the social aspect than actual exercise.

While in junior high, I thought being on the track team sounded like fun, plus, all my friends were doing it, too. I remember the very first day of practice, we were told to just simply run until we couldn’t any longer. I’m not sure if the coaches were looking for the kids with the most endurance, or if they were really just trying to kill off the weak links (me). I thought I was going to die.

I’m not the most competitive person. In fact, I’d much rather prefer everyone cheer everybody on and we all be friends and go out for ice cream after the game. That’s just how I am; can’t we all just get along? But, for some reason, and a bit out of character, when I ran that day in seventh grade, I just had to not be the first one out. I ended up somewhere in the middle of the pack, plunking myself down with a water bottle in the grass after what felt like hours of running (it was probably 40 minutes tops).

I quickly realized track, and running, weren’t really my thing. Later on, I’d try my hand at cheerleading. But, again, I’d feel bad for the other team, so I wasn’t very good at that, either. I wanted so badly to be athletic, that I did a volleyball and basketball camp one summer. They were one or two weeks long, and basically taught basic drills. That was enough for me. I’m pretty sure I ended up injured in some fashion by the end of each camp. I did, however, make some new friends!

Shyness was never an issue, and I never really thought much about how ridiculous I must have looked as I tried my hand at various sports during the most awkward years of my life. My son is now at that age where he can consider what he’d like to do in middle and high school.

He’s thinking about doing track, though I’ve personally witnessed him running, and I know he’ll need to build up his stamina if he wants to do that. He’s played baseball since he was three, and that’s been his love ever since, but now that he’s in middle school, he’s noticing his friends playing other sports, and I’m sure he’ll become interested in soccer or football or tennis.

Luckily, Michael’s got a lot more athleticism that his mom does. I’m hopeful that he’ll have the same amount of guts to try new things too, and the smarts to realize where he doesn’t fit.

Sports weren’t ever my thing. Writing was. I’ll stick to what I’m good at and what I enjoy, and cheer for my boy in the stands as he tries to figure it all out himself.

I’m not really sure I can say that I believe completely in superstitions, but there are a few that cross my mind from time to time. A few years ago, I broke a hand-held mirror, dropping it into shattered pieces all over my bathroom floor. I remember convincing myself that the whole bad luck thing wasn’t real. I can’t really say my luck has been too awful since then, but I haven’t thought about it too much.

I’ve known people who throw salt over their shoulders, and others who will never walk under ladders. I remember telling Michael that opening an umbrella inside was bad luck, but, of course, he defiantly tried it out and he’s still pretty lucky, for the most part.

For as long as I can remember, every time I drive under a bridge with a train going over it, I have to “hold the train up” by raising my hands to the roof of the car. I don’t even know when or how this started (my dad can probably answer that question), but I do know it is something I have done and will always do. What if I don’t and the train comes down on top of my car? I know the odds of that happening are slim to none, but...what if?

Of course, this is something I have passed onto Michael. He added a piercing scream as we drive under the train bridges, but nonetheless, he participates. Every single time. Just the other day, we were heading to his grandparent’s house, and I spotted a train on a bridge a ways ahead of us.

Looking over at Michael in the passenger’s seat, I noticed he wasn’t paying attention as he was engrossed in whatever game or app he had loaded on his phone. As we got closer to the bridge, I nudged Michael and just got a grunt of a response in return. Finally, I said, “Michael, we’ve gotta hold the train up!”

Just in time, he put down his phone, lifted both arms, and held up the train with me. As soon as we were in the clear, he went back to his phone. I smiled, thinking that he, too, will probably teach this to his own kids someday.

I guess it just goes to show that we’re never really too old, or too “cool” to take part in silly superstitions. I’ll knock on wood and cross my fingers that he will always do this with his mom. You can bet your lucky penny that I’ll still be holding the trains up for the rest of my life.

My job is to keep the public informed. My job is to raise awareness when there are issues and to help shine light in dark corners. My job is to uncover things that may otherwise go unnoticed. And it’s a job that I take seriously.

A big decision was made in Grandview last week, and the conversations leading up to it took place behind closed doors, without any public input. That’s just not good government.

I get it, sometimes discussions need to happen privately, and information needs to be disseminated in an appropriate manner, before going public sometimes. But, I sincerely believe that had I not been approached by Judge Johnson prior to last week’s vote in time to write a story, that the vast majority of the citizens in Grandview wouldn’t have even known that the fate of our Municipal Court was in the hands of our six elected aldermen.

If we are truly “Building Tomorrow’s Community,” as the City of Grandview would like us to believe, then perhaps we need to come out from behind closed doors and from underneath our desks. Last week, city administration compared Grandview to Lake Tapawingo. With a population of right around 700, Lake Tapawingo is roughly the size of, as Alderman John Maloney put it, Grand Summit apartment complex. Our grand city of 25,000 residents deserves better. And our citizens deserve to have more say in what happens here.

We are better than this. I’m proud to say that our Board of Aldermen voted, in my opinion, the way they should have last week. Grandview’s Municipal Court will stay in Grandview, where it should be, where it has been since well before any of us have been calling the shots in this city.

Citizens have every right, and the responsibility, to speak their minds and to voice their concerns. Be it spoken, or through written word, it’s our job to let our opinions known and our thoughts heard. And, it’s the city’s job to ensure that this happens, regardless of mandates, funded or otherwise.

Election season is one of my favorite times of the year. It’s full of surprises, some good, some not as flattering, but overall, it’s about people who have the desire and the calling to serve the community.
I commend those who have the gall to throw their name into the circus that election cycles inevitably become. I truly believe that elected officials, no matter their political affiliation, the size of their campaign bank accounts or their thoughts on social and economic issues, are all in the game for similar reasons. There is nothing more satisfying, I’m sure, than knowing you made the right decisions for those you serve.

On Monday night, I had the privilege to serve as moderator for a candidate forum featuring those who have expressed interest in giving back to their community through public service. Jackson County, as we’ve seen on television and read in the papers, has some issues to deal with in the coming months. It is up to us, as voters in this great county of ours, to determine who should lead the charge of becoming fiscally responsible, mending issues with the county jail, and determining how our future should play out.

Without getting too much into politics here, I will say that I personally am impressed with the slate of candidates for each race that affects us in Grandview and South Kansas City. While I may not agree with all of them on every issue, I feel as though they all would be a good fit. They all seem to genuinely care about Jackson County now and into the future.

Later this week, as the paper is published, I’ll provide for you on our website (www.jcadvocate.com) a quick synopsis of each candidate who presented either at the Grandview or South Kansas City forums. County Executive, Sheriff, Legislator and State Representative races were all represented, and I’ll provide information, in their own words, to help you make an informed decision on Tuesday, August 7.

Whomever we choose to lead the charge and in whatever capacity those leaders serve, if their heart is in Jackson County and it’s people, I know that we’ll be well taken care of.

Several months ago, as 2017 came to a close and we were in the beginnings of 2018, my dad approached the family and stated that this year, he’d be turning 65, and he’d like to celebrate in a huge way.

He’s big on birthdays, and has always made a great deal of them, especially his own. He loves parties and the attention that a good birthday celebration brings. But, for his 65th, he decided to take things to a whole new level.

Last week, after a few months of planning (and renewing passports), our family boarded an airplane headed for beaches, sunshine, and all-you-care-to-drink strawberry daiquiris. With swimsuits, sunscreen and sandals in tow, we voyaged to Jamaica, a country none of us had explored before.
Michael and I climbed the Dunn’s River Falls together, an experience he and I will likely always remember, and I’m thinking my legs will still be sore from it for days to come. We swam with dolphins, watched as Michael checked out stingrays, tried jerk chicken, and learned to say “yeah mon” and “no problem” like we belonged there.

My favorite part, though, was watching my dad and my son, my two Michaels, swim and play in the ocean together. You would have thought they were both about five (though one is 12 and the other now 65), the way they laughed and splashed at each other and looked for treasures.

As far as family vacations go, this one certainly tops my list. When I was a kid, we took mostly road trips, and I had to spend all day next to my brother fighting over temperature control. This trip, with my brother, my son and parents with me, we made memories of adventure, culture, togetherness and love that will last for at least my lifetime.

I believe in the profession of journalism. I believe that the public journal is a public trust; that all connected with it are, to the full measure of their responsibility, trustees for the public; that acceptance of a lesser service than the public service is a betrayal of this trust. I believe that clear thinking and clear statement, accuracy and fairness are fundamental to good journalism. I believe that a journalist should write only what he holds in his heart to be true. I believe that suppression of the news, for any consideration other than the welfare of society, is indefensible.

While Walter Williams, the first dean of the Missouri School of Journalism, penned the Journalist’s Creed more than a century ago, his words still ring true in newsrooms across the country. In fact, his words hang on my wall, directly in front of where I sit at my desk in my office, serving as a daily reminder of the importance and the duty that I have to the community I serve.

Not everyone always agrees with me. Sometimes those disagreements come in the form of letters, other times phone calls. Some are anonymous, some are brave enough to let me know who they are. Every once in a while, I’ll receive a visit from someone who wants to tell me face-to-face to let me know what they think.

I have felt unsafe a time or two. I’ve received threatening phone calls or emails, and I’ve been told not to write certain things certain ways. I have had to call the police and I have had to watch my back...I think every journalist who is doing his/her job has felt this way at least once.

Last week, though, when news of the tragedies in Annapolis, Maryland came across my desk, I couldn’t help but think how easily this could have been my own newsroom, or how much we take for granted every day. The irony that the same day, a front-page story regarding a recent active shooter training ran on my front page was not lost on me.

No one goes to work knowing whether or not they’ll make it home at the end of the day. My heart breaks for my cohorts at The Capital Gazette, for those who lost their lives to a monster, and for those who were left behind to write the stories. Their work continues, whether or not they are grieving. They put out a damn paper. And I’m pretty damn proud of them for doing so.

I’d like to give the rest of the space in my column to those five in Annapolis. There’s room here, just as they have taken up a part our hearts. Rest in peace, friends. You will be missed.
In memory of The Capital Gazette five:

Gerald FischmanRob HiaasenJohn McNamaraRebecca SmithWendi Winters