Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Two months to the day I began unemployment, I received a call. It was over.
The next chapter takes place in Frankfort at Kentucky State University.
A portion of my campus interview couldn't have gone better if it were scripted. While taking a campus tour, I spotted a former St. Catharine student. We embraced and shared a quick moment. It was magical. Truly.
I'm joining a very talented communications team. I can't wait to learn from my new teammates. They're extremely intelligent and very welcoming.
The support I've received in the last two months has been incredible. It's been a lesson in how to raise others up, for sure. So many people have said or done or thought so many things that it would take an incredibly large spreadsheet to track it.
Someone who has seen me at my worst - and perhaps best - during this time has been my wife. Just when I think I can stop writing the list of reasons why she's incredible, she produces 17 new bullet points. It's utterly amazing. Thank you, Coury, for enduring with me (all while maintaining a perfect GPA and producing work that caused your education law professor to proclaim that you'd make a good lawyer). I am in awe of you.
To my St. Catharine College family, I miss you. There is so much more that could be said, but I miss you is the most succinct.
I'm thankful for the opportunity. Time to go to work.

We didn’t know what we didn’t know

Seven years ago today, we didn’t know what we didn’t know.

We didn’t know we’d actually have three children, especially after doing the math one night on your deck and realizing – oh God – we’d have to have them two years apart or less.

We didn’t know we’d get a little girl with curly hair or two little boys that look just like me.

We didn’t know that the girl would be all you – hair, personality, sense of humor.

We didn’t know about the lost sleep, the sacrifices, or the complexities of leaving the house.

We didn’t know we’d find the beautiful place we found to call home.

We didn’t know about the fire, or the renovation, or the despair.

We didn’t know that the happiness we felt was nothing compared to what we feel now.

Today, we know all those things.

Thank you all the happiness over the last seven years.

Thank you for waiting for me as I figured out where I wanted to live and what I wanted to do.

Thank you for being an optimist, for being happy, for making me laugh.

Thank you for setting such an example for our whole family – for going back to school, for being an incredible person, for having so much patience.

Thank you for seeing the best in me and talking me off the ledge when I see the worst.

Thank you for always showing your hand, never hiding your love.

Thank you for those three little people that keep following us around, demanding food and attention.

I love you. Happy anniversary. 

Living #SCCPride

As you might have heard in the last week or so, my employer filed suit against the U.S. Department of Education. For more on that, click here.
Simply put, St. Catharine College is fighting for financial aid for its students. It's a complicated and nuanced issue that is affecting the students at the college. I could dive in and try to explain, but that's not why I'm here (click here for a good explanation from President Gnadinger). I'm here to tell you why St. Catharine College has become like home to me.
This story begins a little over three years ago. I decided to leave a field I absolutely love (journalism) for public relations at St. Catharine College. The decision was difficult. I considered my co-workers as family and it's never easy leaving family. However, my family at home was burgeoning. My wife and I had a young daughter and a baby boy on the way. Time away from these three was harder and harder to accept. With hesitation, we decided that I'd leave the newspaper and begin work at St. Catharine College.
It didn't take long to love St. Catharine. I knew several people that worked here and my in-laws met here. It was very clear from day one that everyone employed at St. Catharine had the best interest of the students in mind. We are a small college, which gives us the opportunity to go out of our way to help students.
About nine months after I began work at St. Catharine, our home was ravaged by fire. I still very clearly remember my hands shaking as I tried to lock my office door after I received the call about the fire (for the full account, click here). That evening, while my family and I stood outside our home and wondered what was next, someone from St. Catharine came by with clothes. Our clothes, except what we were wearing, were ruined by the smoke. Then, not long after I returned to work, a gift was presented to my family from the employees of St. Catharine. Around the same time, the Dominican Sisters of Peace (who sponsor the college) presented a gift, as well. I was still very much the new guy on campus. The support was overwhelming and it has shaped my philosophy on helping people.
Over time, I started to make close friends on campus. People I would have lunch with, solve problems with and share stories from our lives with. Work was hard, but fun. I knew, and we all knew, that we had a friend on campus when we needed it.
In November, one of our co-workers needed a friend. Her daughter was born with a rare heart defect. The situation she and her family endured is any parent's worst nightmare (for a full account, click here). As this horrific scenario was unfolding, I learned all that I needed to know about the people at St. Catharine College. As my co-worker said so well, the people of St. Catharine (and everyone that prayed for the family) stormed heaven for this baby girl. It's hard to articulate the feeling on campus during that time and after our fire, but I've felt it and I know the love, generosity and compassion of these people now. If I had to endure a tragedy, I would want these people in my corner every time.
This place and these people are intertwined with my life. They care about each other and, most importantly, about the students of St. Catharine College. Please join us in support as we fight for the financial aid of our students. Listed below are many ways you can help. Please share our story and encourage others to help, as well.

• To join us for #SCCPride Day, a community event    
• To sign a petition in support of St. Catharine College
• To give a gift, no matter how small, to the #SCCpride GoFundMe campaign (started by a student to raise money for student scholarships)
• To follow us on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram and to share your own positive story about St. Catharine College using the hashtags #SCCpride and #PreachTheTruth

My wife, Aretha Franklin

Sometimes husbands or boyfriends might forget to consider the feelings of his wife or girlfriend. Or maybe it’s just me. But it’s something I do.

For instance, a painful one is the time I almost broke up with her over the phone while I was in a bar in Florida and she was in Kentucky, celebrating the passing of a board exam that would further her career. Why couldn’t I just talk to her without distraction, she asked. Why was the bar so important tonight?

The bar wasn’t that important, looking back. Obviously it wasn’t that important. But I wasn’t in the moment with her. I was 16 hours away and had forgotten about the weekend afternoons and evenings when I mindlessly played Playstation games while she wrestled with the months-long process of earning this new certification that would bring her personal satisfaction and higher earnings over her career. It would elevate her to an elite level as a teacher. It would certify that she was nationally qualified to teach.

I was in a bar in Florida because that was the dream I concocted when I was 18 and entering college. Five years later, I was in that bar in Florida. Living my dream. The dream, though, belonged to an 18-year-old. The guy with the amazing girlfriend who lived 16 hours away was ignoring the present to live in a dream created in the past.

We almost broke up while I was in Florida. I tried. My wife, though, persisted. Is this really what you want, she asked. Really?

It wasn’t.

Today is my wife’s last day of teaching. She’s moving up in her career and leaving the classroom behind. It’s an emotional time for her, but I haven’t really been in tune. This is my attempt at tuning in.

Just this morning I read a story about a husband who worked at a newspaper and insisted that his wife, a poet, stay home and write all day.

“I’m going to work and she’s going to write all day — when you are marrying a genius, that’s the deal,” he said, watching her on the swing. “It’s like marrying Aretha Franklin. She’s going to get to sing. If you hear Aretha Franklin sing — ”

“ — you understand what’s going on musically. Whoever was the first person to hear Aretha sing, understood. I just happened to be the first.”

My dream was to move around. The itinerant journalist. Place to place. Coast to coast. Florida. California. Maybe the Carolinas.

Then I moved to Florida and realized I couldn’t ask her to uproot. I couldn’t picture her there. I couldn’t ask her to leave a place she loved as I stumbled through career choices, not positive that this is what I was born to do when it was obvious that she knew what she was born to do.

Like the husband who married the genius, I recognized that it was important for her to teach and to teach in a place where she could be most effective. That place was where she already lived. I’ve said many times that I couldn’t ask her to uproot for Florida. I just couldn’t.

She would have, though. It’s amazing. She would have.

I was right. She has thrived. I’m not surprised, but I’m very proud. When I grow up, I want to make a difference like she does.

This week two remarkable things – things that some people never receive in a lifetime – happened to my wife.

A stranger stopped her in the optometrist’s office and doted on her. My niece talks about you all the time, she said. The lady then looked at me and said, You’re so lucky to have married her.

Well, yeah. I would have never tried to ruin that relationship.

That kind of interaction happens pretty frequently, really.

Then, yesterday she brought home a letter from a student. The student wrote “I love you” on three occasions in this letter. Can you imagine? Someone loves my wife for doing a great job. I’m pretty sure no one has ever said they loved me because of my work. I wouldn’t expect them to, but goodness. Wouldn’t it be nice?

To summarize, my wife is an Aretha Franklin. She is making the right move at the right time. She’ll be even better at what she does next. But this has to be tough for her. It does. She’s leaving behind a rock star career in the classroom for the unknown. It’s probably not as clear to her that she’ll continue to make her mark and be successful. People will still love her for doing her job well. That’s all unknown to her right now, but not to me. She’s about to cast a wider net and affect more students. While those students may not know to say I love you directly to her, they will.

I love you, Coury. I know this is hard. It will be until it’s not. But Emerson, Eliot and E. James are here for whatever you need. We have lots of love to share.

Wife appreciation day

Sunday, I think, was supposed to be the national day to appreciate your wife. Well, I found out late and haven't gotten around to it until now.
If you have a wife, you know that they should be appreciated every day. It's only right. But on special occasions, the appreciation should be cranked up a little, at least. Here's my feeble attempt at appreciating my wife.

Coco,

Thank you for many things. In no particular order:

• For being on a domestic mission since the fire. I think the washer, dryer and dishwasher have been running nearly constantly since Aug. 9. I could probably count on one hand how many times I have turned one of those machines on.
• For being the good cop to my bad cop routine. Not that you're soft, but our kids definitely need their mommy to keep things a little more fun and loose. Otherwise they would be sentenced to Daddy's Hardcore Training Camp for Kiddos. Only slightly kidding.
• For caring enough about your work to get stressed and feel responsibility. You know I've always admired the career you've built for yourself.
• For being my partner during the chaotic time pre- and post-fire. Having babies is chaotic enough. Dealing with the aftermath of a fire is enough. Combining the two is insane. I couldn't conquer insane without you.
• For knowing what a young Fitzgerald looks like and caring enough about literature that you talk to me about it every chance you get and swoon when your students are getting it.
• For listening when this post-fire business gets to be, well, shitty. And for venting right back.
• For just being a solid mom and person who doesn't do things you shouldn't do.

That's all I've got for right now. I'm five minutes late coming home and you're cooking spaghetti. I don't want to miss that.

Love you.

Personal contents inventory

We had at least 1,747 items in our house. That doesn’t include clothes, even. Doesn’t that seem like a really large number?

Today we received an inventory of items that the insurance would pay to replace. If you want to try a fun game, review a print out of every item in your house that now resides in a land fill or exists as a pile of ashes. Fun times!

I was beginning to think I had this situation emotionally whipped. I’ve seen the house as it has entered the demolition phase and I’ve adapted. I’m used to seeing a dumpster full of wall fragments in our yard. Today though, after going over this list, I’m a little out of sorts.

First of all, how much of that stuff can we live without? Half of it? A quarter? I’m in the mood to simplify but I acknowledge that we have to furnish a house for four people.

Secondly, we want to be good stewards with the money we receive to replace these items, as well as the money we’ve received from many, many generous people. Scrutinizing a list of 1,750 items while trying to be a good steward is a dizzying task. I’m happy that I don’t have to replace all of these items today.

Third, what didn’t make the list? I look through it and think of something here and there, but it’s incredibly difficult. I do know that the liquor bottles (especially a bottle of Blanton’s that was given to me as a wedding present) were not listed, as they were residing on a high shelf in a room that was hard to access after the fire.

Fourth, are things that we need to replace adequately priced on our inventory list? I’ve found a few things already that aren’t in line with the actual cost or are an incorrect item. I lost an iPad in the blaze, but my replacement is listed as an iPad mini. Nope. It was an iPad. That’s what I want to replace it (I’m not criticizing anyone here, as I’m sure it’s easy to make a mistake or two on a list with over 1,700 items. I’m also sure it’s easily fixed with a call or text to my adjuster).

My head is swimming today. Look at all this stuff. How can I be a good steward? What can we live without?

I know one thing: I could use a drink of the Blanton’s that was left off the list. You better believe I’ll be emailing that change over. 

The lighting, the switches and a wardrobe

"It's just stuff. It's just a house," I keep saying.
But it breaks your heart.
I know it could be worse. We have our health. We have each other. We've bonded as a family through this more than we would have without it. But still.
Demolition is set for tomorrow. It's exciting and sad. We're one day closer to a new house, but we have to say goodbye to our old house.
Nearly everyone that has walked through the aftermath can't believe everything has to go.
"Why can't this be saved?"
"It's a shame that has to go."
I've had the same thoughts. I could save a piece of the coffered ceiling, or some of the baseboard, or some piece of wood and just make something out of it later. That's where I stop.
If I save a piece of wood, how long will it sit in the garage until I throw it out? Attached to that piece of wood will come guilty feelings for not taking the time to make something out of it. Then, after it becomes clear that I'll never make anything out of it, it will produce guilty feelings for throwing it out.
The wood, the mirrors, the toys that seem fine (but are probably covered in things I wouldn't want my children putting in their mouths) are going. I'm ready to start over.
And, while I mention the urge to simplify, I find myself obsessing over how we'll change the house, the decorations, the furniture.
It's something I struggle with. I have an app on my phone that puts a vast library of images of homes and furnishings at my fingertips. I think I've finally come to terms with minimizing changes to the house. We'll keep it as close to the original as possible, with some minor changes to add convenience or storage.
Demolition starts tomorrow. Another step in life post-fire will begin. Eventually, we'll struggle to remember the way the house looked and felt, which is something to mourn about. We will, however, make memories in our new house.
It's just a house. It's just stuff. But it breaks your heart.