The expanded Photo Gallery can be found by clicking here: Photo Gallery: Every Day is Game Day
Table of Contents
AUTHOR’S NOTE: “67 SECONDS” is the chapter that changed everything for me while writing this story. When I learned of the story of Tammy Churness and the Churness family, I knew this could no longer just be a silly story about concession stand items or the kind of riding lawn mower Scott Ross and Tom Nelson used to mow the football field. Tammy’s story brought infinitely more depth to this story than I planned. Emma’s 67-second long speech at the end of Chapter 25 epitomized the underlying theme of the rest of the story–good people doing good things for others.
This excerpt contains three chapters, including an unlikely, ironic, and unsettling connection between the Churness and Ray families.
“What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.”
Pericles, Ancient Greece Politician – Referenced in “Legacy” by James Kerr
Posted on the wall inside Miles P. Henderson Field House in Canadian, Texas
Chapter 25: "67 Seconds"
September 1, 2023
Halsted Field – Two Harbors, Minnesota
Parent’s Night
Cloquet Lumberjacks vs Two Harbors Agates
The first football game of each year is symbolic. The end of summer. The beginning of a new school year. For high school seniors, the first day of the final year. For adults with children, another reminder that the clock relentlessly spins. Leaves that blossomed in spring, flourished during summer, will soon fall, then blow across the field before coming to rest.
On this night, the seasons of life converged at Halsted Field in the heaviest, yet most uplifting, of ways.
For the first time since kindergarten, one member of the Agates family wouldn’t have her Mom present to help decide what to wear on the forthcoming first day of school. For the first time in six years of cheering, the Agates’ cheer captain wouldn’t see her Mom sitting in her familiar spot on the top row of the bleachers, cheering along with her and smiling back at her. On this Parent’s Night, a daughter wouldn’t walk arm-in-arm with her Mom.
Tammy Churness was caring, vibrant, social—a force—a Football Mom—a Cheer Mom. She was ever-present at Halsted Field. She was undoubtedly present on this night, but sadly, only in spirit. Fourteen days before this football game, Tammy’s two-plus-year-long battle with cancer came to a peaceful end, surrounded by family.
In times like this, rallying around a community member and their family isn’t unique to Two Harbors or a football team. There are good people in every town. But in small towns like this, personal connections run deeper.
They just do.
When your graduating class is less than 80 students, your bond is inherently tighter than in larger schools. Everyone here knows everyone else. With that, when one family suffers a loss, everyone is rattled. The tremors are felt by all.
This small group of high school seniors knows this all too well.
Too darn well.
Aaron Churness grew up in Two Harbors. One high school football teammate was Tom Nelson. One of their coaches was Scott Ross. Churness and Nelson were kids together. Their kids are now together. On paper, they aren’t family. In life, they are.
Aaron and Tammy Churness met in Cloquet, married, and started a family. They eventually moved to Two Harbors because they knew it would be a great place to raise their kids.
Aaron reflected, “A huge part of that is the high school and the coaches. Most coaches are Two Harbors natives. They care deeply about the success of their athletes—not just winning but transforming them into good adults. That’s the key that happens in our sports programs.”
Aaron was a football captain in 1991. Eight months after Tammy’s diagnosis, their son, Alec, served as football team captain in the fall of 2021. In the Autumn of 2023, their daughter, Emma, was the cheer team captain. Emma followed her sister, Kate—a 2013 graduate—in the lineage of cheerleaders. The Churness family is an integral part of the larger Agates family.
With a solid foundation, it was no surprise to learn of the outpouring of support emanating from the folks in Two Harbors. Shared stories illustrated the back-and-forth, unbreakable elasticity of the bond. Moments for all—individuals and families—to move to the perimeter to grieve but also be pulled back in for support and to offer support to others.
Two Harbors isn’t a dress-up town—it’s a show-up town. Sightings of “Team Churness” t-shirts became common. At one football game, they held a “Cancer Awareness Night.” At another—a “Miracle Minute.” Meanwhile, throughout rounds of chemotherapy, Tammy found the strength to continue supporting others, including participating in preparing and serving team dinners.
This is where I’m supposed to convey what it must have been like for the Churness family in those 30 months following Tammy’s diagnosis. I won’t pretend to know. Each reader can imagine—what if it was your Mom, dad, brother, or sister? Unless you’ve been there, it’s impossible to know. I can only assume that it’s good not to be alone in times like these for individuals and families.
Emma affirmed the wisdom of moving to Two Harbors. “I lost my Mom in August, right before football season started, and it was horrible. I was nervous about going into football season because it was just horrible. But the way my Cheer Team and my football team carried me and my family through is something I’ll never forget.”
Amid an outpouring of support for the Churness family, the “forget about me, I love you” mantra was never more present at Halsted Field.
Emma continued, “Our first game of the season, the game representing our family and my Mom, also happened to be Parent’s Night. I was very nervous because the night was about us, and I’d be walking without my Mom. I couldn’t stand having one of my arms empty, so I asked my older sister, Kate, to fill in for my Mom. It seriously made me feel so much better. I know my Mom would’ve been very happy to know I had someone there for her, and that gave me strength for the rest of the night.
“My brother, Alec, was a football team captain, so they all knew and played with him. He graduated in ’22. They all worked to raise money for us, and everyone was always checking in on me—even guys on the football team who didn’t know me. I’ll just never forget that. That’s why I never want to leave town—it’s just so good knowing that if anything happens, you’ll always have that support.”
Alec recalled, “I greatly appreciated Coach Nelson throughout that time. He ensured I knew he’d do anything for me and my family. He’s defended me in the past—always had my back, reassured me I’d have his support. So, it was no surprise that nobody did more to help me get through this than him.”
“Tammy was very appreciative of everything the Cheer Team and everyone associated with the school did for us,“recalled Aaron. He singled out Cheerleading Coach Melanie Ross. “Mel is such a great role model and mentor for all the girls.”
Aaron mentioned something I had heard multiple times. The football season doesn’t end. The support system is in place year-round. As a dad, Aaron said it was comforting to know that Alec and Emma were in that environment.
“We just want everyone to know how much we appreciate their support. The football team, coaches, the school, and, of course, the Cheer Team. Everyone.”
“I can’t believe I’m no longer a cheerleader.”
Those were Emma’s words to Cheerleading Coach Melanie Ross soon after the high school football season ended. Athletes who have graduated from high school and played their final game know that deflating feeling. For Emma, cheerleading, as she’d known it for the previous six years, was over.
Or was it?
Ross started to remind Emma of the “Cheer Camp” scheduled for the first week of February: the following week, a Junior High Cheer Clinic. Before Mel could finish her sentence, Emma asked, “When are we starting?”
By definition, Cheer Camp is a comfort zone—a place for a broken heart to continue to heal while bringing cheer to others. “She loves cheerleading. Who better to spark an interest or a fire than somebody who loves it?” Ross recalled.
There was a lot of that “forget about me, I love you” stuff floating around during Cheer Camp. It flowed from the Cheer Team to the little campers. From everyone to Emma. And, even in this challenging time, from Emma to those young kids who dream to become like her someday.
Dawn Jones put it best when speaking of Melanie Ross, Mazzy DiFranco, and the cheerleaders who participated in Cheer Camp:
"You girls were just a machine. Strength, honor, love, and unity. You always raise up one of your own that is in pain. You're a beautiful unit. Mel, you and Mazzy are amazing. Emma Churness, your momma was proud. You were a pillar of strength."
The passing of time allows for reflection–for adjustments to narratives. Emma previously told me her story. She was about to tell the story of others to others. Weeks after our visit, the year-end Cheer Team Banquet was held. Emma stood before all who supported her through their shared experience. She spoke the words, but via their actions, everyone in that room had written this unscripted flow of emotion. This was their story, Emma their spokesperson.
She fought through emotions then delivered with a surge of unyielding conviction:
“The one thing I want to say is that in 30 years, I probably won’t remember all these memories we shared tonight, but I can say that I truly feel like you will never forget the way a person—or a group of people—made you feel at a certain time in your life. Even if I don’t remember getting pudding at St. Thomas in 30 years, I will always remember how my team treated me when I went through one of the hardest times in my life.”
“I just…I love you guys so much.”
“You should all be proud of the amazing humans you are. There’s no one like you. Every time I showed up to practice, I felt nothing but patience—and that was the one thing I definitely needed when I had my bad days. You guys should all be very proud of the people you are and the people you’re going to be because there’s no one like you. And yeah, that’s all I have to say.”
With those words—delivered in 67 seconds, the picture of six years of immersion in a nurturing environment was painted. Sixty-seven seconds of insight into our meaning, our purpose. It was 67 seconds of why we chase rainbows and sunsets—the most beautiful of moments.
It was 67 seconds of forget about me, I love you.
I’ve only met a few Cheer Team members, yet I can easily extend my respect to all of them. These are the people who inspired Emma’s message. Without them, she wouldn’t have found those words. They lived this story together:
Ellie Johnson
Alison Shaw
Alissa Winbauer
Atlanta Ness
Ava Bailey
Emerson Backen
Larissa Pitkanen
Madi Macfarlane
Madison Kuusisto
Pipa Beckstrand
Rebecca Blaisdell
Savannah Anderson
Scarlett Hietala
Sophia Ray
Photo Credits (below): The Churness Family
Chapter 50: Named and Unnamed
While writing stories for the Dallas Morning News about high school football games, I was acutely aware of the significance of including the names of the athletes I watched. They’ll scrapbook those stories. Fifty years from now, long after I’m gone, they’ll show those clips to their grandchildren and tell stories of their childhood, surely fabricating their exploits far beyond my typed words. Those grandchildren will never know who wrote that sentence. I’ll never see the life they’ll go on to live. That doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is those kids will know grandpa or grandma were once young too–and they did something fun and good.
Then, the flip side—preventing an athlete’s name from appearing on the newspaper’s front page, as the nightly news’s opening story, or the viral social media post. Those situations where the influence of a coach, good-hearted welcoming teammates, teachers, and community leaders positively influence those kids whose daily decisions teeter on the edge of trouble. I didn’t tell those stories because, in a sense, they never happened. The student-athlete didn’t make the decision leading to trouble. Their coaches saved them.
Even here, I didn’t tell every story. Tragic stories. Stories of valor. Like the story about the star running back on the football team whose off-field actions outweigh his significant on-field accomplishments. That young man whose father believes his immersion in a FAMILY environment from Pony League football through his senior year helped mold him into the person he’s become. Stories of his touchdowns have been written. Online pictures prove he helped move those couches. Then there’s the untold stuff. Like when he demonstrated an uncommon awareness that when a mom is suffering from the ravages of cancer and her body is rejecting those medications intended to provide comfort, to give that mom another month, week, or just one more day with her husband and her kids, that the right thing for him to do is to help that mom—to comfort her during the most uncomfortable of moments.
Few things can be more noble.
But this is even more noble when you learn it wasn’t his mom. It was his girlfriend’s mom. There were times when he shielded family members from seeing her suffer. I omitted the name of that running back as an example of those good people we never hear about.
Those kids at those games on Fridays aren’t just athletes, cheerleaders, team managers, or band members. Each of them is a story. The same applies to everyone in attendance. Everyone has, or is, a story worth sharing.
There are 14,822 cities in the United States with populations under 5,000. I wrote about a few good things happening in TWO of them. Even there, the scope of this story was limited to a connection with the football teams in each town. Then, there are 4,680 cities with a population greater than 5,000. Imagine all the good happening in those towns and cities we never hear about. I focused predominantly on the reach of two high school football teams. This story of good people would never end if I expanded the reach to the other sports teams, the business communities, first responders, law enforcement, and hospitals.
One more thing. I changed my mind.
His name is Zack Libal.
Chapter 52: It Persists
Sunday, August 25, 2024, Canadian, Texas
When I visited Two Harbors in September and Canadian in October of 2023, I didn’t see staged versions of either town. A year later—thankfully—not much has changed.
A year earlier, I drove to Canadian seeking the answer to one question: Why Canadian? It only took 16 hours to suspect I’d found the answer.
It took another year to confirm.
As another football season commenced in Canadian, it was clear that while the cast of characters changes, the character of the characters doesn’t. This town seems to have developed a solid hand-me-down culture. Forget for a moment grandma’s sewing machine or grandpa’s favorite tools—it seems their most important hand-me-downs are values—not valuables.
One of those values is sharing their most precious of gifts. Some have used most of their allotment, others hopefully with an abundance remaining. They shared it at the elementary school, the pep fest, on their Community Day of Giving, and after the football game.
This most precious of valuables is free, and they share it all around.
Time is that most valued gift. That thing nobody knows how much they have left. The gift that keeps on giving down here. Nowhere is this gift exchange worth more than at the Mesa View Assisted and Senior Living Communities.
Canadian isn’t isolated from technological progress. Those cell signal towers around Hemphill County remind us of that. Everyone knows the directions for tapping into that network: enter your wi-fi password, download an app, create a username and a password—preferably not “password123,” then drift away into a fascinating but largely impersonal world.
Much of the success down here is related to their utilization of a different type of network—an old-fashioned yet tried-and-true network. A network that can easily be found on a map or outside your front door.
It’s those sidewalks and streets that connect everyone in town.
That network leads to the good stuff—friends, neighbors, schools, gymnasiums, churches, restaurants, city parks, and athletic venues. Four days before the opening of the 2024 football season, the Canadian Wildcats football team tapped into it. The directions were simple. They knew this route.
- Drive south on Locust Street, past Wildcat Stadium and Miles P. Henderson field house.
- Take a right on Hackberry Trail.
- Drive down the hill.
- Turn right on Shaller Drive.
- Then, a quick right on Teas Circle.
- Park your truck
- Leave your cell phone in the glove box.
- Walk towards the front door of the Mesa View Senior Living Community.
- Before knocking, check to be sure you brought plenty of your Texas manners with you—an entire supply of “yes, ‘ma’ams, no sirs, thank you ma’ams, you’re welcome, sirs.”
- Don’t bring presents. Just your presence.
- Walk inside
- Smile
- Sit
- Make a new friend or share the latest news with a friendly acquaintance.
- Ask them how they are doing.
- Then, play card games, board games, Go Fish, and Dominoes.
- Laugh
- Hungry? How about pizza, salad, chicken wings, bread sticks, brownies, and ice cream sundaes?
Those football players could have stayed home today, incessantly clicking “Like” buttons and “heart” icons. But instead of Instagram, they spent time with “gram.” Instead of TikTok, they sat down to talk. They could have viewed a hundred Facebook “reels” but instead experienced something real.
The pictures of the evening shared on Facebook were as good as it gets. Those kids have every reason to feel good about what they’ve done. To them, I’d say: “Just know this—as good as they might feel about those last few hours, those folks you spent time with at Mesa View feel better. It’s good to not be forgotten.”
Three weeks later, the route for the Homecoming Parade traveled through Mesa View’s parking lot. The residents were sitting outside waiting for their friends to stop by. The parade stopped long enough for the Canadian High School Drama Department to perform a dance routine for the residents. A couple of students presented gifts to the residents.
The pictures signaled multi-generational happiness. Stuff we don’t see on the news. Heartwarming stuff that will loosen anyone’s rusted, too tightly locked-down wet blanket of cynical perceptions.
Look at these two pictures–look at everyone’s facial expressions. It’s just so good!
Then, that thing about “Miracle Minutes.” In an idyllic world, they wouldn’t be necessary. But in the fall of 2024, that 60-second timer had to be reset once again at a high school football game at Halsted Field.
“May I have your attention, please? One of our family members needs us.”
“Oh no. Who is it this time?”
“She’s here tonight with her family–a family that has been part of the Agates family for the last 40 years. Let’s do what we can to help.”
Few groups could be more receptive to answering this bell. They’ve lived, loved, supported, and mourned their way through this story before. They are still mourning, still reeling from the last one. They know this all too well. But there was no apprehension in approaching this group, asking them to rally. This is who they are.
Who needs them now? Unfortunately, this wasn’t about moving a couch.
This was about a mom. A mom with a daughter on the Cheer Team. Check that—two daughters on the Cheer Team. And those two words:
Breast cancer.
“This cannot be possible.”
“Did I hear that right?”
“Are you talking about last year?”
“No, this year.”
“Again?”
“Yes, again.”
No way. No chance. This is just too much.
Everyone at Halsted Field tonight has been here before, with one exception. Sure, Kelly Libal has participated in other Miracle Minutes. She’s seen others overcome with emotion. She knows those hugs and knows those tears. She knows these people and this town. Kelly had been there every time, yet, in a sense, this was her first time. Kelly hadn’t been here before.
This Miracle Minute was for her.
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the things you think you cannot do."
Kelly Libal once sat in the wooden bleachers at the old football field closer to the lake. She watched her brother, Scott Libal, play on the same high school team with Tom Nelson and Aaron Churness.
To break the ice on what was sure to be an emotional conversation, I told Kelly I’d heard Tom Nelson was a bit of a handful to manage when he was a football player. Kelly laughed and said, “Let’s just say he was passionate!”
She now watches her brother help Tom Nelson coach the team. She also watches her daughters Sophia, Class of 2026, and Ali, Class of 2027, cheer for them.
One of Sophia and Ali’s best friends is named Emma. Yes, that Emma. That speech. Those 67 Seconds.
So, let me get this straight:
A Cheer Mom, a Cheer Dad, and their two cheerleading daughters; the Cheer Mom’s brother is a football coach and father of the team captain, Zack, who is dating the daughter, Emma, of the Mom—Tammy, who lost her battle with cancer last year. Emma is also one of the best friends of the Cheer Mom and Dad’s daughters.
What the…
Within one year, one town, one team, two families, all this. The classic small-town yet next-level “everyone knows everyone” web of support was called upon to catch another family’s fall. Again!
This chapter of Kelly Ray’s life began on Thursday, June 13, 2024, at 1:43 pm, when she received the diagnosis. Last year, her friend Tammy Churness lost her battle with cancer two weeks before the start of the football season. This year, Kelly received her diagnosis two months before the start of the football season.
“It was terrifying to be diagnosed with breast cancer just after your daughter’s best friend’s mom died from breast cancer. My biggest concern was how it would affect all three girls–my daughters Sophia and Ali, as well as Emma.
Honestly, I was just overwhelmed. I’m a nurse by trade, so I felt I should know more than I did, but I was completely lost. It was like a foreign language to me. It was overwhelming, and I was trying to figure it out. How will I get through this and stay strong for the girls?
Emma recalled, “When Kelly was diagnosed, I was so scared for all of them. There are so many cancer success stories, but the only experience I have is pretty horrible. When my mom passed, I relied heavily on Kelly and Zack’s mom, Chrissy, to get through it. They were the two women I relied on to fill that motherly role I was missing. After Kelly’s diagnosis, I remember sitting in my car with Sophia and Ali, just talking with them, asking them if they were OK, all that stuff. They are truly like my little sisters. As much as it sucks to have lost my mom then, that experience allows me to help them now. They know they can always talk to me, and I will always look out for them.”
Of Emma’s dad, Aaron Churness, Kelly said, “I’m sure he is still going through his grieving process. He’s one of those people who says few words, but it’s pretty profound when he has something to say. What an amazing man. And Emma is a very special person in our lives. We talk to her all the time. She’s like my third daughter. Last night, we had our family dinner. She is, of course, always invited. Emma wanted to learn how to make Chicken and Dumplings, one of my mom’s best meals. So, she learned and mastered it easily. When this book comes out, we plan to make a pot of chicken and dumplings and sit on the couch with a box of Kleenex between us.”
I’m not going to play the typical game of a writer, trying to hold you in suspense to ensure you keep reading until the end. This isn’t the time for that game. The most crucial detail—Kelly’s prognosis, is good news. Her doctors believe they caught this early enough.
Kelly takes us back to that Miracle Minute.
“Melanie Ross and Tom Nelson just wanted to make sure that it was OK to go ahead with it. I was apprehensive until Emma said, “Sometimes people care so much but don’t know what to do. Giving a little bit of money helps them feel better. If you let them help you, you’ll be helping them too.”
“It was really emotional, and I remember Mel walking up to the bleachers after it was over with this brown paper bag in her hand. It was one of those concession-stand popcorn bags. I looked inside and saw this thick stack of cash. I was just absolutely speechless. I don’t know how long that brown paper bag sat on the shelf in our house. I just didn’t know what to do with it. I talked to Mel and Tom and thanked them. I’m like, you know, that’s a mortgage payment, that’s three car payments, that’s two propane tanks full of fuel, you know, that’s groceries for two months. It was super meaningful and really humbling.”
“There was another game—the Breast Cancer Awareness game where I was caught off guard. They called out my name as a local cheer mom with breast cancer. That wasn’t a surprise. But down there near the field was the entire cheer team—varsity and junior varsity, all standing shoulder to shoulder. They each held a small bouquet of pink roses. I was sitting in the top middle section of the bleachers next to my parents, my husband, my brother Scott, and his wife Chrissy. Emma was there too. Then the cheerleaders walked up the bleacher steps, and one by one, they each gave me a hug and their bouquet of roses. They kept coming and coming. I think there were 22 of them. Everyone in attendance was watching. I’m crying, my husband’s misty-eyed, my mom’s crying, and Chrissy is trying not to cry. It was super emotional, and I remember sitting there with this huge bouquet of pink roses, and I’m just thinking:
‘How lucky am I to be a part of this community?’
Kelly talked of Angie and Tom Nelson, Melanie and Scott Ross, and Chrissy and her brother, Scott. “Those six people are the most generous people I’ve ever known. And yes, I’m even including my brother in that statement,” as she laughed.
“From June until August, my life consisted of doctor appointments, biopsies, procedures, etc. I counted more than 25 doctor appts from June 13 to the middle of August when I had my treatment plan in place. My surgery was scheduled for September 17. I was determined to not miss a single football game. I couldn’t let cancer win. I had no control of it, but I had control of what I was doing, so I was damn sure to be at a football field every Friday night to watch my nephew, Zack, in his senior year, and my girls both cheer him and the team on. Those games were my focal point. Football is what got me through those weeks.”
Ali shared, “One thing I’ll always remember is when my mom went into emergency surgery, and she was still under (the effects of anesthesia); we were waiting around, and I saw one of my teammates, Allie Shaw, sneaking around our house trying to surprise us with a gift basket and I caught her! They gave us a lot of thoughtful gifts and a card signed by everyone on the Cheer Team. Emma told us one thing that really stuck with me: She said our Cheer Team has been through this once, so they’ll know how to handle it again. And they have handled it so well. They’ve just been the best.”
Sophia agreed. “The generosity even goes beyond the cheer and football teams. Everyone has been so supportive.” Everyone, including Emma. Ali and Sophia supported Emma through that. Now, it was Emma for them.
To this point, I didn’t have to ask many questions. But I did have one more for Kelly:
“As their mom, what has it meant to you that your daughters have had so much support throughout this process from the Cheer Team and others at the school?”
“It’s pretty emotional….um…yeah… it’s hard for me to ask them…to help my girls…but I know that they’re there…you know…”
The phone then went silent. I was in Denver. They were in Minnesota. I had no idea what was going on. Sophia and Ali saw their mom struggling and knew precisely how to help. A seven-pound ball of curly white fur named “Winnie” was relaxing nearby on the floor. The girls got their mom’s attention and then pointed at Winnie. A family dog’s magical, uplifting powers were readily available and immediately leveraged.
It worked. Winnie won the day.
Kelly laughed while explaining her daughter’s tactics. I told her she’s not alone. “Our dog, Bella, is here beside me. While listening to your stories, I look at Bella every few minutes to stop my tears, too.”
Kelly continued, “As you can tell, my girls are always here for me no matter what. I guess I’m their priority at the moment, which is hard to say because they should be my priority, and they are. I don’t know if that makes sense. I know that’s convoluted.”
Not at all, I thought. It makes perfect sense.
“I had surgery on a Tuesday, and I was at the football field that following Friday with Tylenol and ibuprofen in my pocket and my silly purple mastectomy pillow and pink blanket. To know that all those cheerleaders, athletes, and parents had my back… just meant the world to me. Those people gave me the most comfort and sense of community and support.
Family, ya’ know.”
Family, ya’ know. A perfect ending to her story, I thought. Family, ya’ know.
There were a few seconds of silence before Kelly topped that. I now imagine her sitting on the couch beside Angelo, Ali, Sophia, and Winnie. All staring out the window, looking at the neighborhood, watching the snow fall, thinking about recent months, thinking of the gift of future years, then in the softest tone she could find, she said:
“This town.”
My hometown and Canadian, Texas. Two imperfect towns, each with a few thousand imperfect people. Yet, some imperfect folks still try the impossible—to relentlessly chase perfection. They know they’ll never catch it. They’ll fall short. They’ll fail.
Along the way, they sure do catch something good.
I’d been skeptical. This stuff doesn’t happen in many places. Now, I know they’re out there. Towns where people make daily–even hourly choices to unite instead of divide, encourage instead of discourage, build up not tear down, love instead of hate. Canadian and Two Harbors–towns blessed with people prone to making righteous decisions. I stumbled around one of those towns as a growing boy. I stumbled into the other—heck, I staggered into the other, a grown man shedding more tears than at any other point in my life. Both times, I stumbled and staggered into something good.
There’s a direct connection between those five boys standing at the rail in Minnesota and those catching passes under the summer Texas sun from Cam Cavalier. It’s that dream of being on that field as an Agate or a Wildcat. One day, this day will be their day. Other kids will come to watch them play. To play and have fun. That’s all this needs to be. This only needs to be football. Just a game.
But there’s more to these Minnesotans and Texans.
A pioneering cheerleader named Maxx. The Way of the Wildcats taught by Max. Tumbles, stunts, and Mr. Mumbles. Waka Waka, while I forget my troubles. A young boy sifting through the charred rubble. A coach busing children away from that same trouble. Those who don’t have all the boxes checked. Team bus detours showing respect. A cheerleader’s 67 seconds. Cowboys spurred to the buffet for seconds.
Manleaders north. Eminem and Slim Shady south.
Stacking wood. Doing as you should.
Cheer camps. Slide rule champs.
Snow flurries. No worries.
Northern Lights. Friday Night Lights.
Trollis. Nachos.
Veterans here, there, everywhere.
Agates. Wildcats.
Kindness. Kindness.
Compassion. Compassion.
Tears. Tears.
Humble. Humble.
Good people north. Good people south.
You’d like them. They’d like you.
You might even love them. They might even love you.
If we only had the chance.
There’s a guy in Minnesota who leads by, “Forget about me; I love you.” There’s a guy in Texas who leads with…” to use the time that I’ve been given to hopefully have a positive impact on the people that God decides to intersect my life with. So how about it? How about we go about trying to impact each other in a positive way? Let’s attack this week together.”
We’re not as different as we are led to believe. Maybe knowing we’re not so far apart is a good place to start.
One day, those boys at the rail will spend a Sunday evening playing “Go Fish” with senior citizens down the street while the campers who’ve learned the ways of a Wildcat are helping someone move a couch.
I’ve spent months pondering whether I should share the following. It’s far too personal. But why stop now?
I remember sitting in church during my Sunday School years thinking about whether I like M&Ms more than Milk Duds. Meanwhile, in the background I heard that I was a bad person. Doomed.
My first concern was that it sounded like my M&Ms and Milk Duds would melt “down there.” Next, I spent a lot of time wondering what horrifying things I was doing that would lead to a one-way ticket to a place where the mayor had horns and carried a pitchfork. The message of my youth didn’t resonate with me. Later, I traveled to St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome and saw the unimaginable wealth surrendered by countless ordinary people, most scratching and clawing to get by yet giving what little they had to help build that excessively opulent shrine.
I completely checked out. Organized religion wasn’t for me.
Sure, I still “talk to” my deceased grandparents and father. I connect regularly with our dogs who’ve passed over that rainbow bridge, including my best friend Matty, aka Maddox, who passed suddenly and unexpectedly while I was writing this story. So, I believe in something. That spiritual thing.
Then there’s that thing we call “fate.” I don’t know how to explain this, but dismissing everything related to this story as mere coincidence seems inadequate. Something compelled me to write this story. Something led me to Canadian.
Something. There’s that word again. If you see something. Well, I saw and heard an abundance of goodness inspired by many who believe in something bigger than themselves. They proved to me that maybe this country still has a chance and even pushed me to speculate about my past. Perhaps this is my Sunday School do-over? At very least, it has me contemplating all possibilities.
For now, I only know this much for sure. Milk Duds would melt first since M&Ms are protected by that hard candy shell designed to safeguard their melting in your mouth and not in your hand. Milk Duds are as vulnerable as I was in the previous few paragraphs.
Comments
Wonderful and tragic at the same time, Tom. I imagine that Canadian TX mimics, in ways, to that of our beloved hometown. Its stories like these that make me realize that I won the lottery when I was given the opportunity to live my whole life in Two Harbors. I venture to guess people our age are saying the same thing about Canadian, TX.
Exactly, Jerry. They love Canadian as we love Two Harbors. I’ve also become a big fan of the people down there. It would be great to bring them together someday.
About the author
Just a guy who loves sports, travel, food, and writing. I've lived in Two Harbors, MN, Minneapolis, Fort Worth, and my current location of Denver. Trying to visit every sports venue on the planet before I die.Related Posts
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Comments
Wonderful and tragic at the same time, Tom. I imagine that Canadian TX mimics, in ways, to that of our beloved hometown. Its stories like these that make me realize that I won the lottery when I was given the opportunity to live my whole life in Two Harbors. I venture to guess people our age are saying the same thing about Canadian, TX.
Exactly, Jerry. They love Canadian as we love Two Harbors. I’ve also become a big fan of the people down there. It would be great to bring them together someday.