Taking Pride in Others' Achievements

Ever watch a reality TV show like Survivor (I watch) or American Idol (I don't watch), pick a favorite contestant, and then ride a wave of emotion with them as they compete? Do you feel good when they do well, and feel bad when they don't? Does your own self worth swell or shrink as a total stranger succeeds or fails?

It's funny how we take pride in the achievements of others, almost as though we somehow had something to do with their accomplishments. This past week the Linn-Mar High School boys basketball team won the Iowa class 4A (large school) state championship. It was the second championship in four years for a school that had last won the whole banana in 1983. I watched the broadcast of the game and, as it became apparant that the Lions were going to win, I felt pretty good about the state of the world. Because, Linn-Mar isn't just any school -- it's my alma mater, class of 1988.

I haven't watched a Linn-Mar basketball game in person since 1991. The last time I played in a Linn-Mar basketball game was 1985, as a high school freshman (I could shoot, but I was slow and didn't anticipate the game very well). The youngest brothers and sisters of my classmates have long since graduated. The coaching staff has changed over several times. I don't even remotely know a soul associated with the program. And yet, somehow I feel good knowing that "my" team won. It's shameful, really.

But aren't we all like that, to some degree? We live vicariously through others and revel in their glory. Likewise, we nearly fall apart when we ... I mean they, fail. Case in point: Kinnick Stadium every other Saturday afternoon from September through November. You'd think the Hawkeyes were a team of 70,000, not the 80 or so that suit up. And when we ... I mean, they, fail ... the sky falls.

Our esteems are fragile. We take a beating every day at the hands of those who have no idea that they have hurt our feelings and crushed our egos. So, when we can siphen just a little glory out of a situation even remotely tied to us, we take it and run, thank you very much. Go directly pass go and collect $200. I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat. An "I," as in, "I am important."

Well, kudos and "great job" to the boys at Linn-Mar. I'm glad I was able to pull you through to victory. I would have preferred that we won by a few more points -- that's something we can work on for next year. I'll look for my strand of the Wells Fargo Arena championship net in the mailbox soon.

Spring

Apparently, three robins were lost this morning. They were sitting in a tree near my parking lot, basking in the glow of the overcast skies and 22 degree temps. There woudn't have been any reason for the birds to be on the ground -- good luck pecking through the frozen grass to find worms.

Robins in Iowa are generally a sign that spring is on the way. Since our winter weather came late and with a vengeance, robins seem out of place at the moment. For many Iowans, spring is the favorite season. Snow is replaced by rain, brown grass by green, tulips and daffodils make their appearances ... it's a grand show. The doldrums of winter, which include weight gain and a certain level of depressions for many, give way to cheery greetings, new diet and exercise programs, and outside activity (minus the snow shovel). Turning the page to March also signifies that the baseball season is just around the corner, and the Iowa Farm League player draft.

As the co-founder and commissioner of the league, one of my duties is to round up all the other team owners and herd them towards the New York Life building on the last Saturday of the month. Its on that day that we sit in a conference room for five hours and craft a dozen fantasy teams that consist of 23 professional baseball players from National League rosters. This is our 11th year of existence, with a gap of a couple years in there.

Baseball is just one sport that comes around in spring. Golf is another. I plan for this to be the year that my kids accompany me to the golf course and begin to learn the game. I'm looking forward to teaching them how to stand improperly, grip the club improperly, swing improperly, and then question why the ball doesn't land where it is supposed to. Ah, good times.

Volunteering for Prison

On a personality scale of 1-10, with "1" being so creative that nobody understands you, and "10" being so logical that you don't understand anyone else, I am a "5". Maybe a "4.5". My creative and logical sides are of nearly equal proportion. I can talk the language with both ends of the spectrum, and not feel entirely comfortable with either one. I like other "5s" the most.

I've always viewed people who tie themselves to a set schedule as on their way to 10. Prisoners to a calendar. Inmates in "time jail." No freedom, no flexibility, no spontaneity. Some of those people even carry their calendar with them every minute of the day (easier now with handheld devices).

Would you believe that I'm now praying to become more like "those people?"

My responsibilities at work, home and church are catching up to me. It's not that I don't have time for it all -- it's that I don't use my time well. Nearly every day, my creative side beats up my logical side and carries me into the world of "fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants." That's a fun world. Extra long lunch? I'm there. Telephone call to discuss the burning issue of the day? Count me in. Last minute "optional" meeting. Let's get it started.

But that world has consequences. My work suffers. My wife wonders when I'll be home for her and the kids (its not that I'm not consistently home, its that the "when" is an unknown). My friends probably think I don't have any responsibilities (not true, I just shove those responsibilities to the back burner too easily when they call).

Somewhere along the road I remember hearing (or reading) that sin is much easier to overcome when you expose it to light. That is, that you let someone else know. The word there is "accountability." While I don't know that my lack of calendar-carrying is sin, I do know that I am not as self-disciplined as I need to be, which I think can lead to sin.

So, this week I have put together a weekly calendar that accounts for some of the things I enjoy doing, and some of the things that I don't enjoy:

• Calling prospective clients (don't like)
• Exercise (don't like)
• Administrative work at the office (don't like)
• In depth Bible study (enjoy, but hard to sit down and get started)
• Family devotionals and reading time (enjoy, but too easy to skip)
• Appointments with clients (enjoy, but don't get to have them without making the phone calls)
• Ministry work (enjoy, as long as I don't spread too thin)
• Personal free time to blog and read (enjoy too much)

More importantly than creating the calendar, I've given draft copies to my wife and to five men at church. I'll also be giving my dad a copy. The goal is to have others know what I am striving for, so that there is accountability. Also, that this support team would be praying about this.

I feel there is a lot at stake. Even marginal success should result in more income, losing weight, more quality time with my family, and a closer relationship to God.

Anyone out there in the same boat I'm in? Or, has anyone successfully climbed this mountain before and now enjoying the plateau? I'd be interested in your thoughts.

Web Design for Dummies

Spend any time surfing the Internet or checking the weird stuff that comes into your spam e-mail box, and you'll see all kinds of offers like "Design a website for free," or "Be live on the Internet in minutes."

All good-sounding things are too good to be true, right? Nothing's free, and if you're a web neophyte like me, nothing's easy.

For the past three weeks I have been working on a new Internet site for New Life Community Church. Since I was new to the project and just wanted to get something up and running, I went into "task mode" and have been working feverishly while not working for pay.

After running into a couple of dead ends, I decided to use the online design tools, hosting, and domain registration of GoDaddy. GoDaddy is an Arizona-based company founded by Bob Parsons, who used to own a thriving software company in Cedar Rapids called Parsons Technology. I worked for Bob for two years (well, not for Bob, but for the guy, who worked for the guy, who worked for Bob). GoDaddy also has a production/design office in Cedar Rapids, which employs a few of the old Parsons programmers.

GoDaddy's big come-on is "cheap and easy." Too good to be true?

Well, it is pretty cheap. I have the domain reserved for two years, the web hosting and design software for a year, and the capability of 400 alias e-mail accounts, all for $150. The site can have as many pages as I want to design and seems to have good storage capacity for something as simplistic as a church website.

Is it easy? Kind of. Designing the site itself was not hard. With a few steps backward here and there, I was basically able to guide myself through the tools without a lot of anguish. As you can see, the site isn't anything special, pretty simple and clean.

The transfer of the domain name from RegisterFly to GoDaddy was harder than it should have been. The two companies kept telling me they were waiting on the other one to send the right transfer authorizations. Of course, I had no way of knowing who was telling the truth. All I know is that I had to make a few too many phone calls and e-mail inquiries to call the process "easy."

GoDaddy says that you can use their web-based design tools even using 28.8 dialup. Maybe you can, but you wouldn't want to. No, no, no. Even with my broadband connection I think the tools work a little slow. But then again, my 5 year-old laptop computer isn't winning any processing awards.

This is the first day the website has been live. But if I were to judge the GoDaddy "cheap and easy" claim, I'd give it a B+. If the site proves to not accidentally crash, or lose my photos, or be offline for a week, I'll upgrade the grade to an A-.

The Colton Tribute

Below is the article I wrote for the Cedar Rapids Gazette that was published last Thursday. Since anyone who would buy a newspaper has now done so, I thought I could post this.

One of my friends commented on the irony that a homeschool dad would write a positive article about a public school teacher, and about teachers in general. I admit that might seem strange. Here's a couple of responses:

• I feel Mr. Colton was an extraordinary teacher. Many teachers are excellent. There are a few are abusive (verbally, physically, etc). It's the latter group that I'm uncomfortable with.
• One reason for homeschooling is to control the learning pace of your child. You can go faster or slower, as the child's need is shown. Public education lacks this flexibility. Accelerated learners often are not challenged. Slower leaners are often labeled as such and struggle. This is not surprising ... how can a teacher with 20-25 kids in a single classroom give individual, customized instruction to all?
• Public schools do not necessarily promote my values. Our homeschool certainly does.
• Our children do utilize the public school system through the Cedar Rapids Homeschool Assistance Program (CRHSAP) http://homeschool.cr.k12.ia.us/. We are very pleased with the teachers we have encountered, and the activities the program provides. In exchangefor their services, the school receives state funding because our child is enrolled in the school district. It is a win-win.
• Our kids may very well attend public school one day. They may also participate in extra-curricular activities like sports, band, and drama. If they do, I hope they will have a similar experience with their teachers as I had with Steve Colton.

Here is the article ...

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I was not the most talented music student at Linn-Mar High School in 1987. In fact, as a senior-to-be trombone player reporting to marching band camp, it might have taken two hands to count the number of peers that could take me down in a duel of scales.

As a freshman three years earlier, my parents had to strongly encourage me to even stay involved with band (coercion would be a more accurate term). “It might be fun,” my mom said more than once. “You’ve never been in marching band before,” was another oft-spoken appeal.

My band director-to-be was Steve Colton. Mr. Colton was a stick of a man, with large glasses that hung on a long, pointed nose. He was the stereotypical “band geek” that (in my eyes) had turned into a band geek adult. His saving grace was his bright red Camaro, with the broad black racing stripe down the hood. It roared into the parking lot every morning about 7 o’clock, and was the perfect car for a Linn-Mar employee (with its red-and-black scheme). Unquestionably, he had the coolest car in the teacher’s lot.

High school band is many things. It is a graded class for which credit is earned. It is marching band in the fall -- pep, jazz and concert bands in the winter and spring. It is a social petri dish where dozens of students with little in common learn to move and play as one. It is long practices, long bus rides, and exhilaration when everything comes together at performance time. And it is somewhat unique – I had the same instructor for eight semesters, for a minimum of an hour a day (and often three to four hours counting lessons and extra rehearsals.)

It was during those four years that I realized an important truth – teachers are regular people – and can even be your friends. From 1984-88, I was instructed, directed, counseled, corrected, challenged, encouraged, and befriended by Colton. No, I wasn’t the most gifted of students, or even the most dedicated. But, as all good educators do, he got the most from me possible. In doing so, he taught me the value of expecting more from myself.

When my senior year began, Colton asked me to play a solo during the marching band season, and featured solos in jazz band. He asked for my input on decisions that would impact future students. He wrote a letter of recommendation for my college applications. He played an important role in my life – one that went beyond what would have been required for him to collect a paycheck and for me to graduate.

In the 18 years that have since passed, it was a pleasure to visit with my former teacher now and again. We relived old memories, and reflected on changes in my life and his. He met my wife and children, was interested in my profession, and even recently became a client. He spoke enthusiastically about his grown children, travel plans, and how pleased he was to continue serving the Linn-Mar school district beyond retirement as a school board member. Most significantly, I was able to go beyond my relationship with “Mr. Colton.” I got to know Steve.

When Steve retired two years ago, I was fortunate to be able to express many of these thoughts to him – to tell him personally the impact that he had on my life. When I heard the news last week of his sudden death, I was glad that my words of appreciation had not been expressed too late for both he and I to enjoy.

Few people in our lives truly make a lasting impact. Educators must rank near the top. Most of us can remember the names of our homeroom teachers for each grade of school. We recall the coaches and sponsors who sweat with us during intense practices. In retrospect, we appreciate those that went the extra mile to challenge us, and in some cases, sacrifice their personal popularity for the sake of their students’ development.

In a culture that places such high value on material wealth and career advancement, the road of an educator can appear to be one of less worth. Many teachers could earn more working outside the classroom in the private sector. Some would certainly receive more notoriety. Yet, few would impact so many lives.

As we say goodbye to one teacher, our children are about to say hello to a man or woman that may just change their life. Our thanks go out to all those who will live forever as “Mister” and “Miss” in the minds of so many.

And thanks again, Steve, for a job -- and a life -- well done.

Brian Hagerman is a 1988 graduate of Linn-Mar High School and 1992 graduate of the University of Northern Iowa. He resides in Marion and is a Financial Services Professional with New York Life.

All Those Years Ago

In 1981, ex-Beatle George Harrison responded to the death of his former bandmate and friend John Lennon by writing the song "All Those Years Ago." Harrison was famously "over" the Beatles by 1968, ready to chuck the band that had made him famous. But after 13 years, it was evident that the man who also wrote "Here Comes the Sun" had seen the light, and it had warmed him.

This week I've had a similar experience. It's not only my pen that has responded to the death of former teacher and friend Steve Colton, but my thoughts too. I've talked with old friends for the first time in a few years (in two cases its been 18 years since the last verbal exchange). The memories have flooded back. Some are cherished, others confusing, and a few that are just as irritating now as they were two decades ago.

What is most odd is that for a few minutes at a time this past week, I've felt 17 all over again. Though half my life has passed since my senior year of high school, it's almost scary how close it all seems. Yesterday, I asked a pair of my clients (ages 49 and 62) if that phenomenon ever goes away. They eached laughed and said, "No, never."

All those years ago, in August of 1987, I was practicing a short solo that I would play in marching band that fall. My best friends were within 20 yards of me at all times, on the marching band field, in the music department rooms, and out on the town. My academic requirements in the bag, I had only a few classes, and none too challenging. The fall was all about the Linn-Mar Marching Lions -- early morning practices in a thick dew, Thursday night rehearsals, BALM (only a select few will understand), contests on the weekends. By the end of the season as the snow flied, I was laying on the floors of my classrooms with severe leg pain as a result of a herniated disc. I spent my 18th birthday in a hospital bed following surgery. And, just a few seconds later (so it seems now), I was attending prom, graduating with the Linn-Mar class of 1988, and heading to college.

When I met my wife Michelle in 1990, it marked the close of the first chapter of my life, and the second began. The pages that contain the first chapter are musty. Until this week, they had been largely neglected for a long time. Reflecting on those pages the last 72 hours has brought laughter, tears, happiness and regret.

Tonight my friend and fellow trombone player John Roling and I will attend Mr. Colton's funeral. It will be one last evening spent in time-traveling mode. When I wake tomorrow, I expect 2006 to appear, with a fresh page made ready in the book of life for recording new memories.

"Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right."

Father's Day Flicks

I knew something was up when my children presented my Father's Day gift to me early Saturday night ... at just about the time we would be thinking about what to do with the evening. In the giftbag were two of my favorite films -- the Wizard of Oz (from the kids) and the Patriot (from my wife).

The Wizard of Oz on DVD comes with a treasure trove of historical detail about the making of the film, the actors, etc. I was reminded again of two facts that I had heard before. First, that TWOO was not a profitable film upon its original release. Despite the popularity of the Frank Baum book series and the all-star cast, the MGM studio balance sheet did not recoup it's money from the film until it began to be shown annually on television in the mid-50's.

Second, TWOO was not the most lauded film of its year -- 1939. That honor went to Gone with the Wind. TWOO came away from the Academy Awards with just a couple of statues for music and screenplay.

As you know, The Patriot is a fictional story wrapped around a very real event -- the Revolutionary War. Our hero (played by Mel Gibson) is a South Carolina farmer, hero of the French Indian War, and a member of the state assembly (such as it was in 1776). Having lost his wife, and living with the guilt of his past soldiering brutality, he is reluctantly drawn into fighting for the Colonies after British soldiers kill one of his sons. It is the first of many deaths that make the Patriot too gory for some to enjoy.

I love the movie for a couple of reasons. The first is that it reminds us that wars fought 250 years ago were bloody, personal battles. Bombs were not being dropped from sunny skies onto targets miles away. Rather, the Revolutionary War was fought in cornfields and creekbeds, between men who lined up just a few yards from each other and fired their inaccurate weapons. Remember the famous challenge to Patriot soldiers at Bunker Hill? "Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes."

Second, it shows the cost, and gain, of the Revolutionaries. Freedom was not obtained casually, through diplomacy and handshakes. Freedom came through the vision and sacrifice of extraordinary men. Freedom came with a price. It is a great reminder as we near Independence Day that the United States of America was indeed "a land of the free, and the home of the brave."

Finally at the Top

It doesn't happen very often -- when, without dispute you can claim to be #1.

I am #1, without dispute.

It happened sometime during the last three weeks, quietly, without public fanfare. No bands, no cakes with candles, no planes pulling shiny banners.

Yet, the accomplishment is unmistakable and unchallengeable. Perhaps for generations, legions of web-surfers and online admirers will acknowledge my supremacy. They will note my presence, and pause (if only briefly), to reflect on my standing in life. Their curiousity may even be flamed to action.

Adults and children alike may find me to be laughable, spiritual, idiotic, opinionated and more. My name will be tossed around nonchalantly as THE ONE who climbed the ladder and reached the top. Yes, the pinnacle has been sighted and it is mine.

With such lofty grandeur comes trememendous responsibility. As I reflect on my achievement, I am moved to consider all the areas of my life where mediocrity still abounds. Oh, how I desire that all of my life be reflective of this newfound position in humanity. For many may look to me for answers to life's most probing questions. Gawkers, scholars, and thrill-seekers will peruse my vast repository of knowledge as they add to their own. The opportunities to impact society --dare I say, history -- lie before me.

I would not be marking this occasion without the support of so many. Mom and dad -- thanks for everything. To my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Ashby -- thanks for the encouragement. To my wife Michelle -- what can I say, honey? You've been with me all the way. I couldn't have done it without you. And to all who contribute to the menagerie of my life -- you have been an inspiration.

Yes, some aspire to greatness, while others have it thrust upon them. I humbly fall among the latter.

For on this 26th day of April, 2006, it is I, Brian Hagerman, who resides as first among all Google searches for the phrase "Brian Hagerman". I am the top dog, the big cheese, numero uno among all of creation. Let it be said, let it be so.

God bless us, everyone.

Fore!

I received an e-mail yesterday from the Amana Colonies golf course that they are open for business. Ironic, as I looked out my window and watched snowflakes as big as parachutes descending toward the local golf course across the street.

It's got to be atleast 55 degrees to play golf or your hands sting when you make contact with the ball. I remember the same sensation when I was playing baseball in high school. We began practices in April and every time the bat made contact with the ball it felt like you were catching a snowball bare-handed.

And, it can't be windy when you play spring golf. The wind is always cold in the spring, and my ears start to ache. I could wear a stocking cap, I suppose, but how would that look when I'm standing in the tee box? Stupid, that's how. Not to mention that around these parts, when the farmers get into their fields, and the winds blow, you get that great Iowa manure fragrance wafting across the fairway. Nothing like waiting for every guy in your foresome to hit the ball, while you contemplate the benefits of a good cowpie.

And, you can't have high expectations for scoring in the spring. The greens are rough and bare, so a putt can not be trusted. A high chipshot landing short of the green could plug into the ground. You can simply forget about hitting the ball straight. If the wind doesn't wreak havoc on your flightpath (and nose), the first awkward backswings of spring sure will.

And you can't play on a cloudy day. Spring clouds can not be trusted. The radar says dry, and suddenly your walking toward the third green with a healthy shower upon you. It's always on the third hole, by the way, when you're as far away from the clubhouse as you can get.

And you can't be pleased with the credit card charge. It will be higher than last year, though we Iowans are fortunate that the cost of a round is lower here than most anywhere else. Amana is charging just $29 for all-you-can-play golf after 1 p.m., Monday through Thursday, before April 1. Ladies, that's like the annual whites sale at Bloomies. But the bottom line for the ardent golfer is that price is really no object. You suck it up if you want to tee it up.

I love golf. I love that I don't know which day will be the day I shoot two over par and which day will be +9. I love that I can smack the ball 260 down the middle, and then hit a 190 banana into the woods. I love that I can land a chip from 50 yards within 5 feet of the hole, or within 5 feet of where I'm standing. I love competing against myself, winning and losing with every stroke.

Let the season begin, and look out if you're playing in front of me. Fore!