Students Against Destructive Decisions -- the SADD Club -- at Hamilton Heights High School has made some rewarding choices.
When members rolled up their sleeves to conduct a spring blood drive, all they wanted to do was boost the Indiana Blood Center's supply. They did that, and they wound up winning the Colts Blood Drive Challenge, which will bring Indianapolis Colts cheerleaders to Arcadia to cheer for an hour at a game.
Even better, by winning that challenge, the school has been entered into another competition where it could win $10,000 for a program of the students' choice.
The SADD Club, sponsored by School Resource Officer Brad Osswald, promoted the drive, lent muscle to set up tables and chairs, and registered donors. The students recruited 135 classmates, teachers, staff, parents and community residents to donate.
With 179 seniors enrolled, Heights was the smallest among the five schools invited to be part of the challenge, said Osswald. In comparison, McCutcheon, the largest in the challenge with 438 seniors, had 26 donors.
Make no mistake: school-based drives help people who need blood, no matter the number of donors. Nearly 20 percent of the blood center's annual donations are given at high school drives, according to the IBC website. Last year, 184 high schools hosted 555 drives. Combined, they drew a whopping 34,548 units of blood.
"High school students are wonderfully generous and civic-minded," said Chris Crane, IBC recruitment manager, in a news release. "It is a generation that cares about making an impact and does so without expecting a thank you. (Giving blood) is an anonymous donation to a patient in need. Knowing that seems to be all the students need to hear."
Odds are, though, that the HHHS students also will like hearing Colts cheerleaders rev up a Husky crowd and team. Osswald is working on those arrangements, hoping to have the women come to homecoming on Oct. 1.
To win the new challenge, Heights must host fall and spring blood drives. The dates haven't been set, but the SADD Club is aiming for early November for the fall one. Watch the HHHS daily announcements, which are posted on the school's website, for more details.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Thank you, Mrs. Volz
I can't forget something that Lynn Heinzman said after his wife, a much-beloved teacher's aide at Hamilton Heights Elementary School, died suddenly in 1995.
Lifted by the outpouring of support after her tragic accident, Lynn said he didn't think Peggy knew how much she'd done for her students. I remember wondering if a teacher as well-liked by students and parents as Mrs. Heinzman didn't know that, how could any teacher?
The answer was obvious: Parents need to tell them.
Too often, we forget or let the opportunity pass us by. Sometimes it's hard to see a teacher's effect right away. That certainly was true in our family, as signs started appearing in the spring but the indelible mark one teacher made on my son wasn't apparent until recently
As the crocuses bloomed, Christopher began injecting dinner conversations with morsels about discussions in his sophomore English class. Not a lot of explanation, but still a surprise from the young man who preferred eating in silence to talking about school.
When trees flowered, his comments budded, telling what he'd added to the discussions and what others had said.
I heard something I could hardly believe when we were feeling summer's heat. Christopher quickly answered "English" when my brother asked, "What was your favorite class this year?"
English? Really? Just a few months earlier his answer might've been, "the last one of the day."
As his first week as a junior wrapped up, Christopher made me see the signs as clearly as if he'd turned on the neon when he said, "I'm going to see Mrs. Volz."
Joy Volz was his sophomore English teacher. She had encouraged him to speak out, but more importantly, she listened to what he said then gave feedback to his comments.
Mrs. Volz had inspired this teenager to become a student.
Before this school year was 5 days old, Christopher was buying a binder to organize his papers. Homework was getting done every night, and it was in the binder, by the door, each morning. At dinner he was talking about most of his classes, and he recommended that I read his recreational reading book. Labor Day weekend, he vowed to show his history teacher -- who he also had in freshman year -- that he's "learned to be a student."
Thank you, Mrs. Volz, for engaging Christopher in class. Thank you for not just letting students talk, but listening to their viewpoints and respecting their perspectives. Thank you for chipping away at a hardened "I don't care" attitude to release an "I will do this" commitment.
Lifted by the outpouring of support after her tragic accident, Lynn said he didn't think Peggy knew how much she'd done for her students. I remember wondering if a teacher as well-liked by students and parents as Mrs. Heinzman didn't know that, how could any teacher?
The answer was obvious: Parents need to tell them.
Too often, we forget or let the opportunity pass us by. Sometimes it's hard to see a teacher's effect right away. That certainly was true in our family, as signs started appearing in the spring but the indelible mark one teacher made on my son wasn't apparent until recently
As the crocuses bloomed, Christopher began injecting dinner conversations with morsels about discussions in his sophomore English class. Not a lot of explanation, but still a surprise from the young man who preferred eating in silence to talking about school.
When trees flowered, his comments budded, telling what he'd added to the discussions and what others had said.
I heard something I could hardly believe when we were feeling summer's heat. Christopher quickly answered "English" when my brother asked, "What was your favorite class this year?"
English? Really? Just a few months earlier his answer might've been, "the last one of the day."
As his first week as a junior wrapped up, Christopher made me see the signs as clearly as if he'd turned on the neon when he said, "I'm going to see Mrs. Volz."
Joy Volz was his sophomore English teacher. She had encouraged him to speak out, but more importantly, she listened to what he said then gave feedback to his comments.
Mrs. Volz had inspired this teenager to become a student.
Before this school year was 5 days old, Christopher was buying a binder to organize his papers. Homework was getting done every night, and it was in the binder, by the door, each morning. At dinner he was talking about most of his classes, and he recommended that I read his recreational reading book. Labor Day weekend, he vowed to show his history teacher -- who he also had in freshman year -- that he's "learned to be a student."
Thank you, Mrs. Volz, for engaging Christopher in class. Thank you for not just letting students talk, but listening to their viewpoints and respecting their perspectives. Thank you for chipping away at a hardened "I don't care" attitude to release an "I will do this" commitment.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Best phone call ever
I saw it coming months before July 9, 2009, so I wasn't surprised when I got called into a private office at The Indianapolis Star and was handed my walking papers.
Saddened, but not surprised.
I've wobbled daily, sometimes hourly, since then -- giddy with anticipation after applying for jobs that seemed a hand-in-glove fit, brooding when I heard nothing except an unnerving silence from prospective employers.
But unemployment has given me something precious: the chance to seize opportunities that I didn't when I was a 9 to 5 (or more realistically, 8 to 8) worker.
One of the biggest opportunities has been having time to volunteer.
I wanted to be a Meals on Wheels volunteer for years. I wanted to be part of an organization that ensured that older or homebound people in the community get at least one nourishing meal and hear at least one person say hello each day. I thought I couldn't possibly do that while I was working (I could have -- easily), so within days of my layoff, I signed up to deliver meals.
Best phone call I ever made!
I don't know if my knock at the door makes any difference to the 8 to 10 people on my route. I don't know if they look forward to their hot meal. I don't know if they close the door and walk away thinking their day just got brighter.
I do know that the people on my route make a difference to me, that I look forward to seeing them each week, even miss them when I'm off or they stop using the service. I know that my day gets brighter every time I step out of the car and walk to their doors.
Marie and I talk about how her family's deep roots in the community are intertwined with my husband's family roots, and she often mentions someone I know from my reporting days at the Daily Ledger. Edsel's smile is wider than his arms can reach; the sparkle in his eyes burns a bright spot into my day. Mary Jo's favorite color is red; I know that from all the times she's complimented the jewel red color of my car. Don likes to tease me about the meals, often asking if I brought steak that day, and his brother Jim welcomes me into their home as if I'm carrying filet mignon on gold-plated service.
Unemployment is a journey, and my destination isn't yet identified. Along the way, though, I'm learning that providing a meal, sharing a story, getting a smile or just chatting about things like favorite colors can be very, very rewarding.
Saddened, but not surprised.
I've wobbled daily, sometimes hourly, since then -- giddy with anticipation after applying for jobs that seemed a hand-in-glove fit, brooding when I heard nothing except an unnerving silence from prospective employers.
But unemployment has given me something precious: the chance to seize opportunities that I didn't when I was a 9 to 5 (or more realistically, 8 to 8) worker.
One of the biggest opportunities has been having time to volunteer.
I wanted to be a Meals on Wheels volunteer for years. I wanted to be part of an organization that ensured that older or homebound people in the community get at least one nourishing meal and hear at least one person say hello each day. I thought I couldn't possibly do that while I was working (I could have -- easily), so within days of my layoff, I signed up to deliver meals.
Best phone call I ever made!
I don't know if my knock at the door makes any difference to the 8 to 10 people on my route. I don't know if they look forward to their hot meal. I don't know if they close the door and walk away thinking their day just got brighter.
I do know that the people on my route make a difference to me, that I look forward to seeing them each week, even miss them when I'm off or they stop using the service. I know that my day gets brighter every time I step out of the car and walk to their doors.
Marie and I talk about how her family's deep roots in the community are intertwined with my husband's family roots, and she often mentions someone I know from my reporting days at the Daily Ledger. Edsel's smile is wider than his arms can reach; the sparkle in his eyes burns a bright spot into my day. Mary Jo's favorite color is red; I know that from all the times she's complimented the jewel red color of my car. Don likes to tease me about the meals, often asking if I brought steak that day, and his brother Jim welcomes me into their home as if I'm carrying filet mignon on gold-plated service.
Unemployment is a journey, and my destination isn't yet identified. Along the way, though, I'm learning that providing a meal, sharing a story, getting a smile or just chatting about things like favorite colors can be very, very rewarding.
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