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Marti Schodt
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When I applied to be a part of our school newspaper, The Blazer, I expected to work. I expected long hours and frustrations. I expected awkward interviews and fast-approaching deadlines. What I didn’t expect was how much I would grow to love the people I spent sixth period with everyday.
I’m writing this column for the sole purpose of thanking our journalism teacher, Mr. Daniel Hardebeck. He’s retiring after 20 years of teaching us crazy kids. Bless his heart. It takes a special kind of man to keep his cool when 35 teenagers are running around trying to put a paper together.
In the two years I’ve been on staff, I have never heard him yell. Sure, he gets angry, and I’m sure there are times when he’d like to go all Godzilla on us, but he never does.
Iam a runner. At least thats what I like to tell myself. Ive run cross-country, done some road races, but nothing compares to track. This being my first season, Ive learned some things; consider them before buying your spikes, including:
I’m about to admit something that will shock and amaze all teenagers, twenty-somethings, middle-aged mamas, granddads and paranoid police officers alike: I do not like to drive. In fact, I hate it. Weird, right? Freedom, speed, looking awesome (in my little yellow slug bug), what’s not to like? I’ll tell you ye of the iron foot – minivans.