It’s important for me to start this piece by thanking all of the teachers and staff at the Aspen School District. The general consensus around town is that you’ve gone well above and beyond the expectations and risen to the occasion of teaching our local kids during the year of the pandemic.
Homecoming, the bell ringing and prom have all been noteworthy, adaptive, improvisational and highly memorable events. Even the aptly named “Silver Queen” yearbook is exceptional. Times like these command deep reflection and honest introspection. Some local parents are still in shock, trying to reconcile the fact that they’ve had to actually spend this much time with their own kids.
For me the fitting imagery of this year’s Aspen High School graduation is stark and metaphoric: from the symbolic march across a bridge, to a high-speed chairlift ride ascending Tiehack, to getting their diplomas with the backdrop of Pyramid Peak with its triangular omnipotent symbol of strength.
I have a lot of emotion invested in the Aspen school system. My emotions have entire portfolios of their own, from my second-grade teacher Carol Hall to my school-appointed speech therapist Paula Bickelhaupt tasked with the daunting challenge of de-lisping me and taming my steady stutter. Then there was the time David Hauer’s dad rescued me on a camping trip to Ruedi where I had fallen behind and was sobbing uncontrollably because my pack was too heavy.
My son is graduating from Aspen High this year, and sentiments are running high. Barring any future unexpected pregnancies, his graduation will demarcate a lilting swansong of my career as the parent of local school kids. And I’m gushing with pride that he’ll be the third in our family to end up on the school’s “Wall of Fame.” Take a gander sometime — you’ll recognize the names. The old photos in particular paint a fascinating portrait of what Aspen used to be like.
Our school kids are a direct reflection of us. Their behaviors, their attitudes, their preparedness as they head out into the jaws of the beast of the real world. At least they’ll all know how to set up a two-man tent when they get there. The kids here are so cool — look for their gleaming pictures posted on banners strategically placed throughout the core. And the funny thing is that a lot of them are considerably more local than the guy we all know who prefaces his epic rant about everything with how many years he’s lived here.
The local kids who were born here have a leg up on the Clydesdale already. Whenever I get all high and mighty about my local status, my son happily twists the knife and reminds me of that fact — usually in front of a bunch of people — that he was born at Aspen Valley Hospital and I wasn’t.
Everybody’s getting thrust back into society by being shot out of the COVID-19 cannon like one of those traveling-circus stuntmen donning a helmet and cape. Lots of parties, lots of events. It feels good. I’m making a lot of long-lost connections with people and the interactions seem genuine and meaningful. There’s a palpable buzz I can feel in town surrounding graduation.
The one thing I really missed the past couple years is the rent-a-senior program. I always hire a couple every year to wash cars and such. One year, a girl was vacuuming-out our cars and asked “What kind of dog do you guys have?” Funny thing is, we don’t. Just a couple of long-haired AHS Class of 1986-ers. I’m even married to a fellow classmate — of the opposite sex! Apparently we’re shedding.
I do some of my best work stuck in the 1980s. For me, they were a higher functioning, more debauched version of the ’70s. Whenever the subject of graduation came up in the past, I eventually mentioned that the heralded Class of 1986 graduated at the music tent and how cool it was. Now I’m not so sure. Seeing last year’s graduation at Buttermilk, and this year’s scheduled ride up the Tiehack Lift, our ceremony is starting to look more like standard graduation rigmarole. Though we did have a kegger with our teachers at West Buttermilk.
When we were seniors, there were bad attitudes as far as the eye could see. We hated Aspen. My senior quote was a permanent swearing-off of Aspen. Perhaps we had listened to “Going to California” one too many times, because that’s where we all wanted to go. And many of us did. More than you’d reckon came back and stayed. A funny thing happened when we awkwardly found our way out of the forest — we finally saw the trees.
Volunteering up at Aspen High for the Skier Scribbler for the past couple of years has been one of the most rewarding things in my life. I’ve also participated in marches from the campus into town that provides you with a totally different perspective on Aspen. I would strongly encourage people to get involved with the local schools if it’s something you’re interested in and have time for.
They say a child is a product of every personal interaction they have in their town growing up — micro and macro. We all have a role in that. But the ones who make the most difference are our teachers: often underappreciated, but not by me. Their hard work, dedication and desire to make a difference doesn’t go unnoticed by me. A big thanks to every teacher and adult in town who’s played a role in raising me, and my kids.
Contact Lorenzo at suityourself@sopris.net or follow him via instagram.com/lorenzosemple3/
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June 05, 2021 at 05:00PM
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Semple: We love our mighty Aspen High seniors - Aspen Daily News
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