This week, I really only have one thing I wanted to write about - but first, I have to acknowledge all the women who marched this past weekend, and who took to the streets in masses to let the world know that we will NOT be silenced. As troubling as our world is, I'm extremely fortunate to live in this era where women's voices are louder than ever. The #TimesUp movement, the wage gap, and simple equality is bursting at the seams with millions of humans fighting the good fight to make this world a better, more equal place for all. As my friend Spence said in a drunken, but very sincere video, "Do you think women and men should be treated equal? Then you're a feminist. I'm a feminist. We should all be feminists". No truer words have been spoken my friend, we should all be feminists.
I also want to say that as of a few hours ago, disgraced USA gymnastics doctor, Larry Nassar, has officially been silenced. He abused, molested, and destroyed the innocence and trust of over 150 girls and women throughout his tenure. He is a disgusting excuse for a doctor, let alone a human-being. Today, Judge Rosemarie Aquilina sentenced him to 175 years in prison. In her own words, "You (Nassar) do not deserve to walk outside of a prison ever again", "I just signed your death warrant". Judge Aquilina's delivery was nothing short of poetic and legal justice. After reading through a few paragraphs of Nassar's pathetic letter to the court (requesting permission to not hear anymore victim statements), she looked him dead in the eye and tossed his words to the side of her desk. With that simple flick of the wrist, she made it very clear that it's #TimesUp for abusers everywhere, and they no longer hold the power. I am incredibly humbled by all the women and girls who took the stand to read aloud their trauma, as their words were not silenced this time, rather they were echoed, applauded, and written in big black ink: #TIMESUP.
It would be negligent, as a woman, a writer, and a story teller -if I hadn't written about the above. There have been far too many moments in my life where a man has touched me, or said things to me that were not welcomed, invited, or remotely appropriate. I am proud as hell to be a woman, and to use my voice and words to share the stories that matter most to me - Do not try to silence me, or my lady sisters; we'll only get louder from here.
So, with that being said, back to the one thing I really wanted to write about this week: a legacy 25 years later, of a kid from Indianola, IA.
Last Friday, January 19th, the state of Iowa reflected on a death that shocked them to the core 25 years ago. Chris Street, an Indianola native, always knew that he was going to be a Hawkeye one day. Street was widely known for his athletic talent on the basketball court, and quickly was picked up by Iowa head coach Tom Davis. What Davis saw in Street was his constant work ethic, his drive, grit - but also, it was his electric personality that made every single Iowan feel as though they knew him personally. Always quick to give you a high-five, hug, smile, a wave...he was Iowa through and through. But on January 19th, 1993, the streak of light that Chris Street was suddenly gone as his car was struck by a snowplow on the outskirts of Iowa City. He died on impact. His death sent instant shock-waves through Iowa radio, and a deafening silence fell across the state. It was one of those things that even 25 years later, you still remember where you were and what you were doing when you heard the devastating news.
If you've done the math, you know I was hardly three months old on that fateful night; and subsequently you might be wondering why I care so much about this. The week leading up to the anniversary, I myself was struggling with that same question: why is this having such an affect on me? I didn't know him, or his family, so I couldn't figure out why the impact was so heavy this year. I knew his story, I have for years - but there was something about this anniversary I couldn't shake. I re-watched, re-read, and re-investigated all the same stories I've seen time and time again, and each time I watched it, more and more tears began to fall. I began to wonder: is it possible to feel like you know someone postmortem? Even when he was amongst us, any Iowan would tell you they felt like they knew the kid from Indianola. His personality, his love for the game - it was infectious, and all encompassing - even today. There's not a game where I walk past the Chris Street plaque outside of the men's locker room where I don't stop and stare at the photo of him mid-conversation with a beaming smile spread across his face. It's what every single Iowa player and coach sees every time they enter and exit the locker room. You can't help but feel a ping to the heart when you see it, a constant reminder that life is incredibly fragile.
I was talking to my mom about all this last week, and that's when it hit me - I felt like I knew him, because in an sense, I did. I should have realized it a long time ago, with his smile, his heart, passion, and talent- Chris Street was to Iowa, what Caroline Found was to me. A genuine friend to all, talented, and ball of absolute charisma. Like Chris, Caroline's light dimmed far too quickly in a moped accident that fateful night of August 11, 2011, and the surrounding community felt a blow to the gut. That night, and the following nights after that, are some of the hardest days I've ever had to live through. I'd experienced death from afar, but nothing this close to my heart. It's one of those things even 7.5 years later, just like Chris, you still remember where you were and what you were doing when you heard the devastating news. Caroline's death found us all asking questions no one could answer... why her? She was talented, kind, compassionate and had so many great opportunities in her near future. These same questions were whispered in disbelief 25 years ago too, on January 19, 1993. Although these two never existed in the same universe, I find it hard to believe they remain strangers today wherever they may be. There are few people in the world that have the inviting, and genuine energy these two had. They were magnetic, and people flocked - from teammates, opponents, family, friends, fans, and Iowans in general- everyone has a story about Chris Street and Caroline Found. Even as I write this now, there are chills running down my spine and I'm finding it harder and harder to keep dry eyes.
Although I never had the pleasure of cheering on infamous #40, Chris Street and his family will forever leave an imprint on my heart. Street's legacy will continue to live on in the Hawkeye State, and his memory will live on in the stories we tell our children about the kid from Indianola, who had immeasurable hustle and heart.
I also want to say that as of a few hours ago, disgraced USA gymnastics doctor, Larry Nassar, has officially been silenced. He abused, molested, and destroyed the innocence and trust of over 150 girls and women throughout his tenure. He is a disgusting excuse for a doctor, let alone a human-being. Today, Judge Rosemarie Aquilina sentenced him to 175 years in prison. In her own words, "You (Nassar) do not deserve to walk outside of a prison ever again", "I just signed your death warrant". Judge Aquilina's delivery was nothing short of poetic and legal justice. After reading through a few paragraphs of Nassar's pathetic letter to the court (requesting permission to not hear anymore victim statements), she looked him dead in the eye and tossed his words to the side of her desk. With that simple flick of the wrist, she made it very clear that it's #TimesUp for abusers everywhere, and they no longer hold the power. I am incredibly humbled by all the women and girls who took the stand to read aloud their trauma, as their words were not silenced this time, rather they were echoed, applauded, and written in big black ink: #TIMESUP.
It would be negligent, as a woman, a writer, and a story teller -if I hadn't written about the above. There have been far too many moments in my life where a man has touched me, or said things to me that were not welcomed, invited, or remotely appropriate. I am proud as hell to be a woman, and to use my voice and words to share the stories that matter most to me - Do not try to silence me, or my lady sisters; we'll only get louder from here.
So, with that being said, back to the one thing I really wanted to write about this week: a legacy 25 years later, of a kid from Indianola, IA.
Last Friday, January 19th, the state of Iowa reflected on a death that shocked them to the core 25 years ago. Chris Street, an Indianola native, always knew that he was going to be a Hawkeye one day. Street was widely known for his athletic talent on the basketball court, and quickly was picked up by Iowa head coach Tom Davis. What Davis saw in Street was his constant work ethic, his drive, grit - but also, it was his electric personality that made every single Iowan feel as though they knew him personally. Always quick to give you a high-five, hug, smile, a wave...he was Iowa through and through. But on January 19th, 1993, the streak of light that Chris Street was suddenly gone as his car was struck by a snowplow on the outskirts of Iowa City. He died on impact. His death sent instant shock-waves through Iowa radio, and a deafening silence fell across the state. It was one of those things that even 25 years later, you still remember where you were and what you were doing when you heard the devastating news.
If you've done the math, you know I was hardly three months old on that fateful night; and subsequently you might be wondering why I care so much about this. The week leading up to the anniversary, I myself was struggling with that same question: why is this having such an affect on me? I didn't know him, or his family, so I couldn't figure out why the impact was so heavy this year. I knew his story, I have for years - but there was something about this anniversary I couldn't shake. I re-watched, re-read, and re-investigated all the same stories I've seen time and time again, and each time I watched it, more and more tears began to fall. I began to wonder: is it possible to feel like you know someone postmortem? Even when he was amongst us, any Iowan would tell you they felt like they knew the kid from Indianola. His personality, his love for the game - it was infectious, and all encompassing - even today. There's not a game where I walk past the Chris Street plaque outside of the men's locker room where I don't stop and stare at the photo of him mid-conversation with a beaming smile spread across his face. It's what every single Iowa player and coach sees every time they enter and exit the locker room. You can't help but feel a ping to the heart when you see it, a constant reminder that life is incredibly fragile.
I was talking to my mom about all this last week, and that's when it hit me - I felt like I knew him, because in an sense, I did. I should have realized it a long time ago, with his smile, his heart, passion, and talent- Chris Street was to Iowa, what Caroline Found was to me. A genuine friend to all, talented, and ball of absolute charisma. Like Chris, Caroline's light dimmed far too quickly in a moped accident that fateful night of August 11, 2011, and the surrounding community felt a blow to the gut. That night, and the following nights after that, are some of the hardest days I've ever had to live through. I'd experienced death from afar, but nothing this close to my heart. It's one of those things even 7.5 years later, just like Chris, you still remember where you were and what you were doing when you heard the devastating news. Caroline's death found us all asking questions no one could answer... why her? She was talented, kind, compassionate and had so many great opportunities in her near future. These same questions were whispered in disbelief 25 years ago too, on January 19, 1993. Although these two never existed in the same universe, I find it hard to believe they remain strangers today wherever they may be. There are few people in the world that have the inviting, and genuine energy these two had. They were magnetic, and people flocked - from teammates, opponents, family, friends, fans, and Iowans in general- everyone has a story about Chris Street and Caroline Found. Even as I write this now, there are chills running down my spine and I'm finding it harder and harder to keep dry eyes.
Although I never had the pleasure of cheering on infamous #40, Chris Street and his family will forever leave an imprint on my heart. Street's legacy will continue to live on in the Hawkeye State, and his memory will live on in the stories we tell our children about the kid from Indianola, who had immeasurable hustle and heart.
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| Chris Street plaque outside of Iowa Basketball locker room |
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