Mr. Naughton Hangs Up His Hat

 I have worn a lot of different hats since Bethany and I moved to Southern Boone County in 1999. I’ve been a meat cutter, a groundskeeper, a car salesman, a retail store manager, a stay-at-home parent, and for the last ten years, I’ve been a columnist for the Boone County Journal. I was the “Voice of the Eagles” for several years, working as the public address announcer at home football games, a few track meets, and a softball game or two. And I have united over twenty couples in the bonds of matrimony since I became an ordained minister in 2010. But there’s one hat in particular, one that I’ve proudly worn for the last nine years, that most people around here associate with Travis Naughton; the hat of a substitute teacher.

Today, my friends, I am officially hanging up my teacher hat.

The decision to walk away from teaching is not one that I made suddenly. I have been contemplating my “retirement” from the profession of education for some time now. In fact, I’ve considered it for three years.

Prior to the beginning of the 2020-2021 academic year, I thought about stepping away from subbing because of the pandemic. I was apprehensive about being indoors with hundreds of students and teachers who could potentially expose me (and my family) to the coronavirus. Knowing that there was a chance I could bring the virus home to my kids or my grandbaby (who was due last October), terrified me. Nevertheless, I knew that my friends and coworkers at the Primary School were depending on me to cover two long-term maternity leaves and other unexpected absences caused by Covid-related quarantines. With a severe substitute teacher shortage made even worse by the pandemic, my school family needed me and I didn’t want to let them down. 

Before the 2019-2020 school year began, I spent most of the summer trying to decide if I wanted to continue subbing or look for some other type of work—something that paid a little better. By August, I was pretty sure I wanted to try something new, and then my phone rang. It was Primary School principal Brandy Clark, my dear friend, calling to offer me the opportunity of a lifetime. Just two weeks before the school year was set to begin, the music teacher position had opened up unexpectedly. I accepted the offer to teach on a temporary, emergency certificate for one year only, and it turned out to be the most challenging and rewarding job I have ever had.

I was mindlessly looking through random job postings during the summer before the 2018-2019 school year, when I stumbled upon an exciting job that I was an ideal candidate for; an assistant to the director of Marching Mizzou, at my alma mater, the University of Missouri. My experience as an accomplished musician in high school both as a trombone player and a drum major, my status as an alumnus of Mizzou’s jazz band, my professional management experience, and my years of teaching experience made me perfectly suited for the job. I polished up my resume and submitted my application with nervous anticipation. A full-time, benefit-eligible job within a respected music program at a top university was the most exciting job prospect of my life—and I had help on the inside; two friends who were also close friends of the director. Despite everything seemingly being in my favor, I never heard a word from anyone at Mizzou. 

Don’t get me wrong, despite my attempts to move on, I have always loved substitute teaching. I adore the kids, and I consider my coworkers to be some of my very best friends. The fact is that I tend to give everything to those things that I love, which sometimes causes me to get burned out. Ask 100 teachers about burnout, and 100 will tell you that burnout is a serious issue within the profession. Even for substitutes. But burnout is not necessarily why I am “retiring” from teaching now.

This fall, I will be wearing the hat of a full-time, stay-at-home grandparent. Baby Freya’s mom and dad will both be attending college full-time and working part-time, which will create the opportunity for me to spend my days with my beautiful granddaughter. Of all the hats I’ve worn over the years, I think this one fits me the best.

I would like to thank my coworkers and administrators who have supported me during my time as an educator. I appreciate you for every kindness you have shown me, and I love you and will miss you more than I can say.

To my students, I love you and will miss you, too, and I hope you will look back fondly on our time together, just as I do. I wish you all the best in the coming school year and in all the years thereafter. I’m sure we’ll see each other around town now and again, and please stop me and say hello if I don’t see you first. I’ll be easy to spot; just look for the guy who likes wearing lots of different hats.  

Add Alaska to Your Bucket List

While most Missourians were celebrating the Show-Me State’s bicentennial last week, my wife and I were busy exploring the 49th state, Alaska, and celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary.

Bethany’s twin sister Charla and her husband Doug, (the Matron of Honor and Best Man at our wedding), got hitched just six months before we tied the knot, so naturally we decided to celebrate  our anniversaries together. The memories we made during our adventures in The Last Frontier will endure at least another 25 years.

Our first two days in Alaska were spent in and around the greater Anchorage area. Downtown Anchorage was an interesting mix of hip dining establishments, cheesy souvenir shops, and panhandlers on virtually every corner. The smell of marijuana smoke (recreational pot is legal in the state) mingled with the smell of fresh reindeer sausage being grilled at food carts throughout the city center while the sound of seaplanes constantly buzzed overhead.

Of course, it was the natural beauty beyond the city limits that we were really looking forward to exploring. Our main goal of the trip was to hike in the Alaskan wilderness as much as possible. I am happy to say that we accomplished that goal. We walked/hiked/climbed an average of nearly eight miles per day during our nine-day vacation. 

Our forays into nature took us to glaciers, mountains, streams, bays, coves, and various trails from Seward to Denali. We threw snowballs in August, climbed 3500 feet in elevation to peer out over an ice field so immense that it feeds 40 individual glaciers, watched a bore tide appear out of nowhere, and saw salmon struggling against raging currents to reach their ancient breeding grounds.

Armed with canisters of bear spray, survival knives, and annoyingly-festive bear bells, we ventured into areas with freshly posted fliers warning of recent encounters with aggressive mama grizzly bears. However, the only bears we encountered were housed at the Alaskan Wildlife Conservation Center where we also saw wolves, elk, reindeer, wood bison, black-tailed deer, musk ox, moose, porcupines, foxes, coyotes, owls, and eagles. We were a little disappointed that we never saw a bear in the wild, but also a bit relieved. We were lucky enough to see several moose on our hikes including a mother and calf, countless bald eagles, and two herds of Dall sheep.

We spent several days in and around the fishing town of Seward, Alaska, near Kenai Fjords National Park. Our six-hour trek up and down a mountain near Seward to reach the Harding Ice Field caused an excruciating flare up of the ITB tendonitis that ended my Marine Corps career 31 years ago. Descending the steep, uneven trail brought a level of pain to my knees that I had forgotten existed in the years since the condition forced me to drop out of boot camp. Nevertheless, the breathtaking view at the top was worth it.

Seward was also the site of our greatest folly in Alaska. As we drove to our AirBnB rental, Doug entered the name of our destination, Chalet of Seward, into our car’s navigation system. When we arrived, the friendly and gracious hostess welcomed us and gave us a tour of our temporary home as well as some tips for enjoying the area. We thanked Jen, who lived in the unit upstairs with her husband, and began to unpack. Bethany questioned the green exterior of the house when we first arrived, noting that it didn’t match the brown in the pictures. No one seemed to care. I questioned the fact that we were sleeping in the ground floor unit even though the listing mentioned we would be upstairs. Doug noted that the host was not expected to be there to meet us, and the code to unlock the front door was different than he said it would be. Char noticed that there were three bedrooms instead of two and that there was not a washer and dryer, which was one of the features she insisted upon having when searching for lodging. It was at that moment that Charla announced, “I don’t think we’re in the right place!” In fact, we were not. Not even close.

Beyond embarrassed, we apologized to Jen, who seemed genuinely sad to see us go. We hurriedly repacked our belongings, typed in the correct street address, and drove to the opposite side of town to the OTHER Chalet of Seward—laughing in hysterics the entire way.

We were finishing our dinner in a charming eatery in downtown Seward the next day when our waitress said, “I suppose you timed your meal so you could watch the parade.” We had no idea what she was talking about, and to our delight, she informed us that the town was throwing a welcome home parade for Seward’s own Lydia Jacoby who had just won an Olympic gold medal for swimming. It was a wonderful, small-town moment that brought tears of joy and pride to the people of Seward (and a few lucky visitors).

After saying goodbye to Seward, we stayed in a cozy cabin outside of Denali National Park for a few days, happy to have found the correct place on the first try. The quaint cabin had an outhouse, but thankfully it was decommissioned in favor of indoor plumbing well before our arrival. The park itself is over six million acres of unspoiled wilderness, and during our four or five hikes, we barely scratched the surface of the wonders the park has to offer. Clouds obscured our every effort to see Denali itself (formerly Mt. McKinley), the tallest mountain in North America, but even that couldn’t dampen our renewed spirits.

Alaska is the perfect place to go if you want to renew your spirit, or reaffirm your love for your spouse of 25 years. It’s been on my bucket list of destinations ever since the TV series “Northern Exposure” caused me to fall in love with the region decades ago. 

If Alaska isn’t on your bucket list, it should be.  

 

Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Naughton

 On August 4, 1996, Bethany and I recited our wedding vows to one another in front of two witnesses, (Bethany’s twin sister Charla and her husband Doug), and a preacher who forgot my name. “Do you, Michael, promise to take this woman in the bonds of holy…?”

“My name’s Travis,” I sheepishly whispered to the minister.

“Travis, Michael—whatever,” he said as he continued with the service, as if it truly did not matter at all what my name was. I felt like it actually might matter, because if “Michael” married Bethany, then she may be able to get out of this whole thing on a technicality.

Nevertheless, after 25 years of marriage, I’m reasonably confident that the statute of limitations has expired by now. I’m afraid that poor woman is stuck with me for better or worse, as long as we both shall live.

I will celebrate my 50th birthday next month, and it doesn’t seem possible that I have been married to the same amazing woman for half of my life. Yet here we are, a quarter-century after that private and legally-ambiguous ceremony took place, still going strong.

All the credit for our lasting marriage goes to my wife of course. It isn’t all sunshine and rainbows being married to Travis Naughton. I’ve battled my share of demons over the years, including bouts with addiction and mental illness. Can you think of a more volatile combination than an alcoholic, bipolar, Irish, short guy? Can you imagine being married to that for 25 years?!

I gave Bethany an opportunity to run for her life early in our relationship. When we first started dating, I had just turned 21, and I was in no way interested in pursuing a serious relationship—not with all that booze out there waiting to be consumed. So, I gave Bethany the brush off, or in today’s lingo, I guess you could say that I ghosted her. 

A couple years later, after having some time (alone and miserable) to think about my life, I tracked down Bethany’s number through some mutual friends and gave her a call. Inexplicably, she agreed to give me another chance, and I’m sure she’s been questioning her judgement ever since.

These 25 years have been full of love—and kids. We’ve welcomed seven young souls into our hearts and home over the years via childbirth, adoption, fostering, and the arrival of our first grandbaby. There’s never a dull moment at our house. Our evening dinners could be a reality TV show. It’s crazy around here, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Since we’ve been married, Bethany and I have each lost a parent (within a week of each other). We also both said goodbye to our last remaining grandparents, Bethany’s Grandma Viola and my Grandma Sweetie Pie. I’m so glad we had each other to lean on during those tough times. 

In better times, we’ve travelled all over the world from Beijing to Cabo and from Disney World to Yellowstone and all sorts of places in between. Our most recent trip will be taking place as you are reading this. To celebrate our 25th anniversary and Char & Doug’s 25th (six months late), the four of us will be hiking through the wilds of Alaska, exploring the Kenai Fjords and Denali National Parks and checking out cities including Anchorage, Seward, and Fairbanks. It’s a bucket list destination for me, and I’ll try to do it justice in a future column.

Bethany is my travel companion, my soulmate, my best friend, and my partner in life. She is a remarkable human being. She’s strong, yet vulnerable. She’s smart, yet humble. She is kind, yet fierce. She’s a wonderful mother, a doting Mimi (don’t call her grandma), and a devoted daughter, sister, and aunt. She’s the best person I know.

I’d like to take this opportunity to say thank you to my beautiful bride for putting up with me for the last 25 years. I’m not sure what you see in me, Dear, but I am grateful that you continue to see it after all this time.

I love you more than I can possibly express in a 700-word newspaper column. My love for you grows with each passing year, and I wouldn’t trade any of the last 25 years for anything else in the world.

Happy anniversary, Mrs. Naughton. 

Protecting Family, Friends, and the Vulnerable

Over 99.99% of Americans who are fully vaccinated against Covid-19 have not had a breakthrough case that resulted in hospitalization or death, according to scientific data analyzed by the United States Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). 

Just so we’re clear, according to scientists and doctors who specialize in studying communicable diseases, if you get vaccinated you may still contract the coronavirus, but you will not get sick enough to require hospitalization. The coronavirus will not kill you—if you get your shot.

However, if you still refuse to get vaccinated because you trust the word of anti-vaxxer TV and Internet personalities or your friend from high school who failed biology but knows more about virology than Dr. Fauci (a doctor who has dedicated his life to understanding transmittable diseases), then you stand a pretty good chance of contracting the Delta variant of the virus that is more contagious, makes people sicker, and is proving much deadlier than variants that pushed hospitals to the breaking point last year.

Hospitals in Springfield, Lake of the Ozarks, Jefferson City, and Columbia are at or near capacity for treating Covid patients, and with the strain on the medical system, people who need treatments for other conditions are being moved to the back burner. By refusing to get vaccinated, selfish Missourians are overwhelming hospitals and therefore jeopardizing the health and lives of innocent people who may experience delays in medical care.

If you still haven’t been vaccinated, I have to ask: Why not? This pandemic is not magically going away, despite what the former president claimed a year and a half ago. Almost 35 million people have been infected in the United States to date, and over 610,000 of those people have died. Nearly 200 million people have been infected worldwide, with an estimated 4.2 million deaths. So far. And things are getting worse by the day. Why wouldn’t you do everything you can to protect yourself and your loved ones by getting the vaccine?

On the same day that Steve Edwards, CEO of CoxHealth in Springfield reported 15 Covid deaths over a three-day period, Republican Missouri governor, Mike Parson, voiced his opposition to mask mandates, saying that they erode the public’s trust in vaccines. It has become apparent that the vaccinated can contract and spread the disease, even if they do not become symptomatic, which means that masks are a good idea to help slow transmission and to keep the unvaccinated protected. 

All 72 of the Springfield hospital’s Covid deaths in July were unvaccinated patients. I would bet that many of those people were anti-maskers, too.

The Republican governor of Florida just signed an executive order allowing people to ignore mask mandates in school, which will be starting soon, despite his state setting a new record for Covid-19 hospitalizations the very same week. While the Delta variant runs rampant through his state, Governor DeSantis is inexplicably making school children and teachers less protected from the virus.

But the greater concern is the elderly. The Delta variant is particularly dangerous to people aged 65 and over. Yet a lot of older folks and their families refuse to get vaccinated. Why? In Missouri, Florida, and other majority-Republican states, a large amount of the population thinks mask mandates and mass-vaccinations are government overreach and a violation of personal liberty. It is no coincidence that these same states lead the nation in new infections. And deaths.

Let me be blunt: The Coronavirus is not a political issue. The virus does not care if you believe ridiculous anti-vaxxer conspiracy theories or if wearing a mask makes you feel oppressed. If you don’t get vaccinated, the odds are good that you will eventually catch this virus. You may get very sick. You may be placed in a medically-induced coma and put on a ventilator. And you may die an excruciating, suffocating, and completely preventable death. 

Get vaccinated. Mask-up in crowded places. Wash your hands. Take these easy steps to protect yourself, your family, and people who legitimately can’t get vaccinated due to their age or underlying medical issues.