Herald writers David Krueger and Aaron Swaney graduated from Marysville Pilchuck 10 years apart. On Monday, they attended an alumni event at the school to support the current Marysville Pilchuck students as they returned to school.
David Krueger
Marysville Pilchuck High School has given me so much in my life.
Monday was my chance to give a little back.
It wasn’t a hard decision to spend Monday morning cheering on the Tomahawk students who have been through more in the past two weeks than any of us can possibly imagine.
They probably didn’t need us to encourage them and tell them what an amazing job they’re doing, but it probably didn’t hurt.
The best part of the day was when the students came into the stadium and the alumni just erupted in cheers. “MP Strong” was one of the loudest.
I found some friends from my graduating class to stand with. It was good to be there and to see if everyone is doing OK. It was nice of them to let the former Marysville Pilchuck students hang out with the students for a while. I’d say “former Tomahawks,” but everybody knows that once you’re a Tomahawk, you’re always a Tomahawk.
And as a Tomahawk, I’m still trying to get over the feeling in the pit of my stomach from when I turned on CNN and saw students frantically run from the campus I graduated from in 2007.
Like the rest of the country, I watched in horror last Friday as parents searched for their kids.
Nowhere on the news did I hear where I could go to look for my mother, who still works in the MPHS health room. I’ve hugged my mom about 1,000 times since then, including a few more Monday morning.
After the students walked through the stadium they met in the gym and stood in formation, spelling out “MP.” The alumni again filed in cheering and screaming for the students who waved back and then gave us a nice round of applause.
Once again, Marysville Pilchuck gave to me.
I looked on — and cheered along — with pride as the Marysville Pilchuck alumni proved “MP Strong” isn’t just a hashtag.
It’s a promise.
Aaron Swaney
To be honest, I don’t exactly know why I decided to be at the alumni event on Monday. I’m not a big rah-rah MP booster. I never really have been. I never bought a letterman’s jacket. I’ve never been to a reunion. In my former job as prep editor I was expected to be unbiased when covering MP and often was — with ease.
But driving to the stadium I was less and less sure. I was half in, half out. I didn’t even wear red. I’d be the outside observer, I decided. Maybe I’d write about the emotions of those around me.
But as all of us former MP students — many clad in faded letterman’s jackets — waited in a light rain in the stands we used to populate on Friday nights, memories started to come back. The awkwardness of high school conversations. The anticipation of waiting for something to happen. The frustration with adults who don’t seem to have a plan. It was like being back in high school.
Then the first kids came into view, north of the stands, along a long fence. They were so small, I thought. Then: They’re just kids. We forget sometimes that these are just kids who have had their whole lives turned inside out. Some have lost close friends forever.
No kid should have to deal with that.
The students wound their way to the track and started to stream by the stands, some interlocking arms, some skipping by themselves, some crying. Intermittently the alumni started chants of “MP Strong” and “We Are Tomahawks” with accompanying hand-claps. As soon as they started, they’d fade away, then start up again from a different part of the stadium.
Alumni clapped throughout, let out a number of cheers and roars. The students pointed back, pantomimed thank yous, clapped themselves. Some just walked by, taking it in.
I clapped. I chanted. I felt proud of my old school and the faculty who, maybe a little grayer than I remember, put this together all while battling some of the same emotions as their students.
But I was most proud of the students, who bravely returned to the campus Monday and reclaimed it. They overcame their fear and anger, confusion and hurt and came to school, not knowing what the next seven months have in store.
It felt like the beginning of a long journey. On Monday they had a little help from some old-timers.
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