If my month working in Sen. Sullivan’s office has taught me anything, it’s that you never know what to expect on any given day of the week. One minute you’re sitting up at the front talking to a constituent about the drab D.C. winter weather, the next you’re running down the hall as fast as you can while wearing a suit in order to get something to the cloakroom before it closes. I’ve loved it.
That being said, some surprises hit you more directly than others. For me, this happened Thursday afternoon, right as I was coming back from an optional intern training at the Library of Congress’ Madison Building. I was opening the main door to the office when I noticed we were hosting a group of constituents. This wasn’t all that surprising, as it is our frequent pleasure to host constituents at the front until the staffer they wish to speak with is ready to receive them. However, with this group, I thought I recognized one of the individuals in the delegation. Shaking my head for a moment and sifting through the rolodex of individuals I’ve worked with in the past, I’m sure I gave the entire group a bit of a quizzical look as I decided to hedge my guess and ask the gentleman before me if he was who I thought he might be—my old Indian Education Counselor, Mr. Michael Jerue. Tentatively, I asked the gentleman before me if he might have worked at Begich Middle School around 2013-2014, around the time of my eighth-grade year. Lighting up with a great smile and a bellowing laugh, Mr. Jerue said jokingly that he had and still works at Begich. I identified myself to him as a former student of his, sharing with him an old memory I have of him teaching my classmates and I about his time fishing with his family out near their smokehouse in St. Mary, Alaska. Then, beaming back at him, I proudly told him how much of an impact he made on me; how grateful I was for his influence at an uncertain time in my life; how I hoped he knew how important students and former students saw his work; and what I hoped he might be able to say to the next cohort of younger Native students growing up on the poorer side of Anchorage that it is possible for them, too, to work with someone like Senator Sullivan. They can make it to Washington, D.C. and work for one of the most respected politicians in Alaska. They can be something more than they might ever have believed. Being a kid from Alaska doesn’t have to mean they are solely a kid from Alaska. Seeing Mr. Jerue, for me, allowed me to glimpse back into my past; back to when I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life; when my greatest care was scoring the last basket on my miniature hoop hanging over my bedroom door before the song playing on my iHome ended; when getting McDonalds was a special event and my only access to the internet was on my family’s shared laptop; where high school loomed and college beckoned, neither coming with much of a guide for an eager student with a curious mind. Though I did not work much with Mr. Jerue during my final year at Begich, seeing him reminded me of a very different time in my life. The memory makes me all the more grateful and proud to inhabit my current position. As I move forward, I’m resolved to do all I can to set a good example for those behind me back home—for the future generations coming forward. Just as I want my sister to know, I also want them to know: you can do anything. You can be anyone. You’re not just a kid from Alaska. You’re amazing. Mr. Jerue, thank you for helping me learn that.
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Photo used under Creative Commons from Mike Juvrud