May 14, 1994 started like no other day, but it was a big day.

It was the day of the State Meet for the speedskating association. My team was hosting the event at the Rolladium Skating Center in Waterford, Michigan.

I was 11 a the time, and I was in the junior advanced division.

In one of the most recent practices, I had clocked in a personal record of 10.24 seconds in a single lap around the rink (100 meters). I was ready for the meet. My dad's 40th birthday the day before, so I wanted to make him proud as an extra birthday present.

We arrived at the Rolladium around 10:30am a few hours before my first race, a 300-meter sprint. I watched the other races with excitement, but as the clocked ticked closer to the start of my first race, the combined sounds of the skates felt like a growing storm. I breathed deeply and tried to relaxed.

I checked in at the scorers table with the four other racers in my division. We waited a few more moments for the OK to proceed to the starting line. I felt my heart racing fast, but I felt confident. I saw my dad at the edge of the floor across the rink, and my coach was on the other side; both were standing and ready to watch intensely.

We proceeded to the starting line. I was in the middle position. The inside left spot is usually the most advantageous, the far right the least so. We all got in to the inline skating version of the kneeling-like starting position for five seconds.

The starting gunshot sounded, after an intense start, after the first lap, I managed to be in the third-place position, closely behind those in first and second. The person in fourth place was right behind me. I started to push harder to coming around the corner to complete the second lap.

I leaned left, crossed my right skate in front of the left, per usual for achieving more speed for going around the corner. I suddenly felt left skate collided with something. It might have been the pylon marking the track, or it might have been the skate of the person behind me.

I suddenly veered wildly out of control in fast circles away from the track. My left skate kept veering left while the right went right; I couldn't stop. When the wheels of the left skate were no longer touching the surface, my left leg quickly slid out from under me as my rear slammed down on the floor.

The crowd let out a loud gasp. I felt a thump in my leg as I practically did what amounted to the splits for the first and only time ever in my life. I quickly wrapped my right leg around into a protective position away from the other skaters.

I could hear my dad and coach screaming things like "GET UP!" and "FINISH THE RACE!" But I couldn't move. After the race, he and my coach came up to me. I said, "I think I broke my leg!" They seemed to be more in shock than I was and insisted I didn't; but I still couldn't move.

I was carried off the floor as we waited for the ambulance. The hospital indeed confirmed what I thought happened. My left femur had completely snapped into two! I was in the hospital laying in traction for nearly three weeks prior to having surgery. I then had to spend the rest of sixth grade at home.

It was the end of my childhood fantasy of maybe becoming an Olympic skater.

I couldn't recover fully to get back into the form I was in. My dad would still tell me I could achieve anything I wanted so long as I was willing to set my mind to it. But my mobility, at least for athletic purposes, was limited for the following year and a half.

Choir and theatre then emerged as the most important extracurricular activities I set my mind to for the remainder of my middle school years. It gave me the sense of purpose and belonging I otherwise didn't always have. And it turned out, I was good at it. And so it then continued through high school... and I'm sure you can figure out the rest ;)

So does music in school matter? The answer is unequivocally yes, and way more than you think! You never know what gifts and talents can emerge if given the opportunity. 😎