Darran Zenger

At their neighborhood park in Eagle Mountain David Zenger, 10, sits on a swing whistling along to his mp3 player as his sister, Abby, 2, giggles uncontrollably as their father pushes her on the swing.

"Swing," she smiles. "More."

Her swing begins to slow down and her feet come closer and closer to the ground.

"Daaaaaddd! Daaaaadddd! Moooooorrrree."

She tries louder, but her father, Darran, doesn't hear.

"Daaaddd! Mooooore!"

Finally, David walks over to his father and taps him on the shoulder.

"Dad. Abby wants another push," he says in sign language.

David smiles and gives Abby a big push running underneath the swing and her giggles resume.

At the age of six he was diagnosed with Usher Syndrome, which is a genetic disorder that is characterized by deafness and progressive blindness. He began to lose his hearing at the age of 5 and it got worse until the age of 20. Now, at 34-years-old, he can't hear anything.

"He can't hear me do this," said David, standing right next to his father, screaming his name.

For a while he used hearing aids but felt that they didn't help much.

"I had no speech discrimination," Darran said. "Everything sounds like the teacher from peanuts. Wa-wa-wa-wa-waaa."

Part of Usher Syndrome is Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), which causes night-blindness and a loss of peripheral vision through the progressive degeneration of the retina. His parents noticed the night blindness when he was still a baby. They would bring him a bottle at night and he couldn't see it, even when they put it right in front of his face. Over the years it has progressed to the point to which Darran only has 10-degrees of tunnel vision.

"It's hard because you don't know what your vision is going to do," he admits. "It changes and I adapt and then it changes and plateaus and then it changes again."

He remembers driving as a teenager and playing in a jazz band. Both things that he can't do anymore.

His wife Sharon believes that Darran's challenges are what make him a better father for their three children: David, 10, Mya, 8 and Abby 2.

He may not be able to do things that most other fathers can do like camping but he really tries to be a major part of their life.

"I love to just watch them enjoy life," smiled Darran, who took the children to the Pony Express carnival last week.

One of David's favorite things to do with his father is watch movies. Almost always Darran obliges, but Darran can't hear the movie and has a hard time seeing the screen.

"I do it because it's important for him to have a relationship with his dad," he said. "I've learned to do things for them and not what I want."

The children like to spend their summer days outside riding scooters and playing at the park and Darran is always close behind them. Many times Abby moves out of his line of sight as she runs from one side of the park to another. He'll look around in panic before he realizes she's on her way to the top of the slide.

"That's what stresses me out the most," he says. "I can't see her if she falls."

David and Mya understand that they need to help watch after Abby. They also provide a lot of support in the home where they know to pick up their toys off the ground so Darran doesn't trip and let him know when the phone or doorbell ring.

In August Darran brought a new member into the family: Archer. Archer is a seeing eye dog who was introduced to the Zengers to help guide Darran around on errands. Archer is his first guide dog and has been a godsend for the family.

"It's very helpful when we go to the grocery store," said Darran. "It allows my wife to take care of the kids and not have to worry about me."

With his eyes getting steadily worse Darran is taking other proactive measures like learning braille so that when his eyesight does go he will still be able to communicate with his friends and family.

But until that point he'll continue to take every day in stride, watching his family enjoy every moment.

"He's taught us all patience and has brought another language into our life and another culture to our family," said his wife Sharon.

For the Zenger family, this way of life is normal.

Darran may not be able to hear the children's laughter but he can see their smiles.

"He's the best dad in the world," smiled David.

A very special day

My mom got married last Friday in her backyard in Wyoming. It was a beautiful, small ceremony of family and very close friends. I'm so excited to welcome Bill and his two beautiful daughters and his son to the family.

Summer Swinging

Abby
Eagle Mountain, Utah

Give A Kid A Backpack

Today was spring cleaning day at the Daily Herald and I asked each department to save any school supplies (folders, binders, unused paper, pencils) so that I could give them to Give A Kid A Backpack, a humanitarian group that I've traveled with that gives school supplies to under privileged children in South and Central America. Close to the end of the day one of my coworkers came back and asked me where I wanted them and I told them they could just bring them to my desk. I was amazed when they brought back 5 boxes of binders. FIVE BOXES. I'm so excited. My trunk and backseat are completely full. The children are going to love this. Now I just need to figure out how to get them to Florida.../p>

3:19

My First Marathon
By Ashley Franscell
Photo by Chris Detrick

My alarm went off at 4:09 a.m. Saturday morning. I was awake to hear it go off, in fact, I'd spent the whole night peaking out from under the sheets watching the hotel's clock turn from one minute to the next, hour after hour. At about 1 a.m., I stopped worrying about the marathon -- I stopped thinking about how the first person who ever ran the marathon, died -- and started thinking about what I was going to make for dinner and where to plant my basil.

I was trying to think of anything except for my first marathon.

I'd spent the past week tapering -- cutting back my mileage from 65 miles a week to about 35 -- and hoping that the day would never come. I was nervous. There is a lot that can happen in 26 miles and 385 yards. Other runners kept telling me, "You'll be fine," "You're trained for it," "I think you can run a 3:19." But until you've run the distance you have no idea of what to expect.

My hands shook as I forced myself to eat a banana. I usually don't eat anything before I run because it upsets my stomach but I knew I had about two and a half hours before the start and I knew that my body needed fuel.

My training partners and I packed everything in our bags -- extra shirt, water, gloves and a hat -- and loaded the elevator to head to the buses. There were dozens of buses line up on the street loading thousands of marathoners, half marathoners and relay teams. As soon as we found our seats on the bus I put my head down on the seat in front of me. I started to visualize the course and breathe deeply to relax. It's funny how long the bus ride to the top feels -- it kinda psychs you out that in a few minutes you're going to start a three hour (or more) run back.

As the bus slowed and came to a stop at the top of the Ogden Canyon my training partner and -- in my mind -- marathon expert said, "Remember to run your own race and forget how other people told you to run it." It was the best advice of everyone. And, for some odd reason, put me at ease.

We had an hour at the start before the race started. We stretched and jogged a bit to loosen up and, also, to stay warm. It was a little nerve wracking to have to wait so long for the race but by the time the gun went off we were all ready.

I wanted to run the first half of the race conservatively -- around 7:45 minutes a mile -- knowing that it was the hardest part of the course. And then see how I felt at 20 miles and, hopefully, kick it in the last 10 kilometers -- or 6.2 miles.

The first mile was downhill and I went through the mile a little faster than I wanted but I soon settled into a 7:25 minute per mile pace. It made me a little nervous because it was so much faster than I had planned but the pace felt fine so I just tried to stay there. I focused on each mile instead of thinking "I have 22 more miles to go," or "I have 15 miles left." That kept me fairly consistent through the first 13 miles, even with the rolling hills.

Every few miles there was a water stop and I made sure to drink a little at each stop. I knew that it would be better for me overall to take some water or Powerade in because if you get half way and you start to dehydrate there is no way to make that up. So even if it was a few sips, it was better than nothing.

The first 13 miles seemed to go by relatively quickly. I'd run that a few months before in a half marathon put on by Striders, an Ogden based racing circuit to gradually prepare runners for the marathon.

But in the half marathon, they left out THE hill. There is only one real hill on the Ogden course and I had been warned by several people about it. I tried to prepare myself mentally for the challenge of a half-mile long hill in at mile 14 by saying "To every uphill there is always a downhill," over and over. To be honest, it looked a lot worse from a half mile away than it was. As I started ascending the hill I really tried to relax my arms and push to the top. I passed several people on the way up, which gave me an extra bit of encouragement. I was still feeling pretty decent at this point and I was on pace to run a 3:15. Many people warned me that the deception of the hill is that it levels out at one point and then ascends again. Once I made it to the top I knew that it was basically downhill to the finish line.

I really don't remember the miles between the top of the hill and mile 18.5 when my friend jumped in next to me to keep me company the last 8 miles of the race. It had been a long 18 miles of very few spectators. So when he met me I was so elated to see him that I ran a 7:12 mile -- a little too fast. It was nice to have someone there. I didn't say much but he continually encouraged me and grabbed an extra water if I needed it.

The closer I came to the bottom of the canyon the more familiar faces I saw -- my husband and people from the running club. It's funny just how much "Great job, Ashley!" can keep you going several more steps. I could pick my husband's voice and encouragement out of a crowd of a hundred. I heard him at mile 23 say, "Good job, Ashley. How do you feel?" He says that I shot him a horrible look that said "How do you think I feel at mile 23?" I don't remember the "look" just the thumbs up that I gave him.

I had expected to hit the wall -- when your glycogen stores are depleted and you have an overwhelming sense of fatigue -- at mile 20. It's commonly said that there are two halves to a marathon, the first 20 and the last 6. For me, it was the first 24 miles and the last 2.2. As soon as we left the canyon and were spit out onto a footpath with a few rolling hills -- small bumps in the path that felt like monstrous hills -- I hit the wall. The hardest part was that there was really no warning. I was feeling great and then all of a sudden my legs felt like they just couldn't take one more step. I took a GU to see if it would help but I think at that point it was just too late. My legs had already run out of fuel.

I was lucky enough to have great friends to encourage me those last 2 miles.

"Come on, Ashley! You're doing great."

"Dig deep. There is only a few more miles."

It was really nice to hear, especially when my head was saying just the opposite. Even the spectators on the side of the footpath would encourage me after they heard my name.

My pace slowed by a minute but I felt as if I wasn't even moving and my legs felt like they were weights. I wanted to stop but I knew it wasn't smart to completely stop because my legs would cramp up making it even harder to start again. So I slowed to a brisk walk. For four steps. As backwards as it seems, I thought to myself, "the quicker you get to the end, the sooner the pain goes away." So I started running again.

"Good job, Ashley. You're almost there. One more mile."

As I turned on to Grant Avenue in downtown Ogden and saw all the crowds of people my pace got a bit faster. I knew the finish line was close, but I couldn't see it. I repeated my mantra over and over to myself, "Every step is a step closer. Every step is a step closer." Before long, the banner of the finish line came into view. But it never seemed to be getting any closer. At that point I was just taking it block by block. The last half mile seemed to go by in slow motion. My mind was racing and wanting to get there as fast as possible but my legs couldn't keep up.

When I finally reached the shoot to the finish line the clock ticked by 3:19:10, 3:19:11, 3:19:12.

I finished my first marathon in 3:19:13. An overwhelming sense of relief -- and complete shock -- came over me. I hadn't died and I had qualified for the Boston Marathon in my very first marathon. But more so, I was just glad to be not running.

I found my husband and friends standing outside of the runner's area. They congratulated me and then one of them asked, "So, are you going to go to Boston?"

I told her with a smile that I'd think about it. That I needed a couple hours after my first one to decide whether I really wanted to do another. Twenty-six miles is a long, long way.

First of the Season

Neko Case
Red Butte Garden Concert
Salt Lake City, Utah

Accordion teacher

Growing up on a ranch in the South Fork of Provo Canyon Darel Conrad, 71, learned that quitting was never an option. He fixed fences until every post was perfect. He bailed hay until there wasn't anything left. Everything has fallen apart, he's been tired and run down, but no matter how hard it got he knew he couldn't quit.
And for the past 60 years he's played accordion without ever a thought of stopping.
At the age of 10, Conrad's parents encouraged him to take up a musical instrument. His mother hoped he would chose the piano, but he refused. Instead he chose the accordion, an unforgettable, yet, peculiar sound he remembers from family trips to Timp Haven. A few days later the instrument was dropped off at his house. His eyes widened with excitement when he opened the large, black case. From behind him, his father's voice loomed, "You are never going to quit."
And he hasn't. He still plays at weddings almost every weekend and teaches lessons four days of the week.
"To make life fun, you have to find things you enjoy," says Conrad.
He started his business, Conrad's Music, in 1960 and over time he opened five stores in Orem, Payson, Nephi, American Fork and Heber. For years, he drove to each of the towns to give lessons leaving his wife with their 10 children. To Conrad it was about more than just selling the instruments, it was about being consumed by it. He repaired, sold and taught accordion. People would come in to the store wanting a new violin bow and they left with an accordion.
His love of the instrument and music radiates as his fingers move up and down the keys. The accordion is considered a one-man band with one hand playing the bass and the other playing the melody. It can be several instruments in one and doesn't need an accompaniment.
"I love the sound," he said. "There isn't a song you can't play. People think you can only play the polka but you can play hymns, country western and jazz, too."
He spent his younger years playing in a churches, weddings and veteran's hospitals along the Wasatch Front. He even took his accordion with him on the train all the way from Utah to Oklahoma for his mission, only to keep it in a hat closet for two years. After coming back from his mission he'd spend his Saturdays giving back to back lessons before heading to the dance club in downtown Provo where he'd play with his jazz band until midnight. Those were the good days, he said. The band eventually fizzled and the dance hall torn down but he continued to play.
It looks hard, Conrad admits, but it's not. For him at least. In the 50 years that he's been teaching accordion he's had hundreds of students varying in ages from 8-years old to 99-years old. Two of his current students -- Gordon and Afton Miner -- are 92-years old and 79, respectively. They began lessons with Conrad in 1998.
"I don't know how good the music is but we've sure had fun," said Afton.
"We should be professionals by now," laughs Gordon.
It's not unusual for Conrad's students to continue with their lessons for years. There have been several that have continued for decades, even after they'd moved from Utah. They've come, and continue to come, from all over -- Southern Utah, Montana, Idaho, Wyoming and Colorado.
"When you are teaching your students' kids you've been doing it too long," said Conrad, laughing. He laughs because he knows he doesn't really believe that. He admits that he'll be teaching the accordion for as long as he's alive.
Most of his students are still playing the instrument. He knows because he calls to check up on them every once in a while. Most of them even came to his 70th birthday party.
"He has a personal interest in his students," said his wife Linda.
"They're my family," adds Darel.
His students have been one of the biggest reasons that he's continued working and playing.
"Each time he thinks about retiring the phone rings and another child is on the phone asking for lessons and he takes them on," said Linda.
Even when he began closing his stores his students didn't quit. They would drive from Nephi to Orem for their lessons. When he closed the last of the stores last year, he began teaching lessons at his winter home in Orem. The students won't let him quit. He knows that. He's happy because the lessons keep him busy, doing exactly what he loves.
"This is his life," said Linda. "He just loves the accordion."

Disability Week

For an hour during a disability week presentation by the Wheelin' Jazz being in a wheelchair was cool.
Pleasant Grove, Utah

Birthday Boy

Breakfast in Bed
April 24, 2009
Salt Lake City, Utah

Climbing Wall

Spring Festival
Provost Elementary School
Provo, Utah

Art Installation

Dragon
made from recycle plastic water bottles
Provo, Utah

Safe at home

Layton vs. West Jordan
high school baseball playoffs
Orem, Utah

Disaster Drill

Mock Chemical Spill
Timpanogos Regional Hospital
Orem, Utah

Making Strides with Kids

Making Strides with Kids, a running program for 90 students at Redwood Elementary in West Valley City, put on by the Salt Lake City Track Club.

Ball pit

Autism Journeys
Autistic counseling and treatment center
Lehi, Utah

Anxiously waiting

Martin Luther King, Jr. Commemorative dance
Orem, Utah

Ms Wheelchair Utah

It took Jessica Frischknecht several hours and hundreds of online stores before she found the perfect pageant dress in a small dress shop in Salt Lake City. A petite, pink, floor-length gown with jewels delicately placed around the skirt.

The dress goes perfect with the necklace and the bracelet her boyfriend bought her. The color compliments her blue eyes and blonde ringlets. The size 4 Cinderella dress tailored to a size 0 fits flawlessly around her tiny body.

When her mother slips it over her blonde locks, Frischknecht eyes light up. The satin dress doesn't even come close to hitting the floor. Perfect, her boyfriend Chad Shumway says. Until now he was worried that the dress would get caught in one of her wheels.

Since birth Frischknecht, 26, has had a muscle weakening disability, which put her in a wheelchair at the age of 3. As she grew up, her muscles continued to deteriorate. At 10-years-old she was able to lift her arm above her head, now, 16 years later, she has limited use of her hands.

The Ms. Wheelchair pageant started three years ago as a way to create something for girls in wheelchairs other than sports, said pageant executive director, Meg Johnson.

Frischknecht of Provo has competed in the pageant since the beginning. Despite her everyday challenges she rolls on to the stage each year to prove that people in wheelchairs can do things that everyone can do.

"My goal is to show the world that everyone has disabilities and abilities, they are just different," she explained. "Everything is different, nothing is perfect, and if it was, the world would be pretty dang boring."

Her life is far from boring. She is a student at BYU majoring in graphic design with a 4.0 grade point average. She had the singer/songwriter, Kalai, play at her 26th birthday party last week. And she spends most of her time on the computer where she talks to friends around the world and works on her graphic designs.

On the computer she uses a mouse to click the letters she wants on a keyboard, which is displayed on the screen. It is the one thing in her life she can manage all by herself.

"Everyday is a job," she said. "Because I can't do many things without help so every day I have to figure out how to do things."

But she doesn't let her disabilities get in the way of her dreams -- or her good humor.

Frischknecht is often cracking jokes making everyone around her burst into laughter.

“That’s how I roll,” she says with a grin.

For the past 23 years she hasn’t known anything other than “rolling.” But, ironically, she doesn’t wish for anything else.

"I don't wish that I could walk, because then I wouldn't learn things," she said.

Her one wish if she was able-bodied would be never to have to cough. She has difficulty being able to cough on her own and needs help to let it out. And when that cough finally does come out it's painful.

“She is a pretty amazing person,” said her boyfriend, Chad Shumway. “To live life with such profound challenges but remain optimistic and so positive has been one of the greatest experiences for me.”

Someday Frischknecht hopes to get married and have children. But until then she wants to finish school and get a job. More than anything she wants to live a life just like everyone else.

"Even thought I don't have experience physically like running, dancing or screaming I still want to be heard," she said. "Those things don't make me who I am."

Waiting behind the stage with the seven other contestants, Shumway kisses her on the forehead and whispers, “you’re the prettiest one up there.”

She smiles.

"It's hard for people to understand things that are different," admits Frischknecht. "But I don't understand what's so hard to understand, I'm just a girl trying to make it in this big, bad world."

Waiting for a cue

Backstage
Once Upon A Mattress
Orem, Utah

Obama? McCain?

Soft whispers come from the line.
“I’m voting for McCain because he says that we have to be nice to America.”
“I like Obama because his insurance plan helps 1- to 13-year-olds.”
In the front of the line is a pint-sized first-grader biting her lip as she tries to decide which box to check. John McCain. Barack Obama. Or a third party. She puts her head in her hand and checks the box before checking the box for John McCain. Behind her a dozen of her classmates wait for their chance to vote for the next President of the United States.
Linda J. Beck, the media specialist at Suncrest Elementary in Orem, began teaching all 400 of the students about the election process and the candidates in the beginning of the school year.
“I feel very, very strong that these students need to know how our country is being run and who is leading the country,” said Beck. “The more that they understand the voting process, the less they’ll be afraid.”
All month the children took their democratic job seriously. They listened to the debates. They learned about the candidates’ positions during school. And they went home and asked questions.
“I thought I knew my stance on the candidates until my children came home with questions,” said Sam Forsythe, who has four children at Suncrest Elementary.
“My kids were asking me questions and I didn’t want to say ‘I don’t know’,” said Forsythe. “It blew my mind that they were interested.”
Those questions sparked her fire. She did research on all the candidates and became very interested in the whole process. She was ecstatic when she heard her children’s Elementary was doing a mock election so she took off work at the Utah Valley University’s library to help coordinate Suncrest’s election.
Last week Forsythe’s son announced that he was voting for McCain because “his Vice President would be a woman and women always know what to do and they tell the men.”
“My husband and I have never told them who we’re voting for,” she said laughing.
During the week a little over 400 students from 19 classes between first- and sixth-grade voted for President. Who they were voting for and why became the topic of conversation.
“You hear kids talking about it on the playground,” said Suncrest Principal Tom Freeman. “Some of it isn’t accurate but there is conversation and that is what is important.”
What is even more important says Forsythe is that the children are excited about it.
One second-grade class decided to forego recess in order to vote because their Friday library time was canceled because of Halloween.
They’ve been told by Beck that a voice is a voice no matter how small and a vote is a vote no matter who you are. This is all to prepare them for day they will be able to vote, said Beck. For the students it will come sooner than they think. The fifth- and sixth-grade students will be voting in the 2016 election.
For sixth-grader Chelsie Minor voting was about the feeling. “I voted because I wanted to see what it would feel like to be able to vote,” she said. “And it felt really good. It felt good to know that people have a say in who is their leader.”
The children learn that they are not only voting for a leader but voting for the issues that they stand behind.
“By not voting and being apathetic we can’t make a difference,” Beck says to her students during their class. “You need to know what you stand for inside. No one can do that for you.”
On Tuesday, Suncrest Elementary will be a polling place. All of the children will be able to watch their parents vote for President. For real this time. When those parents walk through the front doors they will see who the children voted to put into the Oval Office.
“I voted for McCain,” a few children say leaving the library.
“I voted for Obama,” a child returns.
“It doesn’t matter who you voted for just that you voted,” said Beck. “You have the right and the responsibility to vote.”