Our fourth son, Michael, was born on November 26th, 1980 to Ken and Connie Schmidt. They were divorced shortly after Michael’s birth. After our marriage in 1982, I adopted Michael as my son.

He, like Christopher, cried loudly and fairly often. Those stories he tells about being set outside in the bitter cold until he stopped crying are at least partly true. The problem we had is that we couldn’t always tell why he was crying, most often a simple, “No!” would elicit his powerful disapproval and some negotiation would calm him. It was those few times when no amount of reasoning would convince him to stop that we resorted to standing him outside the front door until he stopped screaming. He was always adequately dressed and I would stand opposite him inside the door and wait for the sign that he was ready to come in. At least one time, however, it was storming outside, so instead of leaving him on the front porch, I carried him to the chicken house and set him down where it was at least a bit warmer while I waited outside in the storm for him to relent. I hugged him, told him his bedtime story, or read to him, whether or not our days had been perfect.

He was precocious, and very much into physical and aggressive play. He had to compete, after all with, older brothers. He would not relent even though a third their size. The rougher the game, the better he liked it, so it seemed. Cushion towers were mowed down. Cushions were thrown. He bounced and rolled and always came back for more. “Please, Chris, be careful,” I would warn. “He wants to play rough,” he would counter. “Just use common sense!” and Michael seldom was hurt in those games.

But some of my memories do include his injuries. He went for a bike ride with his friends. Someone came riding up in full alarm. I pedaled to find Michael’s front tire had come off as he went full speed over a speed bump. Forehead, nose, and chin were bleeding. He had a red badge of courage for some time thereafter. His good spirits returned quickly and he did not give up reckless abandon, often riding without hands, or spread eagle on the seat of his bike. He jumped over ruts, rode up the side of banks as he careened downhill. My “Please be careful” seemed increasingly futile, so I simply did not watch, was simply eager for his safe return. That confirmed, I assumed he knew what he was doing, and trusted that he had innate skills beyond my comprehension. Still I would flinch occasionally when he’d dismount his bike while riding and allow it to crash into the fence. Was he registering a complaint about the inferior quality of his bike and a need for a new one? I suspect his move was more complicated than that. He was no more careful with his new white mountain bike. Did he have too many siblings with whom he felt the need to vie for attention?

I almost forgot one midnight bike ride in the dark to pick raspberries. It was during a visit to my sister’s new house. We were finished with our evening meal, and with the ensuing entertainment – my brother had played the North Dakota juggler, had us all laughing. No streetlights lit the way. It was the darkest of rides. Michael rode with me, we were turning into the driveway of my sister’s old house when we came too close to an infamous little skunk. Leaders often do suffer the consequences of close encounters, and others thereafter keep their distance from those men so marked.

They made us sleep outside, even after long showers.

Michael would ride on my shoulders, as had all the others before him. He loved soccer and football in the back yard, inviting friends over to compete with me. Smear the queer was a favorite ruff and tumble when the Nitsckes were around, and he was among the ablest competitors. As soon as they allowed him, he wanted to accompany the older boys on their hiking and bicycle adventures. And he was a dare devil sledder, battling with the biggest and best on the down hill sled races where anything went, ramming, pushing, pulling – all were fair. The first one to the bottom of the long steep hill was the winner, plain and simple. And quite often that winner was Michael. And in Summer he would lay on his bicycle seat, legs out behind him, and coast. He went off of jumps, and he was a great ice skater, just like his brother, Chris. In fact when I try in my mind’s eye to visualize one, I see the other. They become one, so much were they alike in their abilities and their temperaments

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