Dec. 18, 2025 By Ryan Nausieda I’m a communication systems specialist on our Marketing and Communications team, and I also teach communication here as an adjunct instructor.  For years, I sat in meetings where someone would float the idea of a mascot, and it never made it past the talking stage. We’d nod, park it for “later” and move on. Someone would make a note. It would disappear into wherever meeting notes go. In my mind, mascot talk lived in the “light branding” category, a fun task wedged between other urgent work. Pick a character. Pick some colors. Make sure it looks good on a T-shirt and the website. Done. On to something serious. This year has felt different. We’re about to launch a new mascot for our campus, and I’ve watched the process unfold up close. It has mattered more than I expected. A small group of colleagues has poured time and creativity into this launch. My part has mostly been at the edges, lukewarm coffee in hand in a room full of windows, listening and tossing out ideas when they might actually help instead of talking just to fill the air. Somewhere in the middle of those meetings, it clicked that this wasn’t just a design project. It was a conversation about belonging. In one meeting, someone said, half joking and half serious, “Whatever we choose, our students cannot immediately roast it.” Everyone laughed, then the room went quiet. Underneath the joke was a real question: Will our students see themselves in this, or will it come across as a thing that isn’t really for them? Instinctively, I went back to the research. Work by scholars like Vincent Tinto and Terrell Strayhorn (and all the articles that land in your inbox between classes and meetings) keeps circling back to the same idea: students stay when they feel rooted somewhere. Not just passing through with the car still running outside. Not just on the roster, but part of a community that would notice if they were gone. I think about a student who came to class every week in a fast-food uniform, clearly coming straight from work. Same shirt. Same name tag. Same seat near the back of the classroom. She told me she parked in the same spot every time because she was afraid of getting lost in the ramps and being late. One day she walked in wearing a GRCC hoodie over that uniform. She shrugged it off. “They had a sale in the bookstore,” she said, but the moment stuck with me. I remember thinking, “She sees herself here.” Strayhorn talks about belonging as a basic human need, not a bonus feature. That idea reframed a lot of things I used to quietly file under “nice if we ever get to it.” It made me rethink what counts as real work, the kind that helps people keep showing up. After that settled in, mascot conversations didn’t seem silly anymore. I still appreciated the light moments, but my question shifted from “Is this important?” to “What could this mean for our students?” I paid closer attention. Most people don’t look back and say, “My college was the institution whose brand standards included a hawk.” They say, “We were the Hawks,” or the Panthers, or the Owls. That word “we” does a lot of work. It turns a logo into shorthand for late nights, nervous first days and the people who got them through. That’s especially true at a place like GRCC. Our students commute. Many are working nights, raising kids, changing careers or coming back after a hard start somewhere else. Their time on campus can be quick, in and out between everything else they are juggling. That’s a lot to carry. Research on community colleges backs up what we already see: relationships and a sense of “I belong here” are some of the strongest reasons students keep going. The more a place acts like a real “we,” the better the chances students will keep choosing us. A mascot will not fix food insecurity, child care or transportation, and it won’t make anyone’s life simple or guarantee a smooth semester. But it can give people a shared space to step into instead of just walking past, another way to say “we” about a place that might only hold a short, intense chapter of their lives. Because of that, the questions that matter most to me aren’t about campaigns or clicks. Those still matter in my world, but I find myself thinking about other things: Does this character seem open to everyone who walks through our doors, not just the loudest voices? Could a nervous student at orientation see it and sense even a small shift toward, “Maybe there’s a place for me here”? What actually creates belonging at GRCC is going to happen in relationships: in classrooms, advising meetings, financial aid offices, front desks and those quick hallway check-ins where someone either gets seen or disappears into the background. It isn’t glamorous, and it doesn’t come with a launch date or a photo shoot. When you ask students what made the difference, they tell you about a person, not a program. The symbols matter more than I used to admit, partly because they travel with people when we don’t. They show up on sweatshirts and flyers, in graduation photos with crooked tassels, on hoodies someone pulls on to shovel the driveway. They show up in the stories people tell: “That was my school. We were the ______.” All of that makes the mascot something meant to serve the people who do the work here every day: the ones teaching, advising, fixing systems, cleaning classrooms and greeting students who aren’t sure where to go. It is something they can lean on as they help people stay. So when I’m in a room where people are talking about ears, eyes, colors and names, I try to remember what is at the core of it. We’re not just picking a character. We’re deciding what kind of “we” we are inviting people into, and who will be included in that “we.” If this new mascot helps even a few more students feel a little less alone here, or helps someone years from now remember and say, “I was part of that, and it mattered,” then this will not have been a small project at all. It becomes a quiet way of saying, “You belong with us while you are here and, in some small way, even after you go.”

Dec. 17, 2025 Noorthoek Academy has filled a gap in the community for post-high school special education for more than three decades. The academy provides students with foundational skills to help build confidence and support greater independence through valuable educational experiences for lifelong learners.  “We are grateful to Grand Rapids Community College (GRCC). Their partnership for 36 years is such an incredible gift,” said Lyn VanTol, executive director of Noorthoek Academy. “Our students and our community are better because of this partnership.” A Culinary Collaboration Begins Recently, students had the opportunity to take part in a six-week cooking course hosted in collaboration with the Secchia Institute for Culinary Education at GRCC. Under the guidance of Secchia chefs, Noorthoek students learned how to prepare healthy recipes from scratch. The idea for the class initially began as a way to introduce basic nutrition skills, but Dr. Werner Absenger, program director and chef with the Secchia Institute, envisioned something bigger. “To me, cooking means togetherness, and the heart of Noorthoek Academy is to bring people together,” Dr. Absenger said. “It felt like a perfect fit. It made more sense to have a hands-on cooking class for the students to learn by doing rather than just sit in a class hearing about nutrition.” VanTol agreed. “Our students are lifelong learners,” she said. “They’re eager to learn what healthy habits look like. Often, when they’re coming to class, they’ll pick up fast food. I wanted them to see that making food at home is healthier and less expensive — and that they can do it.” Cooking As A Path To Connection The lessons extended beyond knife skills and kitchen safety; they were opportunities to build friendships and confidence. “I spent years and years in the business,” Dr. Absenger said. “It became apparent that my specific skill has an effect on people. When people break bread together, it makes a difference. Whether it’s health professionals, GRCC students or students with developmental disabilities, the outcome is always the same: People get to know other people. When we know other people, we let go of the preconceptions we have. That’s what food means to me; it brings us closer together.” By the final session, students entered the kitchen with a clear sense of pride. Several students brought baked gifts and thank-you cards for Dr. Absenger, affectionately referred to as Dr. A, in gratitude for what the class meant to them. “Dr. A brings a lighthearted energy to the class,” said Noorthoek student Sonia Pamerleau. “He not only makes cooking feel more attainable; he makes it fun. My favorite part has been the friendships we’ve built with both other Noorthoek students and GRCC students.” During the closing class, students prepared an array of breakfast items. Each recipe offered a simple, hands-on approach to healthy cooking. “I feel more confident in the kitchen now,” said student Kristen Laskowski. “I’m trying to stay away from things like chips. Now I have more fresh foods available and I feel more comfortable with my knife skills.” Chefs and Students Learn From Each Other Secchia Institute student chefs volunteered to lead the stations and support the learning environment.  “I love the teaching setting,” said Secchia Institute student Kaitie Belmore. “In general, I’ve seen everybody learns differently, so it’s a fun challenge to figure out how to teach different groups. Watching Noorthoek students grow in confidence has been such a joy. I know cooking did that for me too.” Throughout the course, the kitchen was filled with laughter, determination and a shared goal of learning together. Student chefs led with patience and purpose, creating an atmosphere where everyone felt comfortable participating and contributing. “It has been amazing watching the chefs rise to the occasion. They have become teachers,” VanTol said. “They’ve really come to understand our students — their limitations, but also their strengths. The confidence this class has produced is incredible. One student now talks about Noorthoek classes, which he never did before. His mom said he’s even talking to people he’s not familiar with about Noorthoek Academy, which is new for him. She gives full credit to the culinary arts class.” During the final class, Jonah Borucki worked alongside his mother, Mary Borucki, and another Noorthoek student assembling yogurt parfaits. “The GRCC students were super nice and had good skills to help us learn,” Jonah Borucki said. “They didn’t do things for us. They showed us how to do the task and let us do it ourselves. That is a fun way to learn. Dr. A is really kind and cares for us to be healthy. I used to be nervous about cooking when I’m older. Now I know how to cut vegetables and chicken. I want to learn more, and now I know I can.” A Program That Sparks Hope Once all the dishes were ready, the group proudly presented the meal they created for a group picture. Excited to enjoy the food and reflect on their work, students gathered around the table, sharing conversation and fellowship.  “Witnessing the partnership of GRCC and Noorthoek Academy students within the Secchia Institute has been truly magical,” said Mary Borucki. “Being given the chance to learn in a caring environment, especially for an individual with intellectual differences, is a gift. Observing the calm and synchronized work on that first day took my breath away.” The cooking course highlighted Noorthoek Academy’s mission to create a space where students with different learning abilities can flourish. “The partnership Dr. Absenger and Lyn VanTol have brought to life in this pilot program has sparked hope and inspiration in me as a caregiver and mom that I haven’t felt in years,” Mary Borucki said. “I’m so excited for Noorthoek Academy students to have more opportunities to learn and show the community all the things they can do.” To learn more about Noorthoek Academy and how you can support their organization, visit  http://www.noorthoekacademy.org/ This story was reported by Anjula Caldwell