I never paid attention to school board elections before I had children in school.

My apathy had plenty of company.

In St. Louis County, off-cycle municipal elections might draw anywhere from 10% to 20% of eligible voters. The National School Boards Association cites even bleaker turnout rates: as low as 5% to 10% in several areas.

This means that a tiny sliver of Americans elect the people responsible for educating the majority of our citizens.

Before I had kids in public schools, I assumed these elections didn't really affect my life.

Oh, what a sweet summer child I was.

I had covered dozens of school board meetings as a young reporter 20 years ago, and they could never be described as riveting entertainment. In recent years, however, local school boards have become battlegrounds for partisans more interested in fighting culture wars than balancing school budgets.

The Washington Post recently reported that the violent rhetoric of once-fringe movements has now seeped into the Republican mainstream. The article cited a 2022 Anti-Defamation League report, which documented more than 100 candidates in local and state races who expressed extremist views -- including at least a dozen with documented connections to far-right militant groups.

These are the people who decide what books children in your community can read, what they will learn about our country's past (and present), and how they should treat others. They see school board races as the easiest infiltration point, and for good reason.

In a review of school board election statistics from 2014 to 2016 in the country's 1,000 largest school districts, Ballotpedia found that between 32% and 36% of school board candidates ran unopposed each year. And between 81% and 83% of incumbents who sought reelection won.

A former candidate in our district referred to herself as a "Confederate" on a social media profile. But even when a candidate isn't sharing racist memes on Facebook or Twitter, troubling digital footprints can come to light.

For example, Ryan Kerr, 39, of Ballwin, Missouri, is one of seven people running for three spots on the board for the Parkway district, which serves almost 17,000 students in the St. Louis suburbs. In 2016, Kerr recorded a four-minute profane, unhinged monologue in which he calls an unnamed Asian woman "panda," uses derogatory slurs, references lewd acts and swears dozens of times. The St. Louis Post-Dispatch wrote about the video, which surfaced during the campaign, and about Kerr's apology once it became public.

In his apology, Kerr said he was drunk during the incident, and that afterward, he enrolled in "voluntary cultural diversity, equity and inclusion programs" where he "fell in love with Asian history and culture."

"This was a very isolated and targeted event, intoxicated, and immediately following (a) false allegation of assaulting a female," Kerr said in a written statement. "It wasn't right regardless and there weren't any excuses. I apologized very publicly, privately, and sought a counselor."

I'm glad Kerr recognized that his behavior -- as a 30-something adult at the time -- was unacceptable, and apologized for it. But his past adult behavior does make me question if he has the temperament and judgment needed by an elected official responsible for making decisions affecting thousands of children. It's also concerning that a person who admits to benefiting greatly from a diversity, equity and inclusion program states on his public candidate profile that one of the reasons he's running for the board is because of his belief in "diversity based on opinion and life experience over skin color."

It seems students don't deserve a chance to "fall in love" with other cultures the same way Kerr says he did.

The reality is that the impact and influence of school board elections goes far beyond just the children in that district. If the schools for the majority of children in this country are controlled by extremists or unhinged board members, it affects all of us.

Within a month, I'll again be part of the demographic that doesn't have children in local public schools. Both of our kids, who received 12 years of outstanding public school education, will be in college in the fall.

But I don't plan to miss a school board election ever again.

I've applied for many things -- jobs, fellowships, grants -- and waiting for a response is an agonizing, but normal, part of the process.

The wait for our son's college admission decisions, however, has turned out to be the longest and most frustrating one I've experienced. Now that the final decisions are less than a week away, I've been thinking about why it's been such a difficult period of time.

First of all, our son went into the college application process with very few strong preferences. This was the opposite of our daughter, who had a very clear idea of what she wanted to study and the type of school and setting she wanted. Keeping your options open means the process will take longer.

Secondly, our son didn't apply "early decision," in which students make a binding commitment to one school, submit their applications by November and receive answers in mid-December. That would have been a mercifully quick turnaround, but he made this call because financial aid will play a significant role in his decision, and also because he is still considering several schools.

This means that, even though our kid completed and submitted his applications in November, he won't hear back until April 1 from a few of these universities. Some of the decisions have trickled in already, but he will have to wait the full five months before he has all the information he needs to weigh his options.

I advised him to focus on enjoying the rest of his senior year as soon as he hit "submit" on his applications. He didn't have any control over the rest of the process, I reminded him; there was nothing to be gained from obsessing over any of it.

Put it out of your mind, I said.

Too bad I didn't take that great advice myself.

From a parent's perspective, my husband and I know that we will be making a substantial financial investment in the near future, but every aspect of the decision is out of our control. In the midst of so many unknowns, it feels like the weight of our child's future is hanging in the balance.

After 18 years of raising a kid, it's an abrupt shift -- letting go of the biggest decision of their life thus far. Accepting that you can't control whether your child gets into a particular college or receives any financial aid is a step toward accepting the upcoming greater loss of influence over their day-to-day life.

I was unprepared for how much pressure some colleges put on students for a commitment before they even know all their options. For example, an out-of-state public university begins its housing process, which requires an acceptance of the admissions offer and a deposit, in mid-March. That's before many other schools have sent their decisions. If a student waits until April to commit, will he or she miss out on campus housing? It's a risk, and no one can answer the question for sure.

The same university opens its orientation dates, which include registration for classes, in late March -- well before the alleged May 1 deadline to submit a deposit.

Selective colleges and universities are reporting another year of record-breaking applications, which means ever-lower admit rates. It's almost as if the process is designed to create confusion, anxiety and stress.

But now that decision day is looming closer, I've finally reached a place of zen. All the things I've been saying to my son all along are starting to sink into my own head: He has several good options already. He will succeed wherever he works hard and stays focused. He can have a great college experience in many different places. It's not where he goes, but what he makes of it.

Too bad it took me five months to get here.

Two weeks before journalist and podcaster Anna Stoecklein was set to interview Cherie Blair, international human rights lawyer and wife of former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, she made a bold request.

Stoecklein asked if Blair would text one of her close friends to see if she would do the interview along with her.

The gamble paid off: Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton would be joining Blair on Stoecklein's podcast, "The Story of Woman."

Stoecklein had never done an in-person interview before. Her podcast -- about women's long march to equality, how we got here and what still needs to be changed -- was barely a year old with fewer than a hundred subscribers on YouTube. So, how did this former ER nurse from St. Charles, Missouri, nab an exclusive interview with two of the world's most influential women?

Stoecklein, 32, has been remaking her own life in recent years. She was born and raised in a conservative suburb in the Midwest, graduated with a nursing degree from the University of West Florida, came back to work in St. Louis and, within a year, moved to New York City with her boyfriend. They married a year later.

She worked as an ER nurse in Manhattan for a few years -- overworked and burned out -- until she realized her job had become untenable and dangerous.

"I spent all my days off Googling nonclinical nursing jobs," she said. She landed a position in the medical device sales industry. A few years later, her husband was offered a job opportunity in London, and the couple jumped at the chance to live abroad. Stoecklein found another position in medical device sales, then moved to a health tech startup.

During the pandemic, she started reading nonfiction books centered around gender and feminism. She said she had never really thought about how the world was designed by and for men.

"It was the first time I was exposed to some of these ideas," she said. "Reading these types of books really blew my mind."

This new knowledge gave her the words to understand her own experiences and ideas. She felt compelled to share what she was learning with others. Around the same time, she was realizing that her marriage was no longer working, despite the couple still loving and supporting one another. She quit her job to start her podcast, moved out a few months later and took on freelancing work to pay the bills.

"When something doesn't feel right, I feel like I have to change, even when I don't know exactly where I'm going," she said.

But wasn't it daunting to tackle so much life-altering change at once?

"My parents instilled in me a belief and confidence in myself," she said. They taught her that she could figure things out on her own. She credits that with her ability to adapt and thrive in the midst of uncertainty.

So when her podcast caught the ear of a friend who worked at Blair's foundation, Stoecklein put together a proposal for an interview and persisted for months to lock it down.

Once she nabbed her high-profile guests, she reread their autobiographies, watched Clinton's documentary and prepared for the interview around the clock. The day of the interview, she was full of emotions.

"I felt the enormity of the weight of history in the room," she said. Clinton's warmth and kindness put her immediately at ease. The conversation between Blair and Clinton flowed like banter between good friends.

"They had this incredibly beautiful energy," Stoecklein said.

She used the moment to launch a series of woman changemakers on her show. In addition to world leaders, she's interviewed Nobel Laureate and Yemeni journalist Tawakkol Karman, Olympic gold medalist Lindsey Vonn, and several bestselling authors, CEOs and global activists.

Stoecklein's passion for her work is evident when she talks about her own journey.

She's living proof that big ideas can transform lives.