Aaron Zimola
Owner/ Founder
MY BROTHER MATTHEW​
When I was five years old, my brother Matthew was born with undetected Down syndrome and severe medical complications, the most critical being Tetralogy of Fallot caused by a hole in the pulmonary valve of his heart. At just eight months old, Matthew underwent emergency open-heart surgery, but the first operation failed, and his pulmonary valve tore open again within days. Too weak for another surgery, he remained hospitalized until he regained the strength for a second attempt, which ultimately succeeded, though complications like pneumonia extended his recovery to six months in Children’s Hospital.
Once discharged, Matthew required in-home palliative care with two round-the-clock nurses, Linda and Donna, as our house transformed into a hospital with medical equipment like a tracheostomy tube, CPAP, Pulse Ox monitors, and a 1,000-pound oxygen tank. By age six, I was trained to operate these machines, provide emergency assistance, and even perform risky procedures like changing his trachea weekly. Despite doctors predicting he wouldn’t live past 10, Matthew defied the odds and celebrated his 21st birthday in November 2021, free from medical equipment. Though he cannot walk, talk, or eat independently, Matthew has taught me more about life than anyone else ever could.​
ALIENS!
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Throughout school, I was placed in “gifted” classes—a designation that felt more based on behavior than intelligence.
Being a “gifted” kid inflated my ego. My peers and I believed we were smarter and better than everyone else.
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A LESSON IN HUMILITY
In 7th grade, a non-“gifted” student, Kelsey, joined our advanced English class. She was often late, didn’t turn in assignments, and sometimes slept in class. My classmates and I were skeptical of her abilities.
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One day, Mrs. Morris, our teacher, asked the class to interpret a poem. After several students answered incorrectly, Kelsey hesitantly raised her hand and offered her
interpretation: “I think it’s about aliens, like from their perspective, looking down at Earth.”
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The class erupted in laughter, but Mrs. Morris pressed her to explain. Despite her lack of confidence, Kelsey was right. Her interpretation stunned the class and taught me an important lesson: brilliance isn’t limited to those with labels.
MONDAY IS TORTILLA DAY​
Growing up, Monday was always tortilla day.
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GRANDMA'S KITCHEN
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Every Monday morning, my grandma would wake up early to make fresh tortillas for the week. She cared for my cousins and me while our parents worked.
I’d rush into the kitchen, mesmerized by the soothing rhythm of her rolling pin as she juggled multiple tortillas at once.
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“Can I have one?” I’d ask.
“Don’t eat them all! Only one,” she’d say.
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I’d always ask for another…and another. By the time I was done, I’d eaten 10–12 tortillas.
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PERFECTLY IMPERFECT
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Eventually, I begged my parents to let me help her at 5:30 AM. My tortillas always turned out misshapen, like South America or some other continent. But when I complained, Grandma would ask, “Does it taste good?”
“It does,” I’d reply.
“Then it’s a good tortilla.”
TRAPPED ON A SINKING SHIP
I am an Eagle Scout. Scouting taught me many life skills, but one summer camp in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, stands out as a wild adventure.
A Misguided Sailor
During camp, a dad from our troop, Bob, invited us out on a sailboat. He claimed to be an experienced sailor and convinced the harbor master to let us borrow a 20-foot sailboat.
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As we set sail, it became clear Bob had no idea what he was doing. Every “tip” he gave contradicted what we’d learned in our merit badge classes. Despite him, we managed to sail reasonably well—until disaster struck.
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While tacking against the wind, Bob abruptly turned the rudder without warning. The mainsail caught a gust, capsizing the boat in an instant.
COLD CHAOS
We plunged into the icy water, stunned and scared. A fellow scout was hit on the head by the mast (luckily, he was okay). While the boat floated, it was too heavy for us to right.
A nearby crew eventually towed us and the boat back to shore. Though we lost some gear, including the daggerboard, another boat retrieved it later, saving us from paying a $500 replacement fee.
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THROWN UNDER THE BOAT
When we returned, Bob blamed us scouts for the accident, leaving us in shock. Thankfully, the experience didn’t deter me. I earned my sailing merit badge and went on to enjoy many more adventures on the water—without Bob.