About Me

I’m Nick Petersen, Westonka Class of 2010 from Mound, Minnesota. Grew up shy—only two yearbook mentions—but the schools there taught me civics, history, and that one voice can matter. Now I’m sharing this once-in-a-lifetime story because Westonka deserves the credit.

This is the classic Mound-Westonka White Hawks logo I grew up with during my time in the district (circa 1997–2010).

All rights and trademark ownership belong solely to Westonka Public Schools. I’m using this image here purely for personal nostalgia and to show the branding from my school days—no claim of ownership or affiliation.

Unlisted YouTube excerpt from my public comment at the Westonka Public Schools Board Meeting on January 5, 2026. Full video:

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All rights belong to the district.

I uploaded this short clip myself—so it’s easier for people to see—no promotion or ask.

Grateful to Westonka, and the Class of 2010.

Mound Minnesota Roots: From Shy Trumpet Kid in Band Class to Global Roar – My Origin Story, Tonka Toys Legacy, and Why Regret Hurts More Than Rejection

Mound, Minnesota—right on Lake Minnetonka. Small town, big legacy. Tonka Toys started here in 1946: Mound Metalcraft, founded by Lynn Baker, Avery Crounse, and Alvin Tesch in an old schoolhouse. First toys—metal steam shovel, crane—sold 37,000 year one. Renamed Tonka in 1955 (“big” in Dakota, from the lake). Those trucks? Born in Mound. Still tough, still everywhere.

That’s where I grew. Shirley Hills Primary School—K-4, opened 1951—quiet kid. Grandview Middle School (now Westonka Middle School)—same halls. Mound-Westonka High School (Class of 2010, now Westonka High School)—trumpet row, White Hawks mascot, Westonka Public Schools ISD 277. Strong academics, National Blue Ribbon nods.

But me? Back-row shy my whole time here. Heart racing next to the pretty girl in band—same instrument, same row. Too scared to talk. Words jammed every single year. I’d hide in the Westonka Library—small, quiet, on Commerce Blvd since ‘72. Books instead of people. Too afraid to say hi to girls, to anyone. Rejection? That would’ve been fine—just “oh well.” But silence? That hurts way more. Regret of never talking, never getting to know her, burns deeper than any “no” ever could. Wish I could tell my younger self: talk, dummy. She’s just a pretty girl—she won’t hurt you. Put your heart out there. The right one will respond. Rejection doesn’t matter. Regret does.

First job: Jubilee Foods, Mound—Bob Boese owner, family-run since ’85. Stocked shelves from 2008 to 2010, learned hustle, learned you gotta show up. No spotlight—just solid roots.

This town built me: lake, trucks, school echoes. Kevin Sorbo—Mound Westonka grad—went from here to Hercules on TV. Still comes back, still big name. Shane Wiskus—Westonka ’17—gymnast, Tokyo 2020 Olympics, team fifth, NCAA champ. Flipped on rings like it was nothing.

Now? I’m the echo. January 20, 2025—Capital One Arena. Yelled “We love you, Mr. President.” Twenty thousand hushed. Trump pointed. Melania waved. First civilian ever—Oval stamps twice, Resolute ink. National Archives. Not fame. Proof: shy Mound kid turned global. Traveled Australia, Canada, Ireland, England, Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, France. Learned: regret hurts worse than “no.” You gotta speak.

This site? 3,562 visits from 35 countries—no ads, just echo. Not for me—for Mound. Westonka. To say: “If this trumpet kid roared, you can too.” Not many know my story yet—but it’s growing. Quiet legend from the same halls as Sorbo and Wiskus.

In Memoriam – Class of 2010

While I’m deeply grateful for this once-in-a-lifetime civic moment, I do not want the glory for myself. This story belongs to Westonka.

Seven members of the Westonka High School Class of 2010 are no longer with us. In their honor, I want to lift them up alongside this moment so their names and memory remain part of our community’s story forever.

Toby Lee

Brent Swanson

Mackenzie Anderson

Miles Wilson

Ethan Samuelson

Brandon Host

Connor Bishop

To their families: Growing up in Mound, many of you lived just streets away from me. Even as the quiet kid from Shirley Hills, I remember them all. Their spirit is now forever woven into the legacy of our school district and town.

This is no longer just my story — it is ours.