Madison Hilgenberg didn’t start playing golf until two weeks before the season of her sophomore year. She’d already been a softball and basketball player for years, and figured a third sport might round things out. But she didn’t expect to fall in love with it.

“I just wanted to try something new,” she says. “But it’s helped me with everything—focus, staying present, learning how to reset after something goes wrong.”

That’s the thing about Madison. Her sports aren’t just activities—they’re metaphors. Golf, especially. “You hit a bad shot, you’ve got to move on. You can’t let it ruin the rest of the game,” she says. “There’s always a way out. Even if you’re in the trees, you chip back, and you keep going.”

It’s a mindset that’s carried over into her senior year and into her vision for the future. Madison is heading to college this fall—likely either Carl Sandburg College, where she’s been invited to play golf, or Eastern Illinois University, where she’d pursue a degree in elementary education with long-term plans to move into school administration.

“I’ve always looked up to my teachers,” she says. “But Ms. Schaefer really inspired me. She helped me plan out my college classes, told me to teach first before going into leadership, and reminded me that you’ve got to love the work before you grow into the next role.”

Ms. Schaefer—whom Madison had for both freshman reading and AP U.S. History—is more than a mentor. She’s a model of how to make classrooms come alive. “She let us pick the material sometimes,” Madison remembers. “She made us feel comfortable and capable. You didn’t want to miss her class.”

Madison doesn’t just admire that energy—she wants to become it. She already coaches 10U softball in Knoxville’s KGAS rec league, where she volunteers her time with a group of fourth graders. “They’re so young, but you can see when something finally clicks,” she says. “I love that. Seeing them grow.”

Her path hasn’t always been loud or flashy. “I’ve always been a little shy,” she says. “Freshman year, I didn’t want to join anything because I didn’t know how people would respond.”

But slowly, she changed that. She got involved. She played. She led. And she started working on the one thing that held her back more than anything: perfectionism.

“I’m a perfectionist, and I’ve always been scared to make mistakes,” she admits. “But senior year, I’ve been learning that it’s okay to not be perfect. That you’re not going to get judged for trying something and failing. That’s been huge for me.”

That same wisdom now guides how she helps others. In sports, she pushes younger athletes to be ready for the seasons to come—especially now that she’s about to graduate. “I won’t be here next year,” she says, “so I want them to be ready. I want our programs to stay strong.”

She applies that same forward-thinking spirit to her academics, too. She’s taken AP Calculus (no small lift) and AP U.S. History, earning a three on her exam, and has stayed focused on academics even while balancing athletics and coaching.

Her view of Knoxville has evolved as well. “When you grow up here, it can feel small,” she says. “But now I see the value. Everybody knows everybody. People wave. When there’s a storm, folks come out with chainsaws or snowplows and help their neighbors. That’s community.”

Madison doesn’t just talk about support—she lives it. Her father has been her coach since she was in elementary school, and her siblings—especially her sister at Augustana—have been there to guide her through high school’s challenges. “My dad’s always there,” she says. “Even for the little stuff. He helped me make rainbow loom bracelets in fourth grade.”

As she looks ahead, Madison knows she wants to be that kind of steady presence for others—especially kids.

“Don’t be afraid to try,” she says, reflecting on what she’d tell her younger self. “Even if it scares you, try. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep doing it. But you’ll never grow if you don’t start.”

And in that message—gently earned, slowly embraced—is the voice of a teacher already in the making.