A 15-year-old decided his hometown needed a veterans memorial, so he raised $77K to build one

Dominique Claseman from Olivia, Minnesota, came to the Olivia City Council as a 15-year-old to discuss his plan to build a veterans memorial in his hometown. He even had architect drawings with him and space already picked out.

It was a huge project, but he was confident that people in the community would want to donate to something like it.

Two years later, his vision finally became a reality.

On Memorial Day, hundreds of people gathered for the dedication of the new veterans memorial in Olivia, completed by Dominique as his Eagle Scout project a few weeks shy of his 17th birthday.“The memorial before you is the result of the generosity and support that I, and the veterans of community, have received,” the young man said in his speech.

Ron Kopacek, who headed up the dedication’s honor guard, was impressed by how Dominique managed to do it.“Fifteen years old, sophomore in high school, he’s going to raise $12,000 to $15,000 we’re thinking, ‘What? Really?’”But the dedicated teen said he questions himself on how he even did it sometimes.Dominique started the project by distributing information sheets, doing interviews with the local radio station and newspaper, and setting up a table to pitch it during events at the Olivia American Legion.

As donations and purchases of engraved pavers exceeded his expectations, he expanded his initial concept of what the memorial could be.Dominique’s original fundraising goal was $12,000 to $15,000, but he ended up raising a little more than $77,000.

Dominique, who comes from a long line of service members, requested for his dad, scoutmaster Mark Jurgensen, who served in Iraq, to wear his combat boots to mark 21 footprints on the memorial’s wet

VA

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On my daughter’s eighth birthday, my parents presented her with a pink dress. She smiled as she held it—until her expression abruptly froze. “Mom… what’s this?” I bent closer, and my hands started to shake. Hidden inside the lining was something unmistakable—something that had been deliberately sewn in. I didn’t burst into tears. I didn’t make a scene. I simply smiled, accepted the gift, and said, “Thank you.” By the following morning, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. My parents kept calling… because they already knew I had discovered what they’d hidden. On my daughter’s eighth birthday, I tried to keep everything simple and bright. Balloons taped to the kitchen doorway. Pancakes shaped like hearts. A paper crown she wore all morning like she’d been promoted to queen of the world. Emma—my Emma—was finally smiling again after a year of too many “grown-up problems” she shouldn’t have had to feel. My parents arrived right on time, dressed like they were attending a photo shoot instead of a child’s party. My mother carried a glossy gift bag with tissue paper arranged just so. My father held his phone like he was ready to record the moment that would make them look like perfect grandparents. “Happy birthday, sweetheart!” my mother sang. Emma squealed and tore into the bag. A pink dress spilled out—soft tulle, tiny sequins, the kind of dress a little girl imagines when she thinks of princesses. Emma’s face lit up. She pressed it to her chest and twirled once, laughing. Then she went still. It was so sudden my stomach tightened before I even knew why. Emma stared down at the dress like it had spoken to her. “Mom,” she said, voice quieter now. “What’s this?” I stepped closer. “What do you mean, honey?” Emma slid two fingers inside the lining near the waist and pinched something small and stiff. The fabric puckered around it. Whatever it was, it didn’t belong there. My hands began to tremble as I gently took the dress from her. I tried to keep my smile, tried to keep the moment light. But my pulse had already started roaring in my ears. I turned the dress inside out slowly, careful not to tear anything. The lining was stitched neatly, almost too neatly—like someone had opened it and closed it again with intention. And there it was. A small object wrapped in plastic, hidden flat against the inner seam. Not a tag. Not extra padding. Something placed there on purpose. I felt cold spread through my arms. For a second, I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the dress back in my mother’s face. I wanted to demand answers in front of everyone so no one could pretend this was normal. But I didn’t. I looked up and met my mother’s eyes. She was smiling too, but her smile was tight—watching me. Waiting to see what I’d do. My father stood slightly behind her, expression neutral, as if he could claim ignorance no matter what happened next. So I did the opposite of what they expected. I smiled. Warm, polite, grateful. “Thank you,” I said, voice steady. “It’s beautiful.” My mother exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. “Of course,” she said lightly. “We just want Emma to feel special.” I folded the dress carefully, keeping the lining turned inward. I tucked it back into the gift bag as if nothing had happened. Emma watched me, confused, but she trusted my face. She went back to her cake and her candles, and I kept the party moving with a calm I didn’t feel. Because I understood something the second my fingers touched that hidden object: This wasn’t an accident. This was a test. And if I reacted in the moment, they’d learn exactly how much I knew. So I waited. That night, after the guests left and Emma fell asleep clutching her new stuffed bear, I locked myself in the bathroom and finally opened the lining properly. I didn’t breathe until I saw it clearly. And by the next morning, my parents wouldn’t stop calling… because they knew I’d found it…To be continued in Comment 👇

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