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By Kara Beth Poe
Gratitude For My Pages Who Taught Me More Than They Know
]This summer, I experienced a full circle moment. When I was a junior in high school, I was unexpectedly selected to serve as a United States Senate Page for Senator Mitch McConnell, after a last-minute withdrawal by another student from Kentucky. I had no idea what it meant to be a Senate Page, to live away from my small town, or to manage the rigor of Page School. But thanks to the incredible United States Senate Republican Cloakroom Staff, my family, and my peers, I was able to persevere and complete the program. That experience changed the trajectory of my life, and I will never be able to thank Senator McConnell and his team enough for opening those doors and continuing to invest in my professional and personal growth.
I had the honor of returning to the Hill as a Page Coordinator for the Senate Republican Cloakroom. I was thrilled to be back in the Capitol, working alongside the remarkably talented people who keep the Senate floor running. The late nights, fast-paced days, and countless laughs reminded me how much I love the energy of Washington. Even now, as I sit in the car traveling to Pittsburgh to represent the University of Louisville's Student Government Association, I find myself missing D.C., the friends I made, the thrill of each day, and above all, the feeling of stepping onto the Senate floor every day.
But what stood out most about this summer wasn't the institution itself. It was the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds who reminded me of things I didn't even know I had forgotten. They taught me lessons I will carry with me far beyond the Capitol.
Initially, I wasn't sure how this role would unfold. I was only a few years older than they were. Would they respect me? Would they think I was too strict? Could I teach them what they needed to know? Most of all, I wondered if I could give them the same transformative experience that my supervisor, Maddie, gave me when I was in their shoes. I remember how her excitement about each day's events, especially when major legislation came to the floor, made me fall in love with the job. I wanted to do the same for them just as severely.
What I didn't expect was how much they would ultimately teach me.
Lessons From My Pages
Curiosity.
I had forgotten what it felt like to be endlessly curious. Having already lived in D.C. and worked on Capitol Hill, I had grown accustomed to the city's rhythms. But my pages constantly asked questions about work, politics, and my life, as well as theirs. Even when their curiosity came at the "wrong" time, it reminded me that asking questions is not only okay, it's essential. Their wonder reminded me to approach life with greater openness, rather than assuming I already knew what to expect.
Finding joy in the small things.
My pages worked long, hard hours, often without complaint. However, they never failed to find joy in even the smallest moments. They got excited for Taco Tuesday. They tried every dessert option at lunch. They laughed when we crammed into elevators and spilled out like a clown car. They celebrated the thrill of a Senator saying hello or giving a fist bump. They turned morning runs into challenges. They taught me that even on the longest days, there is room for laughter, gratitude, and joy.
There was no time to be mad and upset for long. We had a job to get done and short sessions to get to know each other. Everyone makes mistakes; correct them and go on. Despite my efforts to keep them quiet and teach them everything they needed to know at work, we still had a good time. I often see their faces on social media and laugh about our little conversations in the annex and the jokes we would share at the lunch table.
Authenticity.
Perhaps what inspired me most was how unapologetically themselves they were. They came from different places, backgrounds, and perspectives. They disagreed politically, dressed in various styles, read different books, but they embraced those differences. At their age, I often took myself far too seriously, measuring myself against others and worrying about being "right." Through the McConnell Center and the friendships I've built since then, I've grown a lot, but my pages brought this lesson home again. They reminded me that authenticity is freeing. That confidence isn't about winning every argument, but about being comfortable in your own skin. They showed me that respecting differences makes conversations richer, not harder.
Of course, they were still teenagers. They felt lost and needed to cry with someone. There were moments of homesickness, nerves about school and college, or the desire to fit in. They wanted independence but also needed guidance. They wanted to be heard, but sometimes also needed space. Yet even in those moments of uncertainty, I saw resilience, compassion, and strength. They reminded me that leadership is not about perfection; it is about listening, encouraging, and meeting people where they are.
The best way I can sum up the lessons they gave me is this: love big, cry with someone, wear your nice clothes, burn the candle, dance in the rain, recommend the song you love, strive to learn more, and never settle for less than extraordinary.
I hope my pages know how deeply I admire them. They conveyed wisdom beyond their years and left a lasting impression on my life. More than anything, they reminded me that sometimes the greatest teachers are the ones who are just beginning their journey.
Kara Beth Poe is a McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville in the Class of 2027. She is studying political science and communications with a minor in political marketing.